Smooth move, Exlax

Tee, hee, hee. My Dad used to say that all the time when I did something stupid and it still make me chuckle.

So I’m wondering, is there an Exlax specifically for bloggers? Because I have been backed up for some time. After Mr. Big Momma and I discussed my masturbatory habits for an hour or so tonight (another post, kittens, I promise!), I was telling him how neglectful I have been with my blog. And how I wasn’t really neglectful because I have 5 posts saved in Word that I just haven’t posted. He was curious as to why I haven’t posted them (see future, already written post to be posted someday…). I told him that I haven’t posted them because I wasn’t feeling them. The foundation was laid (you: mind, out of gutter, please), but the details weren’t falling into place. He then told me that sometimes you need to settle with “B” work. Ha! “B” work is not part of who I am, unless I am posting six beers in.

So here I am, 3 beers in and feeling the urge to post. I’m half way there. So for tonight, you get random thoughts.

Random thought #1: If you play tennis, you should have full sight. There is this woman on my tennis league who I really think is blind. I say this because her eyes seem unable to focus on a human being. Now it would be really interesting if she was blind and able to play tennis. I am fairly certain that she is not blind because every week she shows up and does in fact play tennis. But her googly eyes still are troubling to me….

Random thought #2: The best shot in tennis, if you are playing at the net, is to hit the ball directly at the person playing the net on the other side of the court. Even though my tennis skills are somewhat lacking, I still can do this from time to time. Every time I do it, I apologize. I did it to my tennis coach on Saturday and of course, apologized profusely. She told me to shut the hell up. So when I was telling this to Mr. Big Momma tonight, I told him that sometimes in sports, you have to take a ball to the face. I am so willing to do this. Take a ball to the face and congratulate the person who hit it for hitting the perfect shot. Unfortunately though, many of the women on this league to do not feel the same way. Maybe because I have been married for 10 years, I am just used to taking balls to the face. Thanks Mr. Big Momma for the prep work. And again, just a reminder, please get your mind out of the gutter. You are really sick. Sick, sick, sick. Tee, hee, hee….I just said balls, like, 80 times. Balls, ha, ha, ha!

Random thought #3: There is woman that I met several months ago who is almost certainly the future me. The me at 55. And I have to tell you that I love her. Not just because she is cool as hell, but because she calls me “kiddo.”

Random thought #4: My best gay calls me kitten. I love this moniker. In fact I told him several weeks ago over a brutal Uno game that he doesn’t call me kitten anymore and that I thought we were no longer BFF’s. In this case, BFF=best fruit fly. Because he is my best gay, he immediately kittened me all up and all was right in my world. Best gay’s can do that to a girl.

Random thought #5: Mr. Big Momma asked me tonight to choose my best moniker: kitten vs. kiddo. As if! I cannot and will not choose.

Random thought #6: Holy shit, it is almost 2009. Scary shit. Don’t even ask me about New Year’s resolutions. Too much FUS (fucked up shit) wrong with me to even consider.

Random thought #7: I swear, one of my resolutions is to post up the crap that I have socked away. Your NY resolution is to be very, very afraid.

Big Momma's deep thought

Does the rain wash away peoples' ability to drive?

Hit me baby one more time

.....Pretty please? And make it a good one. A good enough one to erase any and all memories of earlier today……

In case you forgot to mark it on your calendars, today was my big day. And Britney Spear’s Birthday, in case you forgot that too.

My BIG FAT SHOCKING DAY.

If you have no idea what I am talking about, please scroll down a few posts. That post (and this one too, I imagine) is not for the faint of heart. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.

So this morning at 8:30, I had the pleasure of getting anally raped by a tube, all while being catheterized. Plus I had enough electrodes on my ass to jump start a car. Kind of like a modern day, kinky Bride of Frankenstein.

The only good part of the procedure was the end of course, and the hug that I got on the way out from my nurse. I think that was the least she could do after violating me six ways to Sunday. I would have preferred to cuddle with her and share a smoke, but beggars can’t be choosers. And I really needed that hug.

All of this torture to find out that my urethra is too small. This is, unfortunately, the only small thing on my person. Big butt, big boobs, big hips, big mouth. I am starting to feel cursed. My small urethra prevents me from fully emptying my bladder. Basically, I am a walking bag of urine. A pee sack if you will.

The remedy is to have my urethra stretched, which I will not comment on because the reality of this hasn’t sunk in yet. I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that they will give me the good drugs for this procedure. The good drugs and lots of them. Excuse me while I go burn out a few Hail Marys.

When I got home from the doctor’s office, I changed into my sweats, curled up on the couch and got to working. I had Footloose on in the background in order to sooth my soul. About half way through the movie I came to the conclusion that having my urethra stretched is a lot better than not being able to dance. See, sometimes you need to put in all in perspective. I also ate a half pound of Anthony Thomas chocolate and I think that helped too.

Later I did some internet searching to find out a little more about this urethra stretching business. And let me tell you, I could not believe what I came across. Here is a rundown of the more interesting results that came up on Google, in no particular order.

Listen to urethra stretching radio. Sorry Kevin, no music for you!

A youtube video of Tom Urethra. I was too chicken to take a look. Plus, I was on my work laptop.

Urethra itchy diseases. ???

Urethra stretching, free dating: singles and personals.

Your urethra, the Portal of Evil. Amen to that.

Penis plugs. Not in my urethra you don’t.

Shopping for urethra stretching? You will find the best price at Apple Laser Toner Cartridge. See honey, always saving you money!

There were a plethora of websites talking about how “arousal” could be “enhanced” by 1. stretching your urethra, 2. inserting a vibrator into it or 3. inserting a penis into it. Oh my holy god.

The internet, although marvelous in its vast knowledge, sometimes scares the bejesus out of me.

I did come across this foxy lady on one of the sites:


She looks fiesty. And happy. I bet her urethra is of nornmal size. Bitch! After a second look, I'm not even sure that this is a woman. Geriatric drag queen, maybe.


I also came across this which I thought was kinda funny, given the day I had:




I bet she just had her urethra stretched.

To the beat of the rhythm of the night

While I made cookies this afternoon, the Mr. watched "Barry Gordy's the Last Dragon" without even a hint of embarrassment.

I haven't seen this movie since 1985 when it came out in the theatres. I don't remember a damn thing about it other than these few, ultimately useless facts:

1. It tried too hard to be The Karate Kid + Purple Rain. Morris Day and the Time presents, "Mr. Miagi's the Purple Dragon." Oh wee oh wee oh.

