Stop looking at my Tortilla.

Are you Ready? Because Dum dada DUUUuuuUUm......

Tada.

The most unflattering photo of all time has been taken of me, thanks to Neil's photography skills and trained artist eye! Thanks Neil. Thanks.

So I went to a zombie themed dinner soiree dressed as a zombie-bitten surgical nurse, so what? Who doesn't do that sometimes? What do you think I do in my spare time? Huh? Scrapbook? Not likely. Not that I don't think your scrapbooks are really well glued or anything. It's just not my thing.

So anyway, there was some magical pink hummus there and I'll just let you know that it tasted pretty awesome, as you can see from this photo that Neil snapped of me enjoying it. I am working pretty hard here to get the entire tortilla shoved into my face without worrying too terribly much about my dignity. Surgical Zombie nurses don't have any dignity.... Don't want to miss any of it, there, Self. Good Job. (Thanks. ) (You're welcome)

Anyhow, since this is easily one of my most unflattering shots, including my post-partum Shuswap beach photo set of 2003, I slapped that baby up on facebook for everyone to admire. Since then, I've been going back to it and saying to myself, "Self," I say, "How much worse could this even be?" How much better? Time for some photosciencesorcery!" So I went to work, finding out some answers and here are my results:

How would I look if I was Kelly Clarkson in this photo of me with a brain-hummus tortilla chip hanging out of my face? Like a rockstar, pretty much. Nice corset, Self. Thanks, it's not really mine. Oh? Yeah, it's Kelly Clarkson's. Well it's pretty slimming. That's because it's a corset.. it has fake whale bones in it. Uh huh..uhuh....I see.... That's a tiny jacket, huh? *awkward silence* Yeah, Self. It's the style.

This photo almost exactly depicts the mood of the evening, if it had been a business stock-photo shoot, which is wasn't- so stop asking so many questions. Just back off, I'm trying to do something here.

Kewpie dolls are basically the cutest things you can get. Their webbed groins obviously don't even ruin their cuteness, because who's even looking, right? Not me....but this photo of my face even ruins Kewpie. Amazing, eh?

Totally even ruins a Jolie-Pitt baby. Unbelievable.

I think it kind of suits the Sarah Palin one. Spewing pink hummus/getting North Korea & South Korea confused. Whatevski. Oh hey- Sarah Palin/PARASAILIN' Get it? You just kind of mix up the letters there and you get "parasailin" from.... uh.. nevermind..

Can it even ruin Princess Leia's metal bikini? Hello. Yes it can. But who's looking at my tortilla anymore? Me. That's who. Gross. Stop it. Stop, I'm not even listening to you. *lalalalaaa*

This one actually isn't photoshopped. That's just me on my hope-mobile, wheelin' through a playground is all.

Kittens are cute, right? WRONG.




Well that was pretty fun. Try not to all fall in love with me at once. Take turns. Pace yourselves. Stay hydrated and all that.

This is how Batman got his start...

(I find these photos of my soul mate, here, pretty much irresistible.)

...His mom sewed him a bat-hooded beach towel and it just kind of got out of control.

I made one for my soon-to-be 7 year old tonight, but he's in bed so he couldn't model it. Neil graciously modeled in his stead. If I can just get him to take it off, I'll give it to Ben.....

Now watch this while you think about those photos:

Beach Vampire Bingo

Eddie Cullen. Forks prom night, 1977. Who says you can't makeover hospital gowns into evening attire? Vampires have many varied skill sets.

So. I watched a Twilight movie. I know, you guys- but I needed to know what the fuss was about for people over the age of 25. I still need to know, because as far as I can tell, it's just a cacophony of depressed teenagers being extremely serious & deep (as teenagers are world renowned for) while running around in the forest, getting into predicaments and making out and then deciding NOT to make out at the last second because it's too dangerous. Seriously, it's like Stephanie Meyer found the deep, dark, black velvet-lined, thesaurus-ravaged poetry anthology that I wrote when I was fifteen and just filled it in here and there with sparkles. I hadn't thought of mixing my mom-making-me-do-my-chores induced depression with sparkly magic boyfriends or I would be filthy rich today. Plus none of my boyfriends were very sparkly OR magic , except the ones who have had braces (Sorry ex boyfriends who are no doubt pouring over this blog every day with their regrets for letting this gem get away. We can still be friends, some of you.)- but that is entirely beside the point.

