"He was just laying there like a piece of bologna"

Okay, look.... I haven't posted anything since Thursday. I have been crazy busy, you know... not working and all, and this little tapping in the back of my head kept reminding me that I have neglected my blog for 5 days now.

So tonight, while I was driving my son to his martial arts class... he was talking to me and he was explaining something about our big, fat male cat and he says, "he was just laying there... you know... like a piece of bologna".

I could not help but to laugh. I've just never heard that sentence before... describing something as a piece of bologna unless it is... well... a piece of bologna. And my son looks at me like I had just sprouted a second head and asks, "what's so funny?" I explained to him that I just thought that was an interesting comparison to use. And he goes on to say, "Why? It's not like I said he was just laying there like a piece a ham." Clearly, ham has a higher going "funny" rate than bologna does.

Similiar weirdness, my daughter and I were at Target over the weekend and we were walking past one of the aisles with cleaning supplies and her eyes lit up with this amazing glow and she enthusiastically said to me, " OoohhhhH! Toilet supplies! Toilet cleaning brushes! Can we PUH'LEASE get something, mommy?" And she went galloping off to look at various toilet brushes and bowl cleaners.

It was just weird. That's all I'm sayin'. And since I haven't posted anything in five days, I figured I had to post something and the bologna thing just kept popping into my head as a reminder of something that came out of the blue and made me laugh today. I like unpredictable laughter. And I love my strange little children.

Also, I was pleasantly surprised at how many pictures of bologna I had to choose from after I googled it. My day just keeps gettin' better......

duck, duck bo buck banana fanna fo....

Here's the scenerio:

A bunch of us are driving out to the island to go boating. Good spirits... beer & wine chilling in the cooler....beautiful day... the sun is shining and this is my most favoritist thing I love about living in a state which does not experience a change of seasons. Quite possibly, the only thing, really.

The road we're traveling down is a small one and there are trees and wildlife all around. Up ahead, we see a small group of wild ducks along the side of the road. As we get a little closer, we see there are four of them. They're just standing there. On the side of the road. Not moving. Just hanging out. Waiting, I am assuming to cross the road.

Our car is approaching where the ducks are standing.

"What is that in the middle of the road?" I ask JJ, who is driving.

"Hmmm. Looks like one of the ducks got hit sometime earlier today", he says.

"Awwwww. That's horrible."

We pass the middle of the road mass and the small herd of ducks standing along the sidelines.

A moment goes by and I say, "I wonder why those other ducks are just standing there along the side of the road."

"They're waiting" JJ says.

"For...??" I ask curiously.

"Ducks, by nature, wait for each other to cross the road."

::stares straight ahead in horror silently::

License to Perv

What's playing in the background right now?

The Hooverphonic,
"Mad About You".

Yesterday, my daughter had an orthodontist appointment and as I sat waiting for her, I scoped out the room. My eyes settled on a young boy, probably about 14 or 15 years old, who was waiting to hand in his chart at the front reception area. He had on blue shorts, the shiny ones... like you wear in the gym and a green t-shirt that read "loosing faith in humanity... one person at a time". He was probably 5'10, slim, with strong calf muscles, sandy brown hair, sincere eyes and surprisingly little teenage acne. I watched his mannerisms and waited for that awkward quirkiness that most teenagers, boys in particular, seem to possess naturally. I also kept one eye out for the mother because if she saw me watching him, that could be a weird moment to have to deal with.

I don't know if the boy really knew I was observing him, but he did seem to glance my way a few times and at one point, whipped out his cell phone, which was in the pocket underneath where his iPod and some other thingiemadooldlywhopper were attached. He then proceeded to talk on his phone... never having dialed it mind you and I didn't hear it ring or make a funny noise that could possibly be a ring. Perhaps it was on vibrate. [no dirty comment about vibrating will be inserted here. we're not going there. I'm just checking the boy out from a distance. Geesh. What type of person do you think I am?] He laughed a seemingly forced laugh a couple of times and nervously shuffled his foot around.

I did glance away from time to time, to act as if something not teenage boy related had captured my attention. I'm also very good at not being obvious about staring. Probably because I never really look AT something, but rather past it. He probably thought {and hoped, for that matter} that I was looking at something on the wall on the other side of him. And it's not like I was sitting there, licking my lips and flipping my hair around all flirty like, so you can erase that visual out of your head!