2. Prince wasn't in it.

3. Neither was Ralph Macchio.

Now the Mister on the other hand, was quoting lines from the movie. And when the damsel in distress came on the screen, I'm pretty sure I saw him tweaking his own nipples.

For those of you who don't remember, Vanity was the damsel in distress. Here she is, circa 85:

So readers, I'm hoping you can help us settle an argument. I personally feel that Vanity is the poor man's Apollonia. Mr. Big Momma disagrees. If you don't remember Apollonia, she was the damsel in distress in Purple Rain.

So please vote for your favorite damsel in the comments section. Our marriage thanks you.

P.S. Just as an FYI, the internet told me that Vanity was SUPPOSED to play Appollonia in Purple Rain. But please, don't let me influence your vote.

I hope your face falls off

I am a stalker. Seriously. Just ask anyone in my family. If I call you and you don't answer, I will call you until you do. I am charming in that way. Those I do this to (especially the hubby) certainly find it annoying. But I do think that stalkery (yes, I just made that up, wouldn't George W be proud!) is the ultimate form of flattery.

Or at least that is what I keep telling them.

In my constant efforts to mature, I have shifted my stalking efforts. See, I'm a big girl now! I am now a Facebook stalker. What is even more remarkable than this confession is the fact that I DO NOT have a Facebook account. That is where the stalking comes into play.

You see while in Chicago this summer visiting my friend T introduced me to The Facebook. Because I am a stalker, I memorized her username and password. You really can't trust me with anything. But, in my defense, T knows that I have been logging on as her and peeking around. During our weekly calls, we generally do a Facebook recap. There are a few high school friends that usually dominate the conversation. I guess not much has changed.....

I have thought many times about starting my own Facebook account, but I doubt that I ever will. Really, do I want to know what people from high school are up to? Not so much. The people that I want to keep in touch with, I already do. And I really have no desire to spark up a friendship with someone now, that I didn't even speak to in high school.

But what I do want to do is fuck with The Facebook. Understand that when I say want to do, I mean will never do. But I just can't control the evil part of my brain. Now just because I would never violate T's Facebook trust, doesn't mean I don't have a detailed laundry list of exactly what I would do with my own Facebook account.

Once logged into Facebook, you are encouraged to type something. There is a friendly box that states "What are you doing right now?" The something that you type there shows up on the pages of those you are friends with. In case you are not familiar, here are some examples of what people type:

Joe is waiting for his children to fall asleep.
Tammy is glad that tomorrow is Friday.
Billy just finished power washing his dog.

Blah, blah, blah. You get the idea. Here are some of my ideas:

Big Momma just squeezed out a dump in the shape of Mr. Potato Head.

Big Momma got sick of her son whining, so she bound and gagged him and locked him in the closet.

Big Momma is watching gay porn.

Big Momma just drank a case of beer and followed it with a percocet chaser.

Big Momma is hoping that none of her high school classmate fucks contact her here.

And so on, and so on. Oh the fun that I would have.

Another thing that Facebook shows is who you are friends with. For example, Tom and Sue are now friends. This drives me nuts. Who gives a shit, who gives a fuck?

It also can announce events others are attending. "Betty is attending a help me find my G spot seminar on Tuesday." You go girl. Please be sure to tell us when you find it.....

....cuz I'll be anxiously awaiting, while I stalk the pages of Facebook.

Technology. A curse and a blessing all in one neat, stalking package.

Who told him?

Looks like W found out about my Shocker Treatment.....

I'm pretty sure they took this picture in my honor....wishing me the best for my December shock therapy.

Am I the only one counting the days until this moron is no longer prez?

I am getting THE SHOCKER and I have to say that I am shocked.

Anyone that has been in my presence for more than an hour will tell you the following:

I am shockingly cute.
And perky.
And I pee a lot.

If they started “Peeing with the Stars,” I would totally dominate. Eventually I would become a judge because I so rule and I promise you that I would go Paula Abdul on their asses. Would you expect any less?

Unfortunately there are no contests or prizes for the most pees in a day. You can trust me on this one; I have searched long and far for them.

A few weeks ago I have my quad-annual physical. Not only do I pee a lot, but I am really lazy. My Doctor recommended that I visit a urologist. We had tried solving my problem several months before by limiting my fluid intake and with drugs, but neither worked.

So today at 3:15, I had the pleasure of visiting a urologist. I should have known while I was filling out the paperwork that I was in trouble. I actually took some notes of the more interesting questions that the paperwork asked me to answer:

Do you need pressure against your vagina to have a bowel movement?

Um, what? Honey, I’m trying to take a shit….I need some help!!!

Do you lose urine without any warning?

Lose urine???? Honey, have you seen my urine? I can’t seem to find it….

Do you ever wet the bed while asleep?

In case you were wondering, my answer was no.

Do you have reduced self-esteem, depression, frustration or nervousness?

Who doesn’t?

Because I pee more than 20 times per day (TMI? If you think this is TMI, trust me, you should stop reading this right the fuck now!), I am in the severe category. They basically start at the top of possibilities and work their way down. There are many things that could be wrong, from an irritated bladder lining, neurological problems or maybe leprechauns may have taken up residence in my bladder. So, the doctor gave me a different drug to try and is having me come back in for a Urodynamic Study.

Sounds interesting. Very scholarly. A study. A dynamic one at that.

So on my way home, I was telling my sister what I had found out. She asked, “What does a Urodynamic study mean? What exactly will they be doing?” I told her what the doctor had told me: stop taking your anti-pee meds 2 days before the procedure and come with a full bladder. Easy peasy!

Then I remember that I was stealthily handed a piece of paper on my way out. I thought maybe this would have the answers and boy did it. Talk about TMI. Here is what it says of the procedure:

And I quote…

First you will be asked to void (can’t they just say pee) on a special commode (how official! I feel like a queen!) where we can measure how fast and how much you urinate. We will then place a catheter (ouchy) into your bladder, and one into your rectum. We will put tiny surface electrodes on either side of your anus. (????)

And it goes on and on…..the torture that is. McCain style.

So I’m wondering now, what does my ass hole have to do with this? Can’t they just leave it alone? Isn’t the pee hole catheter enough? And don’t even get me started with the tiny surface electrodes. ON MY ANUS.