There is a glaring piece of history in this novel that needs to be filled in *fingertap x3*: What was Edward Cullen doing between the years of 1901 and 2003? I'm sure he didn't just sit around twiddling his thumbs and draining cats. He seems like a stylish feller. I mean, sure, Bella Swan came along and blew him off his feet with her great attitude, because in allll those years, those DECADES AND DECADES, there was nobody more interesting than a pissy little 17 year old whiner with zero sense of humor and a ton of baggage. Uh huh. Not to mention, she smells like BBQ to him.What we learn here is that the way to a man's heart is solely through his stomach, which means that smelling like meat 24/7 = win for everyone!

In fact, since seeing it, every morning I dab a little bit of Dorito cheese powder behind my ears to drive Neil wild with lust. Then he's all, "I would kiss you right now, but I don't want to hurt you..." and I'm like, "DAMMIT, I overdid it when I switched to the cool ranch Dorito cheese powder." Then Neil is all, "I am leaving and never coming back. To protect you." So then I say, "Then I'm making friends with the neighbor's Pomeranian and when it turns into a real boy, I'm getting it to fix the minivan and then I'm jumping in front of a bus and you'll HAVE to come back. To save me." Then he's like, "Damn. You are clever. Let's get married" So then I say, " SHa. Right. I'd have to get divorced from my OTHER husband for that to happen, speaking of undead." Then we laugh and gaze at each other, then look away in pain. Then we almost makeout, but I have to run out of the room in my flowing dress. We're just like Edward & Bella, only like 30 years later or something- and with a mortgage and no time to sit in our bedrooms and pout from the months of October until March. Plus he's even older than me. What a dirty old perv, eh? Yeah totally.

AAaanyhoo, what this pedophile, Edward, has going for him though- is his dazzlingly great looks! Just like Luke Perry, he can still pass for 17 at the age of 38, 76 and finally 102! I'm sure there are more than a few priests out there who would give their eye teeth (if they have any left- ho ho ha ha hee, *sigh* funny funny stuff, Self.) to be immortalized as a sparkling 13 year old.. Nobody would eEEeeEEver suspect what kinds of shenanigans they were up to in their forever-disguises as adolescents. Not even the Pope. Anyhow, enough digressing about vampire *pedophiliac church deacons. I am actually here to discuss the metamorphosis of Mista Cullen:

Ed on his way to his first Werewolf war. AwwWWww!

What do you mean you didn't notice??

Edward purchases his first automobile, 1920ish. What a wild day when he took it 4x4ing. Luckily he had the guns mounted on the roof loaded with silver bullets to ward off snickering werewolves when they could walk faster than he could drive and then later when he was cranking up the engine. He can't wait for trans-ams to be invented.


Ed sporting his stylin' new zoot suit. What a riot!


Just hangin' out with his satin, brocade dinner jacket, 1963. Chillin' out. Just Chillaxin' and being a vampire. He wasn't going to be any dirty 60s hippy; no, he was gonna be cruisin' the laydays...


Edward adopts his 'animals only' vegetarian-vampire diet. Silly Edward confused monkeys with monkees.

Edward "Sazzle" Cullen briefly performs with the band, Queen. He could even go out in the sun for a while and people just thought his sparkles were sequins. This is when he was also experimenting with supertight perms.

Edday Cull-an. Fashioning hisself after the (almost?) late Leif Garret. Is that guy dead? I dunno. I'm not looking it up. WEET WOO! Old Ed has been a hearthrob through ALL the decades.
(Oh me, Oh my, OH NO! That vampire has a camel toe!)


Edward attends a gladiator pool party in 1982, sadly he has to sit in the shadows and just watch even though he KNOWS he could beat those guys.. Poor Edward.


Edward Cullen did some extra work for the popular family sitcom, ALF in the late 80s. Again, he had to be extra careful not to be caught under the show's lighting equipment so nobody would see his telltale vampire sparklies.