Still no mother, by the way. All other senses were on guard for his protectOR. The boy was handsome and lovely. I liked his shirt and wondered if he really was loosing his faith or if that was the only thing clean in his room and he actually forgot he even had the shirt to begin with. I wondered how many phone calls he got each day from goofy, giddy teenage girls who blush and giggle when he is in their vicinity. I wondered if he had broken any hearts yet. Or maybe he was a shy, smart, good looking nerd who is still afraid of the female species. Whatever the case, I'd be more than happy to hang on to his retainer while he eats.

Mom came out from the bathroom. She was short. And kind of plain with mousy, what looked like unbrushed, brown hair, glasses, and a little chunkalunk on her bones. Not really what I expected. He towered over her and she didn't really seem to pay him much mind when she took the chart from his hands and handed it to the reception lady. [you may now insert pervert type voice and bowchicabowbow music here:] But that's a'ight, mommy... I was payin' him some mind. Yeah, boy. [end] Okay. That's not really what I was doing. I just wanted to see if you were still with me and I wanted to see what it would be like to type that "out loud". Gross. I feel way wrong now.

I kept reminding myself that there was, in fact, reason behind my silent observations of said teenage boy. He waited for mom, now fumbling with what to do with his chartless hands. As he turned to follow mom out the big double doors, he shot a glance my way and grinned a slight smile of sorts. I'm certain it meant one of three things. One being an arrogant smirk of, "hey lady... take a number"; Two, "Dude, you just made me incredibly uncomfortable, but I kinda liked it"; Or three, "Dinner at my house is 7:00. Me and my retainer will be waiting." But maybe... just maybe.... he simply thought, "Cool. I got game" and he wasn't at all creeped out by some strange lady's peculiar fixation, thus distorting his belief that perversion is non-existent in his safe, little world, but rather, I boosted his confidence just a bit because he thought I was like totally checking him out. Rest assured, readers, mothers, fathers, sisters, grandmothers, I was merely making some observations and mental notes.




It's time to introduce my son to my blog readers, which maybe then... just maybe.... you all can understand why I'm checking out young boys at the orthodontist's office.

Um, or not.

My son will be 11 years old this year. This, in itself, baffles me. 11. Eleven. eee-lev-ennn. What is that? The beginning of what is now called the "tween" years? Ugh.


My son is an amazing kid. He's sensitive, smart, hilarious, honest, and sincere. He still tells me he loves me and doesn't mind if I hold his hand, so long it's not in a public area. He still requests that I tuck him in at night and says he cannot sleep unless I do. He's a homebody like myself and loves a good movie. He doesn't like being sweaty much and prefers to wear his cooking apron with nothing but boxers on underneath. This is a kid who had one day reached upwards toward a tiny little bubble that had escaped from the sink of dishes being washed and quite poignantly and song-like said, "it's my soouuul."

Yeah, yeah, I'm a bit biased, but I'm no fool, I assure you.... my son is quite handsome. He has been since the day he was born and the very first thing I heard one of my friends shout from the other room after he was wheeled in for all to see was, "OH MY GOD! He has HUGE huevos!" I know. I know. All newborn boys have big huevos. But, it was hellafunny to hear those words being shouted from the next room over. Unfortunately, I had just had a cesarean section and laughing is a very, very painful experience.

As a mother to an up and coming hunk, I often grow very curious as to what life will be like with a teenage boy in the house. I have a daughter, too... and I'll post another time about my thoughts on the "coming soon to a household near you" horrors of having a teenager girl.

I remember being a teenager and having my crushes. Even back then, I always sucked up to the mothers. I think fathers have a tendency to want to "high five" their sons when they have babes lined up for them, whereas mothers have one eyebrow cocked as they silently scrutinize the little bitches from the kitchen, never once even so much as glancing down at the carrots she is coolly chopping for the roast. I don't have any brothers so perhaps I'm waaay wrong, but at least this is how I plan on being.

Future hussies of the world, stand in line, take a number, but you have been warned. Only the kind hearted and steadfast need apply. And mothers... if I ever walk out of the bathroom and see you watching my son in the most intently of ways.... I suggest you simply nonchalantly look away. Just know that I know that you know my son is hot and I know you know that I know the same. No awkward moment here and I won't make it weird for you. We will just have a silent understanding. I've been where you are, afterall ::flashes her license to perv::

And you think you're having a shitty life.

What is playing in my room right now? Oasis, "Stop Crying your Heart Out"

For Christmas, my space freak son received a Space DVD collection with five discs. He and I love to sit down with our bowl of munchies of choice and enjoy a round of learning about the cosmos. Learning about the universe is often a slap back into the peculiar reality that is life and reminds me that I often just take my existence for granted. It's basically the quietest hour that ever takes place in our household.