Baby’s got back, but not enough to surrender to anal electrode torture.

I think I’m going to get a second opinion….

They look like very kinky girrrrls....

...the kind you won't bring home to mutha!

Unless of course, she had just taken out a big life insurance policy in your name.



On Halloween the gang went down to the Short North for the Halloween Highball, where they actually served highballs. I didn't realize that highballs made it out of the 70s. Or maybe this was some weird gay reference that I don't know about. I'll have to ask my best gay.....



....who unfortunately ditched us for bigger (hopefully) and better things. Hey best gay, we did pour one out for you. And I think that C made out with a drag queen in your honor. It was kinda hot....



Anyway, just wanted to throw up a picture that I snapped, which proves that prostitution is alive and well in Cbus. I just wonder how much these two really rake in.....

....hopefully they still have day jobs.

Dem some skanky ass hoes, damn!

He is so damn good, he can ride a bike with no handle bars

Today, along with 60,000 others, I went to see Barack downtown. For those of you who missed it, here is a summary of what he said:

Look at me, look at me hands in the air like it's good to be ALIVE and on top

And "I'm Proud to be an American"

Look at me. Look at me. Just called to say that it's good to be ALIVE, In such a small world

I know how to run a business

And I can make you wanna buy a product

Movers shakers and producers

Me and my friends understand the future

I see the strings that control the systems

I can lead a nation with a microphone

With a microphone

With a microphone

My reach is global

My tower secure

My cause is noble

My power is pure

I can ride my bike with no handlebars

No handlebars

OK, so maybe that's not EXACTLY what he said. I stole these words from a song by the Flowbots. I heard it on my way home and couldn't help but think that this should be Barack's theme song. Anything to get him away from that awful Bruce Springsteen.....

And I'm pretty sure, even though I am very persuasive, that I couldn't get him to agree to use "Baby's Got Back" for his campaign song. Al Gore, maybe. But not Barack.

But I have to tell you that this man can lead a nation with a microphone. I saw it today. In the emotion of the crowd, in the passion seen on their faces. It was quite an amazing experience, one that I won't forget for a long time. The fact that one man brought out people from all walks of life, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, just to hear him speak and lend their support is SUPER DUPER AWESOME.

I just now hope that all of those moved by his speech get out there and vote.

Ho-lloween

Poles and holes.

The exact words my BIL uses to describe Halloween. And I have to say, after visiting several costume stores, he is right.

Halloween is an excuse for men to see holes and women to see poles. Are you picking up what I am putting down? If not, you should leave this site immediately and douse yourself in holy water. Holy water that has been blessed by the pope. Actually, if you stay, you should still probably douse yourself in holy water anyway, just to be safe. I hear it is like chicken soup for the soul. Oprah told me so.

A few weeks ago one of my girlfriends and I went to a Halloween shop, hoping to get inspired. We knew that we were going down to the Short North for the big Halloween partaaaay this year, but at that time, had no idea what our costumes would be. And I'll tell you that neither one of us were divinely inspired. We were shocked at the choices.

Slutty nurse
Slutty witch
Paris Hilton. No adjectives required.
Slutty zombie.
Slutty Freddie Kruger. Don't you know guys did chicks with long nails? I blame Alanis Morissette.
Slutty slut
Slutty Pippy Longstockings
Slutty sorcerer
Sexy kitten


And on and on and on. What would Pope John II think?

So with empty hands we walked out of the store. Neither of us was down with the slutty vibe. Even if we were, neither of us was down for spending $60 on a costume. Everyone knows that slut costumes, because of their lack of fabric, should be at least 30% off.

So what am I going to be for Halloween?

Simple.

Big Momma in a pink wig. That is all I have the energy for. Plus, I've always wanted pink hair, cut into a short bob. And my hole will not be showing. Just in case you were wondering.....

Happy Halloween people! Don't eat too much candy!!!

Fool in the rain

I am a total idiot for buying Halloween candy 5 days before the big day. It is half gone and the circumference of my ass has already doubled. Hopefully it will not experience exponential growth.

Dirty little secret

Well, here I am. Almost nine on Sunday night. Work is done. Check. Exercised today? Check. Jr.'s homework? Check. Now I just need to fall asleep.

Last night I struggled to stay awake for the OSU game. I made the sacrifice for my good friend Jim Tressel and his boys. Unfortunately my encouraging words weren't heard. It was a sad night in the Big Momma household. I even had on my Buckeye socks. Sometimes, you just can't do enough. Buckeye shirt? Check. Red bra? Check, check. Red undies? Check, check, check. I suited up but spent the game on the bench. Ok, really, the couch. But promise not to tell Tressell. It will be our little secret.

Back to tonight and trying to get some sleep. Not going to be an easy one. Too much going on upstairs. I wish there was an on/off switch. Actually, I probably don't because it would certainly spend more time in the off position. And then I would need to be fed thru a tube and someone would have to change my diaper. I don't think that anyone is up for the task.

What am I trying to say here? Lots. But it just can't seem to get it into the form of words or sentences. And forget about punctuation. That is a whole nother football game. And there is a lot going on right now. A lot that I can do nothing about. Other than hope it all works out for the best.

But here is a question for you married folk: If someone tells you a secret, do they assume that said secret will be shared with your spouse? I guess I always assume that to be so. Unless of course, you tell your sister that you think her husband cheats during tennis matches. She certainly wouldn't share that. Probably because she knows I am right. Just joshing Nill....NOT.

But what if said secret is a juicy one. A secret that secretly is good news. A secret that doesn't deserve to be a secret in the first place? A secret that is a blessing in disguise? Have you ever typed a word so much (ie, secret) that you question if you are spelling it right? That is where I am right now.

Questioning. I know the who, what, where and when, just not the WHY.

I wish I had all of the answers. Or at least a magic wand to make everything as right as it deserves to be.

To close, some lyrics:

Beyond my control - we all need control. I need control - we all need control.

I am the Modren Man - secret secret -

I've got a secret. Who hides behind a mask - secret secret -

I've got a secret So no one else can see - secret secret - I've got a secret

A prize to anyone who can give me the song and band. No cheating of course. There are no secrets here......

Hey friends, come on over, drink some wine, sit on my lap.....

OK, I must admit that I seriously love this show. Despite the more manly than ever Brooke Shields.

But do you know any women who would sit like this?