Ed moves onto the 80s fashion scene nice. and. smooth-like. Here he is in his 76th 11th grade photo.


Seriously? I'm the only one who noticed?

So, there we have a sneak peek into the history of Edward Cullen. I am going to go now and continue trying to figure out why grown people are excited about this. Don't we have enough on our plates dealing with REAL teenager mood swings? Why subject ourselves? I mean IIIII have a good reason. I need blog material. The rest of you. *tsk tsk* I am fascinated by this phenomenon. It's like adults buzzing about parent-trap or beach blanket bingo. I will never ever ever understand.

Where was Mr Cullen when all THIS was going on?


*is too a word. No... don't check.

NOW look what Neil has done- has he gone too far??

***He's sharpied 'Enno', the baby's precious Raggedy Anne. Enno was already getting pretty worn for wear, but really- give her a break, she's 25 years old. She has now been customized with stitches for a mouth, a large, black spiral around her heart and some age lines. Way to go, Neil. Eleanore's precious Enno now looks like something that Tim Burton would make at craft time. The sad fact is that we have to bring this doll everywhere we go if we value our lives. She is a vital component to our peace of mind and quiet-in-the-car-itude.

Is it creepier to photograph her in a sink full of water? I don't know... Enno isn't very modest these days. I worry. I think she's on the drugs. She hardly ever even wears clothes and now with these body modifications and tattoos, I wonder if she hung around the sock zombies for a little too long. I had to put her in the sink to try and sober her up. Get a hold of yourself, Enno!!

Honestly, just look at those empty, junky eyes. THIS is what William S. Burroughs was talking about you guys. This is what naked lunch means.

All I know is that I jeeee-ust can't wait to take my child out with this naked, Crystal-Methity-Anne doll gripped tightly in her pink little fingers. Thanks alot, NEIL.

***disclaimer- Neil might not actually be responsible for this. He claims he was on his way home from work when it happened- and Eleanore did have a permanent marker line that went from her eyebrow to her upper lip when she came around the corner with Enno... but who's to say that Neil didn't sneak home and sharpie the baby, too? Nobody is actually claiming responsibility here.

SWF

Well hey there, what's your name?

Uh huh, yeah guys , see? I can totally hit stuff with my spoon.

This is so awesome! We all like doing the same kinds of thi....

..wait a minute...

Psh. Can you even believe those posers tried to copy my dinosaur t-shirt?

AllllLLlright. I'm still here.

Nag naggy nag.

So it was Christmas. Honestly, I have been holding out because I want you all to savour the horrible, horrible, horrible, horrid, unspeakable, vile, horrible, offensive, wonderful new 4th installment of the annual Traditional Ugly Christmas pants that I got for Neil (Click here to see the past three pairs). Truly, there have never been worse pants ever made. Whoever is responsible needs to be found out and crowned the Evil Pants-Master of Christmas. They are the sum of our nightmares, in fact I'm pretty sure they are responsible for world hunger AND Nancy Grace's personality. The worst thing is that they were the last ones. This means that several other people also bought the same ones.. possibly as serious gifts for people... or maybe someone saw them and thought, "OoOoooH... This print is going to work perfectly for hiding that extra holiday weight I've put on!" Or perhaps someone bought them all as a Holiday kindness and burned them. WELL. They missed a pair. HehehEHHEheheheh!

This is the fourth year running that I have searched far and wide to find the most offensive roadie pants on the planet. Every year, I feel that I've outdone myself and then every year- Eureka!! I find worse. This year, it was like Rudolph shone his glorious spot-bat-light on them in the ugly pants paradise store. I left the place clutching my plastic bag to my heart while giggling like a maniac. Oh I am a HORRIBLE GENIUS!!!!!

The thing is... he hasn't gotten them yet. Our family is having our late Christmas tomorrow morning and I decided to have him wait until then. I just know he's bubbling over inside with foreboding willies anticipation.

But the very best thing about this wonderful Christmas tradition is later in the year when I see a stranger at a gas station, mustache wafting in the breeze, scenting the air all around with beef jerky and red bull, wearing the very same pants that I got for Neil. It just makes my whole year. I suppose I'll never know if anyone else has last year's identical lime green and red Portugal underpants that I bought him to match his generic beerpants... But one must always hold out hope.