At the end of the about-an-hour long movie, we sit in awe for a moment. My brain will start to hurt as I make an attempt to absorb and decipher what in the hell we just watched. It's no wonder to me that the universe is as incomprehensible as it is. I mean, first of all, the idea of infinity is crazy. Black holes? Light not being able to escape? Worm holes? Entering one hole... being stretched as thin as a spaghetti noodle as you travel through, for lack of a better word, a tunnel.... time as we know it standing still... and then being spit out someplace else without ever having to go between point A and point B? The thought of our universe continually expanding.... stretching.... is... well, out of this world. And then what happens? According to the video we watched yesterday, the universe may very well reach a point that it no longer expands, but rather, it will shift its gears and start driving in reverse.

At this point in the DVD, I could feel my eyes drying out from not blinking and staring at the television, my mouth slightly agape, and my curious brain struggling to comprehend what it just heard and trying oh so hard to grasp on with every ounce of understanding that it could possibly muster.

When I was a little girl, my very first word was "luna". I only speak English, by the way. However, my family is part Mexican and I grew up in a household where this language was spoken fluently and often. "Luna" is really the only word I picked up on, except for tortilla, guacamole, burrito, jalapeno, and puta.... Anyhoo, la luna is an awesome sight in the night sky. And to think that every year that passes, it moves about an inch away from earth. Eventually, it will no longer be in sync with our lovely blue and green planet. Once la luna is too far away from us, life here will be drastically different. And unfun. Imagine blizzards in our hottest, driest deserts, the waters frenetically engulfing the wonders of our world, sunbathing in Antarctica while sipping a pina colada... right before you are swallowed by the sea.

I was logging into my Yahoo email today and an article caught my eye, "Earth's Moon Destined to Disintegrate". Now there's a spirit lifting title, I thought! I must read it! I clicked on it and entered a fascinating read, much like these videos we've been watching. I continued to read on about the fate of the earth where I read, and I quote, "Sometime in the next few billion years, according to new studies presented at the annual meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, the third rock from the sun will either freeze or fry. Unless things simply dry up much sooner".

Now this particular article is about the inevitable fact that our friendly, warm, happy, yay we're so happy you're here for our barbeque today sun will eventually, of course, blow up... and without getting too scientific here.... and assuming that our earth isn't cast out of the solar system prior to this cosmic event... eat everything in its way. After, that is, our oceans evaporate and all the plants die.

Before you start packing up your families and old photos and jammin' the highways in an attempt to hop on board the next space shuttle outta here... the good news is our sun isn't expected to do this for billions of years.

The bad news is, our great mother is likely to only have about a half a billion years left in her.

More bad news... humans are likely to destroy her well before she gives up on us.

Anyone feel like procreating?

*singing* getting to know yoooouuuu....

Blog readers, please come all the way in and partake in my "getting to know you" experiment. I want to see how many of you will actually post something. C'mon. I'll hold your hand.

*let's go of your hand and runs away laughing* Bwahahahahaha! Fooled ya! I'm not really gonna hold your hand!

Sorry. Apparantly, I am regressing and acting like a small child today by acting out with trickery and obnoxious behavior.

Okay, okay... since I'm completely delaying the inevitable right now, that being the unfortunate undertaking of reorganizing my daughter's dresser drawers by folding all of her clothes and trying to pair up all forloned socks, let's play a game.

It's Saturday. Clearly, you're a little bit bored since you're browsing blogs rather than frolicing outside (if you live someplace disgustingly warm like Florida) or cuddling up on the couch watching that movie you've beeing dying to see since it was released on DVD.

I want to get to know my blog readers. That's right. This entry is about you. Well, it's about me, first. I mean, I have to play, too. Afterall, you stopped on this blog because of me. I must have intrigued you somehow, otherwise you would not still be here reading this. Therefore, you must want to know more about me. Ask, and you shall receive. You may find that we have lots in common. Or that I have a ridiculous amount of gripes which make you wonder how I even survive my days.

Today's game is pretty simple and you can list as few or as many as you might like to. It is predictably titled:

Things you hate
[or, in case you hate the word hate, we can also call it: things that you [fill in blank with]--> don't like, loathe, detest, despise, or the ever popular, things that make you want to stab yourself in the eye with rusty barbed wire].

If you prefer to not hang out with me on the dark side, do come back another day when we all hold hands and twirl around in circles and talk giggle about butterflies and sunshine and lollipops and things that make our hearts sing with glee. But that's another day, my sweets. Another day, indeed.