Who exactly are the marketing people trying to target here? I guarantee, not matter how you present it, NO men will ever watch this show.

Richard Simmons is my friend

Last night was our final tennis match of the summer season. The top 4 teams played. Unfortunately we had to play the #1 team. They are #1 due to some strategic serves, excellent ball placement and steroids.


After they kicked our butts, Mr. Roid came up to me. Now I have never once spoken to him and I truly don't even know his name. Here is how our conversation went:


Mr. Roid: "Big Momma, I just want to say keep up the good work."


(This is said as he grabbed and held both of my hands.)


BM: "Thanks?"


I had no idea what he was talking about. At first I thought that maybe he was complementing my tennis game....


Mr. Roid: "I just wanted to say keep up the weight loss. You look really good."


BM: "Thanks?"


Fade to black. Big Momma walks away, wondering what just happened.


I seriously felt like he knew about my secret past. That Richard Simmons had once rescued me by forklifting me out of my bed and delivered me on a flat bed truck to fat camp. He then forced me to wear really small athletic shorts and "deal my meals," while sweating to the oldies.


I will admit, while I have never been grossly overweight, I struggle with my weight, as most 35 year old women do. I will also admit that I joined Weight Watchers in September and am closing in on losing 10 pounds. For the last 10 years, I have participated in WW on and off. I mainly do it when feeling a little chubby and when I know my portion sizes have gotten out of control. My goal was to lose 10% of my body weight and I am nearly there.


So why did I take such offense to his comment? I will sum in up right here. It is really obnoxious to say to someone, even after losing a few pounds, "Boy, you look really good." It implies that you looked really bad before. I thankfully do not suffer from a poor body image. I did WW to primarily work on my health. It FORCES me to eat better, knowing that each and every week, I get weighed by a stranger. The fact that I have to pay $12 each week helps too.

So in order to move on, I would like to rewind and respond with any of the following:

Mr. Roid: "I just wanted to say keep up the weight loss. You look really good."

BM: "Thanks, chemo will do that to you."

BM: "Thanks, the side effects of binging and purging are AMAZING."

BM: "Thanks, go fuck yourself."

BM: "Thanks, go fuck yourself you roid infested, shrunken ball loser. I hope your dick shrivels up and falls off. In your wife's mouth."

Thank you, I'm officially over it.

Fun Monday: Doodle edition

It has been a few weeks since I've participated in Fun Mondays, simply because Monday is no longer fun for me. Thank you career! But here I am, trying to carve some time in my schedule for a task that I very much enjoy.

This week our host is 9 Acres and here is her challenge:

Your job is to doodle this week. Start with the number 9, for Nine Acres, of course. Draw the number 9 in red and then use a different color for the rest of your doodling. That way we can all see where the original 9 was in your doodle. It is up to you how you incorporate the 9 into the doodle. It can look like something we know, or it can just be shapes. It can be colorful, or can be one color, besides the red 9. When you are finished with your doodle, take a picture of it or scan it and post it on Monday.

I don't very often doodle because I am in front of customers all day. I think though that some of my more, shall we say uninterested customers, probably wouldn't even notice if I started doodling in front of them. Some of them might also not notice if I striped down and did the polka in front of them while singing the Star Spangled Banner. Professors tend to be a boring and sometime side-tracked bunch. Now if I striped naked and danced while reciting the elements of the periodic table, I might get their attention. And a large book order.

So, given that I don't doodle often, when I do doodle, it is always the same doodles. You can view my doodles by clicking here. I will caution you that watching me doodle is a slow and boring process. Not at all like my nude Star Spangled Banner number. But lucky for you, there is a button which you can push to speed up my doodling. I would recommend speeding it up unless you are fresh out of Tylenol PM.

Once my doodling task was complete, I was to visit this site so that they could be interpreted.

Here are my findings:

My doodles prove what I have known for years: that I am a psycho who needs daily therapy sessions. And piles of Xanax and Lithium, just like Britney Spears. More specifically they reveal the following:

I am aggressively ambitious, yet romantic, with a strong desire to blossom and be fruitful in life. Kinda sounds like a description of a fine wine. Apparently I am a hermaphrodite because I not only doodle the most popular female doodles, but I also draw boxes which are manly doodles.

The mystery comes into play with my ‘house’ doodles. Now I don’t draw them because I want to draw a house, I draw them because it is a game I learned in 6th grade. You must draw the house, without lifting your pen from the paper. As you can see from my live doodle feed, I am very good at this. I am not good at fractions, because I was a bit too preoccupied with the house challenge. But please don't tell my 6th grade teacher. My sister and I were her favorite students....I would hate for our images to be tarnished.

So there you have it. A bit of insight into all that is Crazy Big Momma. Now go make your Monday fun and visit the rest of the participants!

The hardest part

Tom Petty famously sang "The waiting is the hardest part." For some reason today, I couldn't get this lyric out of my head. It is probably because, even though I love this song, I couldn't disagree more. Parenting is the hardest part. Let me be more specific: Parenting a teenager is the hardest part. And trust me that it is THE hardest when a girl in 4 inch pink heels comes to your door, picks up your son and drives off with him.

Without even a second glance in your direction. Not just from her, but from him.

Especially when, prior to driving off, you can see the sparks in their eyes as they look one another over. Him as handsome as ever in a black suit, tailored to fit his broad shoulders and lean frame. Her as gorgeous as ever, reminding you of a young Julia Roberts, in a dress without straps and the aforementioned heels. Pink heels. Did I remember to tell you that they were 4, FOUR inch heels. How scandalous!

At least it was for me.

I am starting to realize that my efforts to keep him MINE are pointless. And probably a bit selfish. An infinity of my homemade bread loaves, cookies and chicken papriksh do not matter. There is nothing I can do to keep him as mine and mine alone. He will always be a part of me, but not mine exclusively. And for this mere fact, I am sad. At 16, he is like a rubber band. Pulling one minute toward his friends, girlfriend etc., at the same time getting farther from me. Another minute rebounding to his father and myself because we are good and safe and still comforting to him. The strings of his rubber band seem to oscillate faster and faster with every waking moment. I am just afraid that his rubber band will succumb to the pressure and break, flinging him far, far, far away from me. But, no matter how far he is flung, I will immediately set out on my way to collect him and bring him back.

Fling. Flang. Flung.

Fe. Fi. Fo. Fum.

I certainly am the biggest dum dum.

A sucker. A complete sucker. But I just can't help myself.