Just look at the love for me in his eyes last Christmas! Everyone loves Portugal Underpants! Especially Scottish Men like my Neily. I thought they would be so dashing under his kilt! He's so lucky to get to live with me and all of my magical holiday ideas.

I'll post a picture of the wonderful moment tomorrow, so you'll have to wait until then to see them. I just know that you will probably not even leave your computers. You are just dying for your eyes to take them in and imprint onto your brain they way that they have imprinted onto mine.

People of Walmart- Living the Dream.

Neil and I were invited to a very ostentatious dinner party tonight. It was wonderful that there was a 'scary' dress code, because it gave us an opportunity to fulfill our dream of being real. live. Walmart people. Nothing is scarier. Nothing.

I know. It is such a convincing belly; and pretty flattering.

Just like in High School.

Isn't he HANDSOME? He even cut his own hair for the occasion. *swoon* THAT is dedication.

Yep. Alert Readers, you've probably noticed that those ARE the mudflap girl pants I bought for him for Christmas three years ago. I'm just so glad they can be put to such rigorous, good use.

We were thrilled that the dessert platter of Joe Louis cakes & twinkies were so well received at the party. For real. Everyone secretly loves twinkies. The pork rinds, though... I couldn't bear to let anyone actually eat them... ewww.

Also, I want everyone to note how artfully Minnie Mouse's fingers are caressing my fake belly button. Gross eh? It's perfect.

Swanky, huh?

The Walmartian Abduction Risk (and pet alligators)

I basically live in crippling fear of being featured on the People of Walmart blog. I loathe Walmart as it is, but sometimes I have no choice. Like if twilight posters or glue on googly eyes are on sale or something, and I'm making googly eyed twilight crafts that day- I have to go. I'm chained by price rollbacks like a pet alligator on a leash. "Sure I'm here. I'm going to bite your knees off in a minute th....OOoOoh! Are those Mr Clean Magic Erasers really only 99 cents??? Oh, I'd better get loads!". Then live in self loathing for the rest of the day, with the magic erasers spread around me like ill begotten blood money. "WHAT HAVE I DOOOOOOOONE???? I said I'd never do this again! I'm sorry family and loved ones. I am sorry", as I scrub and scrub and scrub away the dirty feeling.

But what if one day, I realize that I have to go there at like 11 pm and I'm already in my purple velvet mini skirt and "Git r Done, America" sleeveless denim print work shirt tied at the midriff and the only shoes I can find are my white, thigh high, vinyl, six inch, high heeled boots with extra zippers and my pink feathered shabby cowgirl hat that I bought out of a trans-am on the side of the highway one day when I was driving to the country fever beaver festival with my internet cousin, Starla_Dawn58 and what if our beat up old truck broke down with nary another traveller in sight? Then what if we spotted the man with the black t-top trans am selling his wares, thinning & worn out sandy mullet blowing in the wind, wrangler jeans, the crater in his shirtless pigeon chest collecting morning dew as he lay on the hood of his spectacular hot rod?.... Then the punishing decision... should I buy the rose/kitten print, beadazzled, artfully shredded and beaded t shirt.. or feathered cowboy sunhat...? Or should I just cut the legs off of my white nylons and wear the gusset on my head? What if that happened?



And then what if I have to hurry because Walmart is closing and I'm never going to make it on time so I just throw on a Lucky Charms Members only jacket and head on over. And then what if someone takes a photo of me and decides that it should go on the Walmartian website? I will be soooo mortified, you guys. I wouldn't even have time to mace them.


But for real. What if I pass out from Sprawlmart/McDonalds fumes one day and fall into one of their clothes racks, get tangled up, come to and stand up only to realize that a pimp did my make up while I was passed out and I'm all surrounded by fizzy mouthed Walmart paparazzi and BINGODAMMIT- a picture of me tangled up in tube tops and green checkered jeans ends up the internetz.

I hope that doesn't ever happen.