For you kids who are sittin' there at your computer shouting all the things that you hate... um... I can't hear you. As awesome as I am, I am still unable to hear you. Please post a comment below instead.

OoooOOO! Me first! ME FIRST!

wet sleeves, dirty feet when i crawl into bed, socks while sleeping, mushrooms, not being able to fall asleep, toxic run off from my garbage bag [yup. true story], when my contact lens gets lost in my eye, when my other contact lens gets lost in my other eye, being hot, being cold, the color beige [on me], when i am unable to enjoy watching an episode of grey's anatomy in peace and quiet, hangnails, the sound of cotton, my food touching without my permission, a power failure before i hit "save", when my children have fevers, seeing a ginormous gray hair while I am driving, finding an identical ginormous gray hair on the other side of my head, job hunting, butt bugs [i'm sorry mother... what the hell are they called again?], clowns, crawl spaces [those last two go hand in hand], accidentally walking through a cob web [you know... as opposed to purposely walking through one], walking through a cob web with the spider still in it.

Okay, YOUR turn! On your mark... get set.... GO! [feel free to post that you hate it when someone tricks you by offering to hold your hand through something and then let's go and runs off laughing like the brat that she is]

If you can't appreciate cherry blossoms, then you may not care about this post.

Even though the book has been out for years and the movie came out over a year ago, if my memory serves, I have needed this much time to digest everything and I now feel compelled to jot down my thoughts on Memoirs’ of a Geisha. I watched the movie for the second time just today, in an effort to give it a second chance since it’s been over a year since I finished the book and saw the movie the first time and left the theater with a frown on my face as my brain rapidly processed all the things that were wrong.







Now… I realize this is old news and I am probably not going to say anything that hasn’t been said somewhere… by somebody…. A fan or a critic so if this bores you, sorry. Plus, I am a bit tired tonight and am nearing the point of no return insanity thanks to the household animals so, unfortunately, this may not be my best work as far as voicing my attitudes in an articulate and fascinating fashion.








I read the book early 2006 and was utterly enamored with it from the moment little Chiyo arrived to mother and auntie. I could feel the presence of grannie and I could see her ugly teeth and hear her crackly voice. When mother came into the scene, I could smell the smoke from her pipe. Ooohhhh… and the kimonos. The way the author writes of them…. It’s like I could have reached out and touched their loveliness and silken softness. Only, I wouldn’t want to soil their exquisiteness with a touch from a common hand, such as my own.







And that Hatsumomo and her malevolent and horrible tendencies, yet I wanted to read more, more, MORE about her, especially once she got ahold of naïve and eager little Pumpkin. Nobu was near gruesome in my mind , as I believed the book made him out to be and, of course, the handsome Chairman was quaint and enchanting. I could go on but anyone who has read the book knows what I’m talking about and if they appreciated and enjoyed this story, they will probably agree.







It’s an understatement when I say that the movie didn’t live up to the book and rarely do they, I suppose. **On a side note, I will say that while I have my disappointments about the movie of Memoirs’, I still prefer it to the Da Vinci Code film, which I have absolutely no desire to sit through again. I have already lost 2 1/2 hours of my life that I'll never get back. And when/if Angels and Demons ever makes it the big screen and especially since I prefered that book to The DaVinci Code, I have learned from the first go around to sit that one out for there was never a bigger disappointment between book and movie for me.
Fool me once, shame on you…but fool me twice….







Okay, stepping away from the sidenote and back to the film at hand. I left the theater the first time I saw it bitching and moaning about how I just didn’t like it. I mean, I understand that if a movie were to be made exactly like the book, it could possibly be hours upon hours in length so I get that some things need to be cut and consolidated. Fine. So long the storyline is the same, I’m okay with that. But… what the movie lacked was something so incredibly simple and this alone would have made me perk up a bit. It lacked vividness. It lacked fervor. There was no element of fabulousness.







The cherry blossoms, though pretty, were not nearly as spectacular as they were in my head as I strolled down that same path with the Chairman. I was truly disappointed in the dance scene in the movie with Sayuri as the dance had little oomph and it didn’t possess that, as they say, je ne sais pas that I thought it should have because… in the book…. for cryin' out loud, I wanted to become Sayuri’s danna after “seeing” her on that stage... with her seemingly unattainable splendor. The scene in the movie, I just thought looked….. weird.