Prior to any teen oriented activity which takes place outside of my home, I always go over the rules with Jr. No drugs, no drinking, no smoking and most importantly no sex. Always be a gentleman. And he knows what I mean by this, because we painfully, at least for him, had the conversation about this a few months ago. You must remember that I am shameless in my topics of discussion with him. Nothing is off limits. I feel that by reviewing the do nots, they will not happen. Whatever gets me thru the day, right?

I have a ritual that I do as he walks out of the house, as I am pathetically watching from the front door. I say under my breath "Don't have sex. Don't have sex. Please, don't have sex."

I guess I am hoping that if Jr. hears my Tom Petty song, he will agree with Tom. The waiting is the hardest part. Because he is waiting, just like I've asked him to do.

Deja vu

I hate to get political, but Holy Cow, America! Does this remind you of this? There is a reason that beauty queens should not run for office. Besides, I don't think I could listen to Palin's voice for 4 years.

I can't wait for the VP debates. Set your TiVo's people, it is guaranteed to be good and worth a replay or two!

As if you needed another reason NOT to vote for them

What you didn't know about the Republican Candidates will shock you.

Die Celine, Die!!!

I seem to be in a bit of a funk the last few days. I'm blaming it on the friend who had the nerve to call me on Monday and ask if I wanted to go see Celine Dion. Even I'm not that lame. But alas, I know that my heart will go on......hang on please, I just barfed in my mouth.

Ahem.

Proof that the internet is full of crap!

Tonight I had dinner and drinks with some girlfriends. These are girlfriends that have known me my entire life. We find when we get together, no topic is off limit. Because I generally am interested in CRAP, we were discussing our recent BMs and how mine of late have been green. Not Kermit green, more of a military green, in case you were wondering. My sister, in her infinite wisdom, told me to look on the internet in order to figure out what was going on. Here is one of the more interesting sites that I found:

green poop and stomachaches
Posted 02.18.2004 by Poonurse (1313)

Michelle asks:
My five year old has had bright green bowel movements for about a week now and has also complained about stomach aches quite a bit. What do you think?

Hi, and thanks for the question!
Maybe it's just me, but I would take her to a doctor. There is no way to know over the internet what is wrong with her, and especially no way for a site such as PoopReport, which deals comically with poop issues, to give you any other advice.

Hope she is ok! Look carefully at what she has been eating over the past few weeks.
Please be advised that I am only a Poonurse. I am NOT a medical doctor. Any advice I give should be taken moderate skepticism. Please consult a REAL medical doctor if you feel you have a serious medical condition.

-- Poonurse

Poonurse is an RN with 25 years experience in labor and delivery. Her qualifications include seeing a lot of poop, and owning a computer. Also, she works in Michigan, which she calls the asshole of the universe, so that's another bit of credibility. Got a question for her?

Holy Shit! I've missed my calling. I had no idea that a Poonurse was even a career option. I have to agree with her advice, mainly because she admits that Michicagan is the asshole of the universe. Go Bucks!!!!!

More reasons why I am seriously troubled

I just finished prepping the house and food for a party we are hosting tomorrow night. Not the kegger party of my youth, but a nice refined BBQ with 30 of my closest friends. It will, probably, be crazier than a keg party because of this simple mathematical equation:

Beer + Syringed jello shots (seriously, my nurse friend is bringing these) + a 35 and older crowd = crazy party animals that don't get out of the house enough who will barf all over themselves and my dog and probably tumble to their death at the bottom of our ravine.

I can't wait.

Thankfully, I have 911 programmed into my speed dial. I may or may not call, depending on who falls over. I may in fact just leave the carnage in hopes that it will decompose and transform my shitty clay soil into soil that is worthy of Mr. Green Thumbs.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Actual convo between my mother and I tonight:

BM: Hi Mom.

MOBM: Hi BM. Are you drunk yet?

BM: No, I'm just getting things ready for tomorrow.

MOBM: Wow, that is a first. Don't you know that it is beer thirty? How are things going?

BM: OK, but I am worried that I don't have enough food.

MOBM: Tell me what you have. And please tell me that you got me a bottle of Yager. You know I can't get down with my bad self without a few shots....

BM: I've got ten pounds of burger meat, 20 brats and 20 cheese infused sausages. I also made cole slaw and a few other sides. One L (sister) is bringing her world famous cheesy taters. A few others are bringing appetizers. You think that will be enough?

MOBM: How many people?

BM: About 30, give or take.

MOBM: Well, I don't know. Maybe you should go out and get some more meat. And make some potato salad. People like potato salad.

And so on and so forth. You get the idea.

Both of my parents, but especially my mother, are famous for making 100X more food than necessary for a party. My sister and I have inherited this trait from them. I have never done a Punnet Square to prove this, but I have enough empirical data to prove it. I am going to start a support group for this: Overfeeders Anonymous.

I have come to the conclusion (because I'd rather sit down with a beer and not worry) that if we run out of food tomorrow we will have the following choices:

1. Cannibalism. I know of at least one small child who will be attending. Everyone knows that children taste good. Like veal.

2. I will channel Jebus and have him turn my ten pounds of meat into enough to feed millions. Hopefully he will provide us with some delicious bread as well. It might be kind of awkward though, when I ask him to leave the party post-miracle. You see, he didn't RSVP. Plus I don't want to hear all night how there is no hope to save my soul from the eternal fire of hell since I frequently say his name in vain, in nasty, albeit creative ways. The guilt I got from attending 10 years of Catholic school is enough to last a lifetime, thank you very much.

3. Raid neighbor's garden.

4. Order pizza.

5. BBQ the dog. But she is old and probably not very tender.

So there you have it, I'm moving on. Even though I am still torn between option 1 and option 4.......

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Yesterday I was working in Mansfield, and then Marion, so I stopped at a farmer's market in order to get a few things for the party. I picked up 2 watermelons as I am making a delicious watermelon salad. They were the mini ones that don't have seeds. When I got home and carried them into the house, I actually held them up to my existing boobs and imagined what life would be like with huge, melon sized fun bags. I seriously wonder sometimes if I am in fact a 15 year old boy.

Wikipedia is a bitch. A young, wrinkle free bitch.

9:34pm, Monday, September 1. In a few short hours, I will go to a place that I have never gone before. It is not a place that I thought I would ever go. It isn't glamorous or worth visiting again, but it is a place that I will be stuck in for the rest of my life.