I got a new haircut

And here it is on Mr T:

And here it is on the Godfather:

And here it is on a smoking supernerd:

Looks pretty nice, eh? And yes, you're absolutely right, I DID go with a darker shade of blonde this time. Yes, those are caramel highlights, too. Good eye, Reader.

Maybe sometimes you just have to hit rock bottom.

This morning, while slurping away at my coffee and reading my new book about people suddenly turning immortal (no, it's not the bible OR twilight), I found myself humming a tune. Later this morning, while replenishing the coffee maker, I found that I was doing a little boogying with the humming. However, the final straw was when I began brushing my teeth and blurted out a line to a song that I know everyone has now heard, spewing toothpaste suds, eyes shut, toothbrush held in front of me like a microphone. I'm such a twit (an awesome twit). I was downright trippin' the light fantastic.

But then, I opened my eyes and saw standing there, dripping spitty greenish toothpaste froth into the sink, wearing mens pajama pants with Las Vegas print on them, my hair still snarled and mashed to one side of my head and staring at me was my very own reflection. I clutched my toothbrush and I realized what had happened. Miley Cyrus. Miley Cyrus. Oh. My. God. I've been corrupted by Miley Cyrus's new pop song. I do not approve of this.... The horror ran my bones as cold as the first time I looked into a dark bathroom mirror as a child, took a breath and said aloud, "Bloody Mary Bloody Mary Bloody....... Miley?"

You see? This is what happens when you raise your ear from ground. You get pulled in by the music you hear on TV commercials for new cellular ring tones. You start to like it. Apparently I haven't turned on my stereo in a really long time. It's because people need music and when you're starved, any old thing tastes great. Even Miley Cyrus.

But what to do? I feel for the kid. The ultra rich, gorgeous, grinning kid. Poor thing. She was born with real talent that was immediately commandeered and shaped by the despotism of The Disney, like those people who grow cubed watermelons in a plexi box. Cubed watermelons look cool, but did they want to be cubed? Nobody will ever know. And you gotta get 'em when they're still little. All I know is that they just naturally look less appetizing and too stackable. Much like all of the Disney Pop Stars before they were chewed and spat out into the sharks by Disney, used up. Never eased into adulthood with grace, each one has had to 'shake off' her childish image by behaving like a rhinestone crusted superskank for the cameras so that they might shock the world into realizing they are not a Mickey Mousekateer anymore. When thrown in prison, act crazy to keep the masses from raping you. Same survival tactic.

She didn't even have a chance. She really didn't, with her Dad being Billy Ray Cyrus, the one hit sellout country mullet God. He ran out of chances to sell himself out, so he sold his daughter to Disney in a blonde wig, telling himself and everyone why it is perfectly okay and it's different than when other people do it etc etc... Because afterall- she got an allowance juuuuust like a normal, well adjusted teenager. And it has paid off for him in a very big way. She's a bigger star than he could have ever hoped to be himself. However, the price being that all of her natural talent has been squeezed into a Pop Princess, do-it-for-the-tweens, let's do a fashion line, real popstars don't act like regular teenagers, hot pink, made to order, squeaky clean, plexi cube. What's that? An original thought? We have pills for that, Lardass. And they are now superduper rich. Whatever it takes, I guess. I do feel bad for her, because her life was snatched up and unless she performs a miracle, she will be the next gal to be shoved onto the train wreck with Britney Spears and Christina Whatsherface. Hopefully she'll salvage some of her talent and be taken seriously at one point in her life.

Way to crank 'em out there, Disney.

So, I can't help it if a teen focus group wrote a catchy song for her and I've caught the pop princess one hit plague. What can I do? I can't get it out of my head. My mind has betrayed me. I want to shake myself and then give myself a good slap and yell, "Pull yourself together for the love of God!!!" I am doing what I can to quarantine myself and get it out of my system. I'm going to have to give my mind a good washing out. A Joey Ramone Mind Enema (patent pending). That's what. (Tell me that there are support groups. I'm falling apart here.)

In the mean time, I have to go put my hands up, it seems that there is some sort of party in the USA that must be attended to. Or maybe I should just walk into traffic. Or dance. Yeah... I'll dance into traffic. WOoOooOHhooOOOo!