Details were absent in the film. While the kimonos looked lovely on the girls, there was no explanation of them. I felt like, oh… there is the kimono on the girl now… as if it had just popped into place like a Polly Pocket outfit. So little was shown about the art of getting dressed as a geisha. There simply was not much presentation in it, when in actuality, it was quite the splendid event. The makeup… part of the joy of reading the book was understanding the entire costume, especially for those of us who are... um... not of the geisha lifestyle. Why did just a hint of bare skin peek out from the nape from underneath all that thick, white makeup? In the movie, there was little explanation about their hair styles and what makes one different than another based on the “levels of geisha”. Thankfully, I had read the book and knew all of these hidden, fascinating secrets. I felt sorry for the people who were watching the movie without having read the book. But, I guess what they don't know won't hurt them. Right?







Eh, I’m over it. I will say that after watching the movie the second time, I wasn’t AS disappointed with it, I guess. Because I wasn’t comparing it every second of every moment to the book, which was clearly more visually stimulating and wonderful, if my little opinion means anything at all.

I guess the moral is:

never read the book if you want to enjoy the movie.

What lies within our own mind's eye is far more superb than

what Hollywood can ever hope to replicate.

T-Shirts, Boobs, and Tummies

Hello my lovelies!

[I just lost my entire male audience, didn't I? They came in here looking for boobs only to be disappointed BIG TIME with that intro AND so far, there are no boobs not to mention I just made fun of men's incompetence for message taking.]

Since I am the quintessential Internet whore by today's standards, I have decided to put my incessant whoring to good use. The above simply made me giggle just enough that I found it worthy for this post.

Also... allow me to introduce to you...one of my favorite shirts of all time....

Today, I have decided to post about one of my favorite websites that a friend of mine directed me to a while back. [And whatever male readers stayed with me even after I started this entry with "hello lovelies" and no boobs, I will probably loose them right about...----->]Even though they are still "my babies", my children are well over the age of what is considered to be a "baby" and I have had plenty of time to loose my baby weight fat and have no excuse to be waddling around, I still love looking at the wonderful maternity clothing [<----...now] for moms, post baby wear, shirts for the daddys, baby clothing, and nursery decor. If there is ever a third Asherbelle baby to bounce into this world, this will be the first storefront I turn to.

www.bellablumaternity.com/

This is my favorite one. They also have one for the post baby weight, like "just gave birth" .

And I would like to find one that reads "Fat. Not pregnant" Just because that's funny and then I could buy Oreo cookies at the grocery store, which I currently refuse to purchase because I will eat them... all.... every single one... and I won't share.... let me count the ways I eat an Oreo...
I make love to them with my mouth... I shove them in with no regard.... I twist off the tops.... I eat the creme first... I eat them cookie first... I eat them plain... I dip them in milk... I dip them in chocolate milk.... i pour the Mini Oreos in a bowl, pour milk over them, and eat them with a spoon... [oh, yes I have]... if it's an Oreo, there are so many delightful possibilities.

Okay, okay... back to the preggo stuff.

These are funny, too.

If you're in the market for some maternity goodies, be it for yourself or someone who is expecting, I highly recommend having a look-see at Bella Blu.

The Man Dog

what's playing on my Napster: Travis, Sing



Once upon a time, there was a dog at the humane society. They called him "the howler". He was five-years old, black with a white mark down his forehead, and had eyes that seemed as though they had seen much and if he could talk, this dog would have a story to tell.

One lazy Saturday afternoon, a family walked in. They were hoping they could find a nice medium sized dog to bring home with them. The husband had FINALLY talked his wife into agreeing to a family dog. They already had two cats with attitudes and that along with the two children of the household, plus the wife's collection of flying pig figurines and not to mention the husband's Star Wars Pez Dispenser collection, oh and the ridiculous amount of wine, DVD's, and all the CD's that they had collected in the 90's, there just didn't seem to be much room left for anything else, living or non-living.


They perused the aisles and observed all the dogs. The husband walked right past this sweet looking, black dog with a white mark down his forehead with eyes that seemed as though they had seen much for surely he was too large. His wife would never agree so he didn't even bother to stop.


But the wife did. On her way to join the rest of her family at the end of the row, she saw this dog with the human eyes. She stopped. They stared at each other. He approached the caged wire and laid down so she could see his sadness... up close.... there in front of her. She said "hello dog" and stuck a couple of fingers through the cage and patted his big, black head with the white strip running down his forehead. She moved on. But she kept going back. No matter what other dogs she was scoping out, there was something calling her back to that dog. She stayed there, at his cage, for quite some time... talking to him... wondering about why he was there. Telling him why her family was there. That she had been brainwashed into thinking that bringing a dog into the house was what she wanted. The things that the promise of shoes does a woman...