The place you ask? Middle aged purgatory.

The US Census lists middle age as 35 to 44, while Erik Erikson sees it ending a little later and defines middle adulthood as between 40 and 65. I think Erik Erikson, man with two first names, you are my new best friend.

Tomorrow I turn 35. Tragic, isn't it? Now don't you dare post, "I'm 55 and I haven't had a solid shit in 15 years, shut up you twit!" This is my blog and I'll cry if I want to. To me, 35 sounds so suburban, responsible and I guess a little boring. I am grinding my heels into the ground. I will not go without a fight!

Since I no longer am a researcher by trade, I am allowed to look to the eternal source of information, Wikipedia for facts. Here is what they say:

"Some people [5] challenge the concept that middle age is something to dread. They assert that with the right attitude and careful planning, middle age can be truly a person's best years." When I clicked on the "5" reference, I got nothing. I'm certain now that "5" must be the manufacturers of Metamucil. "5" clearly has no idea what it is talking about. This is a scam to get us middle aged folk to buy crap that we probably don't need, but buy because it will reduce the lines on our faces and allow us a few good, healthy non-roid inducing craps each day.

Wikipedia goes on to say:

"Those age-positive groups range from advocacy groups such as the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP) to purely social clubs like the Red Hat Society." Um, I'm pretty sure I typed in middle aged, 35 and not, middle aged, almost dead. If say, in another 30 years I'm posting about my new cool lady friends from the Red Hat Society, please kill me.

The "Health" section spells out all that I have to look forward to:

1. "Middle-aged adults often show visible signs of aging such as loss of skin elasticity and graying of the hair." Yes and yes. You think you can scare me?

2. "Physical fitness usually wanes, with a 5-10 kg (10-20 lb) accumulation of body fat, reduction in aerobic performance and a decrease in maximal heart rate." I'm guessing that the decrease in max heart rate leads to death. I can get past the death part, but the 10-20 pounds! Of fat! Seriously, no! If I have to take up binging and purging, so help me god I will. Damn you.

3. "Female fertility declines significantly after age 30, and an advanced maternal age increases the risk of a child being born with some disorders such as Down’s Syndrome. Some conditions are also correlated with advanced paternal age. Most women go through the menopause, which ends natural fertility, in their late 40s or 50s."

Now we're talking. Finally, to the benefits. Menopause. Ahhhh. The freedom. No tampons in the purse, no need to swap your cute undies for your grotesque granny pants for fear of ruining said cute undies. No bloating, pain or bitchiness. Count me in, where do I sign?

4. The "Further Info" section list this reference: "Does Age Quash Our Spirit of Adventure?, a segment on NPR's "All Things Considered" on an aging study done by middle-age neuroscientist Robert Sapolsky." Oh NPR....I have loved you for so long. Now you are turning on me, you bastard. I guess I'll have to start listening to Sunny 95.

5. The "See also" section lists: youth, young adult, old age, aging and mid-life crisis. From now on, I am boycotting Wikipedia. You suck slimy dick balls. Old, wrinkly dick balls.

It is now clear to me that Wikipedia, like it's cousins Facebook and YouTube are plots engineered by the youth of today to drive the middle aged crowd insane. While I teeter on the brink of insanity AND death, Ms. Facebook and Mr. Napster are out on their 50 foot yahcts, drinking Cristal with P-Diddy laughing all the way to the bank. At least I hope they pour one out for their middle-aged homies.

Bitches.

Zed is dead, baby

And I know this because he died in my stomach, several times.

On Friday, we packed up the family truckster and headed to Chicago. My city. The city that I love more than Dove Chocolates and cookie batter. The city that I love even more than Dove Chocolates dipped in cookie batter. I haven't seen my niece and nephew in many months, so we paid them, and the rest of the Big Momma clan a visit.

One of the reasons I love Chicago is because of the food. So many choices, so little time. The only thing I didn't eat was my niece and nephew and not because I didn't try. They are so very cute and yummy looking. I told Mr. Big Momma that I wanted to melt them down and spread them on some delicious, crusty french bread and nom, nom, nom, nom them until I couldn't eat another bite. But, thankfully for my clan, Mr. Big Momma shoved an Italian Beef in my mouth and I quickly went on with my day.

My BIL E is the master of restaurant selection. Not that he could really pick a bad spot in Chicago, but he truly looks at it as an art form. Saturday night we went to ZED which is one of those Brazilian meat places. For the bargain price of $55 per person, you can eat as much delicious meat as you can handle. There are magic rocks on the table, that when put next to your plate, POOF, meat shows up. I thought that I must have died and gone to heaven. At least until the next morning when Zed died a gruesome death inside my tummy. I got the died part right, but heaven it wasn't. Next time I will need to show some restraint or master the art of binging and purging. Not sure yet which I will choose.

If I were in the Olympics....

The more amusing side of the training of an Olympic athlete. The one that no one speaks of.

Big Momma: cost saving extraordinaire

We have not had AC in the Big Momma household for at least 2 years. I have never cared much as I like to have the doors and windows open in the summer. A few weeks ago, the Mister had some companies come out and take another look. You see, he is a very sweaty man and AC is just as important to him as sex. Apparently all that was needed was a new valve thingamabobby. A $400 valve thingamabobby. So like fools with money to burn, we agreed.

Today 2 guys came to replace the valve. After they left, I call Mr. Big Moma to tell him that his sweaty days and nights are over: the AC finally works! Here is the actual conversation:

BM: "Hi honey. The AC guys just left."

MBM: "Is it working?"

BM: "Well, my nipples are hard!"

MBM: "Sweet. How did you pay them?"

(This question shocked me because the 2 of us searched the entire house to find our checkbook, which seems to always be missing even though we hardly ever write check.)

BM: "With sex."

MBM: "Good girl. Always saving me money. Love you shit head."

BM: "Love you mother fucker."

Fun Monday: The Quiz Mastress strikes!

Lisa over at Lisa's Chaos is our lovely hostess for this week's Fun Monday. Her challenge to us is:

What is one thing you would like to ask your readers? Come up with a question to pose to your visitors and throw it out there on Monday. As we’re all visiting each other’s Fun Monday posts we should answer the various questions we come across.OR Show&Tell me about a bird, I’m easily made happy.