His sign read:

Name: Buddy

Age: Approx. 5 years old

Dislikes: Squirrels, Rabbits
Okay with: Cats, Kids

Reason he was brought in : Too big.

Too big?? TOO BIG?? Did his previous owner not realize his size? Or even as a puppy, did his owner not stop to think, hmmm..... Lab/Pitt mix = big dawg when grown. At least he was brought in at all and not left stranded on the roadside somewhere or released to roam freely and eventually meeting the ill fate of getting hit by a car or shot by some horrible, toothless, backasswoods redneck with his confederate flag hanky hanging from the back pocket of his overalls who mistook him for a black bear... or dinner.


The black dog with the white stripe watched as this family took a couple of other dogs out into the play area to see how they reacted with each of them. After three dogs that just wouldn't do, the wife suggested maybe.... just maybe.... how about taking out the big, black dog "over there", she said as she pointed to him. He knew she spoke of him. He sat up in his cage... to look his best... and show off how handsome and lovely he was, in spite of his "not-desired" size. The husband looked at the wife as though she was out of her mind... yet... admitted he was a bit excited about the possibility of the fact that this big "man dog", as he put it, could possibly be the chosen one. The wife could not, for the life of her, understand why on earth she was even suggesting the idea of playing with this dog for he was far too large at 80 pounds. No way. What the hell was she thinking? What had this big, sweet looking, black dog with the white stripe and sincere eyes done to her?

~~~~~~~~~

The adoption was finalized and they were allowed to bring the dog home in 48 hours. The family right away went out and bought food, a big, fluffy bed for his big body, a couple of chew toys. They anxiously awaited his arrival to his new home.


The family talked about names. Nothing was sticking. And he surely was not "Buddy", as the sign on his cage had deemed him. Finally, one of the children shouted out "Rico." Hmmmm. Rico. It rolled off the tongue. It was simple. Yet.... it was uncommon. Rico. Yes, they liked "Rico". Rico.... Suave to be exact.

So please don't judge a book by its cover

There's more to being a latin lover

You got to know how to deal with a woman that won't let go

The price you pay for being a gigolo

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rico Suave has been a part of the family now for a little over a year and has blended right in. Though he is large... and howls when the phone rings... and he's gained a few pounds.... and his little, short black hairs are all over the tile floor... and he drives the wife crazy... and he rapes all the females who come into the home... and he burps.... and he has more gray hairs now that he is six years old.... he is indeed a member of this family now and has a good home.


For those first eleven months, things were just perfect. After the cats got over the fact that this big "thing" wasn't leaving and after Rico learned that the big cat wasn't dinner, they live in peace, happily ignoring one another. Pretending as though the other doesn't exist in their world.

But wait.... what is this? Well it's Rico Suave laying on his bed. HIS bed. His big, fluffy bed with dents and bumps that are from his own ass. His own bed that he has had now for over a year... in the same spot... the same corner of the room.... with the family that was all his. Well, except for those stupid cats, but they don't really interefere because they're so elusive that it's like they don't exist anyway. This is the family that picked HIM and rescued him from that noisy, unprivate place after being dumped there by an owner who realized that he was just too big. And those eyes... those eyes that revealed so much heart.... those eyes that want to tell a story of those five years gone by. Oh, how sweet life is.... in his new, loving, home. So why does Rico Suave look so glum in this picture? Disappointed, almost? Perturbed, perhaps?



Scroll a little....

Wait for it.....

Can you see it? Can you? Click on the picture if you can't. Do you see the small, tiny ass in the left corner of the picture? Rico sees it. He feels it. He can't escape it. Hence his dismay. Little did he know what the wife's 34th birthday would bring.... just a mere eleven months after he found comfort in his new world. It's a November that he'll never forget. Even if he wanted to.

Hey gimme a break, it's Saturday.

From my mother

[I just can't possibly take credit for these beauties

~ I just can't]:

"Hey guys! We'd like for you to meet our friend, Rob."

"Hi Rob. It's nice to meet ya'. What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a fecesologist."

"A what?"

"I'm a plumber."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An on duty police officer sees a blond driving her car while knitting.
Knowing that , clearly, driving and kitting *cough* and being blonde *cough* is an unsafe combo, he turns his lights on and goes after her.
After she doesn't slow down, he pulls up next to the blonde and shouts to her,
"Pullover!"
"No!" She screams out her window. "Cardigan!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

disclaimer: this post is not meant to be taken seriously nor is it meant to be offensive or discriminatorily directed toward plumbers, blondes, fecesologists, or people who knit.

It's a Conspiracy, I tell ya.

What's in my CD player? Mark Knopfler's, Shangri-La

Who is Mark Knopfler you ask? He was the frontman for Dire Straits. The one with the sweatband across his forehead.

okay, okay.... a word to the wise, which apparantly, I am not...

after using Listerine, do not expect your glass of lovely Savignon Blanc to taste good. Even Savignon Blanc from the Biltmore Estate in Asheville. Not EVEN when it is drop shipped to your front door directly from the estate. Not even then will that sweet, sweet, delicious wine taste good after rinsing your mouth out with Listerine.

[insert a big, fat "d'uh" here]

The first thing, well technically it's the second thing [refer to the above LIsterine+wine=gag] I want to bring to everyone's attention is this shirt that my husband bought me. He's of University of Arizona alumni and is therefore, a huge Wildcat fan. And trust me when I say that being an Arizona fan waaaaaay out here on the east coast is a lonely, lonely thing to be. I think there is like MAYBE one other Arizona fan out here... and I think Mike pays him. Oh.. Mike... that's my husband. Cool, generic name, eh? Ha! You can't stalk me [in real life] based on that information alone can ya? HA!

*looks around nervously*

Okay, anyhoo... this shirt he bought me. Could it be any tighter? I'm surprised it's not a midriff crop top with holes cut out at the nipples.

I'm just glad that he doesn't pick out all of my clothes. I would walk around the world looking like a past her prime sorority girl if he had his way. I did wear the shirt today... around the house....and I felt kinda dirty when the dogs were staring at my shirt boobs with their grody pervert eyes, licking their jowls... especially the big one. He has human eyes, he does.

When my husband got home, his boobdar kicked into auto pilot and he bypassed all the animals, who were lined up waiting ever so patiently for his arrival home, and with his arms outstretched in front of him, his gropy-feely little hands and fingers leading the way, came right up to me and grabbed my boobs.

Wait until he returns home now. I know I'm not sending out the same "come hither and grab THESE" vibe. I have on multi colored pj pants that are like SO two years ago and they are a smidge too short because I've washed them 283920809 times and things that start off long on me NEVER stay that way forever AND a long sleeved, thermal hoodie top that is mint green and very loose. And I have no makeup on. And now my breath smells like white wine withjust a hint of peach, vanilla, and Listerine. So sexy. I feel all like "electric love, plug me in".

It only took two blog entries to post a picture of my boobs. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It might even happen again. You know... to keep the interest of any of my male blog readers. And maybe some females. I can dig it. For now, it's out of the way and we don't all have to sit here and wonder..."when is she gonna do it? When will the boobs come?" Because that is totally what some of my readers are thinkin'. You know who you are.

~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~**~*~*~

I'm very upset at Netflix right now. I've been keeping track of this shit. We've been members now for quite some time. And every 4-5 months.... I don't get my new movies like I normally do, which is 1-2 days after they notify me that they have been sent out. I mailed two movies back on this past Saturday... they got them... and on Tuesday, the next two in my queue were mailed out. I don't have them. I should have had them by Wednesday. Thursday at worst case scenario. This is the pattern EVERYTIME from all the months past. I really, really think this is what they do to all their members every few months.. so that it seems less conspicuous that they are fucking with you. Subtle, they think they are....mMMMmmmm.

If I had either of those two movies by Wednesday, as I should have... I would have already watched at least one of them [Little Miss Sunshine, probably] and already returned it and could have quite possibly had yet another movie from my queue mailed to me... all by tomorrow or maybe Monday at the latest. So I don't think I'm getting my $19.07 worth for this month. I'm watchin' you, Netflix. I won't hesitate to go to BlockBuster now that they do that thing where I can drive my ass to the store with my 'mailed movies' and exchange them RIGHT THEN AND THERE. I'll do it. I swear. I don't wanna, 'cause I'm hella-lazy, but I will.

*evil squint at Netflix as I mark my calendar with this incident

in order to keep tabs on the situation*

I found this saying today and found it to be cute:

A glow worm is never glum… Because, how can you be grumpy when the sun shines out of your bum?