Now I would love to chicken out and show and tell about a bird, but sadly, on my list of fears, birds rank #2. This is a tough one because I'm almost certain that the only people that read my blog, outside of the traffic on Monday, are a few friends and family members. Reaching international blogging fame is high on my list of hopes, but it hasn't happened yet.

I will say that this challenge reminds me of a topic that comes up frequently between my mother, sister and myself. As we sit and chat, ok, gossip about others, we always ask, "What do people say about us?" We are not necessarily a catty bunch, but we have come up with nicknames over the years for those who interest us the most. A few of my favorite:

The Breads: Big Bread and Little Bread. They are brothers who grew up eating nothing but white bread and cheese. Even at Thanksgiving. Even when my Uncle took us to McDonalds.

Big Head Bread: My cousin and cousin of Big & Little Bread. I'm positive that her head weighs more than her entire body.

Alice Cooper: Mother of BHB. When people ask who this so and so is, we will say look for Alice Cooper. They always pick right. And then laugh hysterically.

Tire Gut: Mother of Big and Little Bread. I guess she ate all of the normal food in their house and it took its toll on her waste line.

Little Head: some guy that my mom sees at a local pub. She doesn't know him from Adam.

I could go on, but I think you get the point. So for this FM challenge, I am going to cheat a bit and use a slight variation on this theme.

Here are the things that I would like to ask my readers:

1. Does anyone outside of my friends and family actually read this?

2. Who do you perceive me to be? A mean, nasty and bitter woman who swears too much? A total neurotic that needs to be locked up ASAP? Someone who uses entirely too much hand sanitizer?

3. What would you like to know about me that you don't already? Would you like to know what I look like? Do you wonder if my butt really is that big (I do look like one of those rap guys girlfriends)? Does you wad or fold your toilet paper before wiping? How does your husband put up with your crap? Don't blow your wad asking this one. I can tell you the answer: percocet. Lots of percocet. Washed down with vodka.

I know what you are thinking, too many questions. They call me the Quiz Master for a reason. So I guess my point is, ask me anything that you want. Other than asking my true identity. Because if I told you that I'd have to kill you. And that would be unfortunate for me because then I'd have one less reader. And I promise you that I don't have any to spare!

A few quick shout outs.....

Today is Mr. Big Momma's birthday. He is 29 plus 12. And not a gray hair on his head. Lucky bastard.

This is my 100th post! Yeah me. I hope you can see the confetti flying.

Gay Loving Loser Seeks Bus Rides, Long Walks on the Beach and Plenty of Hand Sanitizer

I am pretty sure that is is 2008, but I'm wondering how that could be since I am composing this post ON PAPER, using an actual PEN. How the hell did writers function before the laptop was invented? I seriously don't know what day it is and I haven't all week because the EVIL IT people have taken my beloved laptop. I got a call from them today and they told me that it isn't doing well and that they were about to administer last rights. Please, say a prayer for me. A rosary or two would be nice. You could throw in a few stations of the cross for good measure. You would if you really loved me.

You know how you hear stories of people losing limbs and they say that they can still feel the limb even though it is long gone? I totally know how they feel, in a less dire way. I believe there is a clinical name for my syndrome and it is called Phantom Laptop Syndrome, or PLS for short. All of the diseases worth getting have an abbreviation. I learned that in College.

Anywho, I have been wanting to post about my Girls Gone Wild weekend in Chicago but haven't because writing on paper first sucks a dong, like no dong you've ever sucked before. Trust me on this.

So here is a quick recap.

**First, the weekend deserves a new moniker. So instead of GGW, I am going to go with Big Momma is a total loser. Not as sexy I suppose, but more accurate. I admit, as I have many times before that I am a total fargin loser. I probably should have reminded T this before my visit. A nice note, on custom stationary would have been appropriate. If I had written this note, it probably would have gone like this:

Dear T,

I can't wait to see you next weekend. I'm sure we will have a great time, as long as you can keep me up past 8 o'clock. Let me know if there is anything I should bring, but rest easy knowing that I will bring the good contraband: a healthy supply of Vicks Vapo Rub and prunes. Just make sure you replenish your stock of Werther's Originals. I'll be there with bells on, or Depends Undergarments, depending on what I have for lunch that day.

See you soon BFF.

Love,

Big Momma

***T mentioned that there was a good band playing on Friday at 10 and I was like "am or pm?" I love a good band as much as the next gal, but find that band venues a. are loud, b. are crowded, c. have bathrooms that generally do not have TP and d. exist at night when the scary people come out. Because of these known observations, I rarely go see live music anymore. So instead of seeing the band, we went back to T's pad and played Scrabble like the respectable 85 year old woman that were are. And when I say we, I really mean me.

***The Museum of Contemporary Art is a great place to visit, especially if you like to see art in the form of cock and balls. You think I am kidding, but I assure you dear readers, that I do not joke about art or cock and balls. Jeff Koonz was the main exhibitor and it was fabulous. I saw things that I had never seen before. And yes, there was more than just cock and balls.

The CAB (as a former Catholic, I can only say cock and balls so many times.) art was sectioned off from the rest of his exhibit. I'm told there was a WARNING sign, but I did not see it. So you can imagine my shock when I walked in. I am not a prude, but seriously, CAB and the MCA? How scandalous. I so do not belong in the big city.

***One of the many reasons I love Chicago is because of the diversity it offers. The Food. The People. It is a city that truly has something to offer everyone. T mentioned that we would be going to a festival on Saturday night. And let me tell you, this wasn't just your average festival. This festival served their elephant ears with a side of gay. Yes, T and I went to the largest gay festival this side of the Mississippi. And let me tell you, it was FAAAB-U-LOS! I realized, very quickly that people probably thought that I was her bitch. But I didn't care, I was in gay heaven. Gay men are so much better than straight men because they work out obsessively so that they can walk around without their shirts one. And that they did.

***I love that Chicago has such great public transportation. This is something that we here in Cbus will probably never experience. I love The COTA and all, but I have to admit that it is a bit scary. And limiting. I parked my car when I got to Chicago and didn't get back into in until I left. However, I am thankful l that my purse sized bottle of hand sanitizer lasted me the entire weekend. Another think I should have warned T about.