Oh great, she's starting her own blog site.

My new thing: Life cereal with clusters of chocolate covered oats.

I finally have found use for this huge salad bowl!

What am I listening at this very moment: Sweet the Sting, Tori Amos

Why I started this blog: Evidently, I have fans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*******************

boring things about me:

My blog name is Asherbelle. My birth name is Thor. But people in real life call me Asha. I am married. Again. I have two awesome kids. I am a big-time carnivore. I’m pretty tall. Not like 5’7 above average tall, but a flatfooted 5’11 + ¼” yes ¾” shy of 6’ tall. I’m a scorpio. I’m pretty much evil.

there are so many random neat things about me:

I once had poop on my finger. And I had no choice but to leave it there for 12 minutes, unless I wanted to wipe it on my favorite jeans.

Talking about the poop finger bothers me.

My favorite band in the whole wide world is Pink Floyd.

I color my font all the time.

The title of my blog is stolen from a song, before anyone thinks that I am trying to take credit for coming up with it on my own.

I have a big dog. I have a little dog. I have Two cats. I will introduce each of them in time as they are a constant source of entertainment….and horribleness.

I’m all about eating breakfast for dinner.

I have mad typing skills. I type over 75wpm.

Yeah. It’s on my resume.

THIS NEXT PART IS THUPER IMPORTANT SO YOU DON'T ONE DAY GET PERPLEXED AND WONDER WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE:

In everyday talking, even in real life, I often incorporate my own deliberate lisp into certain words and replace the “s” with the sound of "th". I have done this ever since I saw the movie “Multiplicity” back in 1996.
For example:

thuper = super

thpecial=special

thee monther=sea monster [I use this one a lot]

thweet=sweet

thcared=scared

dithguthing=disgusting

jeebus = jesus, which doesn’t have anything to do with a lisp, unless I use it with… crith. And I will.

Rarely would I replace the ‘s’ in, let’s say, "piss off [you stupid slut]" because If I am saying those things, I probably mean it and am not tryin' to be funny.

oh, I drop the f-bomb. . . . . A lot.

Like... it's fucking ridiculous.

For real.

I do not like to be licked. By a human or non-human.

I have an endless amount of opinions swirling about my head and I will most definitely argue with someone if given a chance.

I have a difficult time spelling the words, definitely, separately, psychic *note, I spelled this word correctly just now. End note* and refrigerator. I used to have a hard time spelling exercise but I seemed to have figured that one out after my excessive use of the spell check. Not so much on the others, though.

I often do not make use of the shift button on my keyboard to capitalize my words so don't bother pointing a finger at my slipshod ways. I already know.

And I don't care how shotty and lazy it looks. This is a blog, for crying out loud.

I at times refer to a thesaurus to find words like “slipshod”.

I don’t wear thong underwear.

Unless, that is, I am wearing white pants. But this is rare because white pants make me look... wide.

I refuse to poop in public bathrooms.

Hell, I practically refuse to poop in my own bathroom.

I am fanatical about the use of proper grammar when I write. And when you write, too, for that matter. A typo is one thing, but please, please, PLEASE learn that: a lot is, in fact, two words; to and too mean completely different things; the word their is possessive whereas there is like:

::in best Homer Simpson voice::

“Oh, I want to be in that rumba,

When the saints go over there.

Oh over there! Oh over there!”

And for the love of Pedro…. Puh’lease do not use a double negative when you speak unless you are trying to be ridiculous. Like I’ll say sometimes: “Well, I don’t NOT eat things that have been on the floor for longer than what the 5 second rule forgives."

Things I’m terrified of: spiders, drowning, being hit by a freight train, death [when and where], clowns, returning in my next life as a plunger.

I often wonder: what it would be like to get a paper cut in your eye; why I am afraid of being hit by a train; about the infinite mysteries and secrets of the cosmos; how many times Kirstie Alley, Janet Jackson, and Oprah Winfrey are each going to loose 76 pounds. I’m not hatin’ on the ladies… I’m just sayin’.

Alrighty then. I think that 'bout sums it up. As my official first blog entry, I just wanted to toss out some tid-bits about me. If you're still with me, I hope you plan on staying for the long haul.

Or I will seek you out. I know people.

I'm not quite sure what I plan on doing with this whole blog thing. But I can tell you that I'm certain some of my entires will be silly, some sad, some profound. I'm a rainbow of colors. Or a rainbow of shit. However you might look at it.

What am I listening to at this particular moment: Don't Panic, Coldplay.

the end. bitches.

a special shout out to my sista' Chloe... I've always wanted an excuse to use Homer's rendition of "When the Saints go Marching in"