***T totally cock (there I go again) blocked me from our bus driver. The one bus we rode was so crowded that the only place for me to stand was directly next to the driver. Like I was the co-pilot. I loved it because I had a wonderful view of the road ahead. T told me that I looked like a dog staring out of the front door, wagging my tail with glee at the people going past. For some reason I have always been fascinated with bus drivers. Another one of my weirdo things that makes me the nut that I am. T eventually pulled me back to the middle of the bus because she was fearful that I would strike up a convo with the driver. Good thing she did because I was just about to let my questions fly. I would so like to get into the mind of a bus driver. I keep a mental list of questions I would ask. Honestly, my list is organized in an Excel Spreadsheet. Seriously. Here is the short list:

Subset One:

1. Why do you wear gloves?

2. Do they help you drive better?

3. Do you have to buy them or does the CTA provide them, along with your uniform?

Subset Two:

1. Do you make a lot of friends while driving? I assume that you have a ton of regulars that you 'ride' every day.

2. Have you ever secured a date from one of your passengers? I think bus driving is probably a great way to pick up chicks.

3. Have you ever caught someone having sex on the bus late at night?

4. Are you drunk?

And finally, the mother of all questions: What do you do when you have to go to the bathroom?

Don't worry, I am getting the professional help that I need. It is just taking time to stick.

***Sadly, we did not see Barack, Oprah (thankfully because I probably would have been arrested for kicking her teeth in) or John Cusak. T's friend L had seen John in Chi town a few weeks ago and our collective nipples got hard at the mere thought of seeing him live and in the flesh.

I am thinking that there is probably a 15% chance that T will invite me back. If she does, I am so there. Thanks for the memories.

The Chicago Formula:

Barack Plus Friendship

Times Ru Paul

Minus Oprah to the Oprah power

Equals a weekend that I won't forget!

Fun Monday: Crabby Edition

I knew when I went to bed last night that today, MONDAY, would suck. This is because the first thing on my to do list was to call IT. While I made it out of Chicago without a hangover or a cold from all of the icky germs on the train, my laptop wasn't so lucky. If only there was hand sanitizer for the laptop. And yes, I am that nerd that takes her laptop everywhere. Yes, I am that freak that checks her work inbox while on vaca. So don't even start telling me that I need some down time and I should just enjoy myself while away. You are wasting your time. I have already tuned you out.

So I called IT when they opened their doors at the not so early hour of 9. I did not have a working computer until 3:30. But, at least it is working now. I am not going to even tell you about my experience. You think I'm crabby? Well then, you should call someone who works at an IT help desk. Talk about needing a vaca.... I think some of them just need a good old fashioned romp in the sack to loosen them up. A good, hard, dirty, nasty romp in the sack.

Because of my computer troubles and because said troubles forced me to work late in order to catch up, I am just now, at 7pm, getting started on my Fun Monday challenge. Here it is:

Show me your favourite photograph and tell me why it's your favourite.

Please stop by and visit the others at this week's host site, http://aojthelurchers.blogspot.com/.

This challenge one was a tough one for me. Even though I didn't have to think for more than a second about what my favorite (favourite does sound more charming, doesn't it?) picture is . It is one of me and Jr., taken many years ago. (See a few posts down if you'd like to know more about it.) However, because I choose to remain anonymous, I can't post it. Poop. So there I was, after receiving this week's challenge, racking my brain trying to come up with something. Lucky for me, my brilliant friend T came to the rescue. She suggested posting the picture that I have as the wallpaper on my laptop.

This is a pictre that Mr. Big Momma took 2 years ago at the Indianapolis Grand Prix. I have it on my wallpaper because I find it to be an inspiration. And not just because I wish I could jump that high!

The "jumper" is Michael Schumacher, the most kick ass driver that F1 has ever seen and will likely see for some time. In the Big Momma household, we don't refer to him by his name, but as "The Great One." He is my favorite driver. I actually shed tears when he announced his retirmend two years ago. This picture is inspirational to me in many ways. Because I am crabby, you will get them in list form:

1. It reminds me to work hard. Sometimes we all need a reminder that hard work pays off.

2. It reminds me to celebrate every victory, great and small.

3. It reminds me to get in my workouts. Only someone as acceptionally fit as TGO could jump this high.

4. It reminds me to be glad that I am on such good teams. My work team, the team that is my family/friends, even my tennis team, the Krazy Krushers. All of my teams are filled with tremendous people that make my life easier and more fun to live. None of the people on my teams forget that in order to succeed, you have to work together. During press conferences, after a win, TGO would frequenly thank his Ferrari team, even the janitorial staff. This is a good reminder that no matter what one's role is on a team, they are just as important as the next guy or gal.

5. It reminds me of the happy day my family had at this race. F1 has been a part of our family vacation for many years. The three of us all love F1. The hours we have spent watching races, whether live or on TV are priceless. It is my dream that Jr. will marry an F1 addict. We will spend our family vacations together, traveling the world and watching F1. I will buy his children

Ferrari shirts that they will wear until they are rags. I also dream that married Jr. will live next door to us and bring his family over for Sunday dinners. I also dream about how much I will love his wife and the many pedicures we will get together. I dream of this closeness, forever. Which leads me to #6.

6. This picture reminds me to dream big. Michael did, so why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't you?

7. It reminds me to never give up. There were plenty of seasons where Michael was put in a sub-par car. He always made the best of it. Because of his determination, he won 7 World Championships, more than any other F1 driver in history. You have to take what you are given and make the best of it.

8. It reminds me that Fernando Alonso (the dude on the left in the blue and yellow racing gear) IS and WILL ALWAYS BE a douche bag. He is my least favorite F1 driver. I love, love, love the words douche bag. Whenever I seem him I think "douche bag" and I laugh to myself. He, he, evil Big Momma. You have to get your kicks where you can.

So there you have it. My favorite picture and what it means to me. Now go have a good week!

Sweet home Chicago, with my best HO

Well people, I have made it to the Windy City. The friend that I came to see, T is teaching tonight, so I have a few hours to spare before she meets me. She teaches English and I am sure that she uses her red nasty teacher pen to mark up the spelling and grammatical errors in each of my posts. Bitch. Anyway, I am happily waiting in the bar across the street from her apartment. T and I are having dinner once she arrives, so in the meantime, I decided to have a snack. Central time makes me hungry, mostly because it makes me feel ambitious….a whole extra hour added to my day. Woot! Per T’s recommendation, I ordered the chips with bleu cheese. Yummy. She actually told me earlier: “You should get the bleu cheese and chips if you are willing to cheat on your diet!” Girlfriend ( and when I say that I am snapping my fingers and looping my neck around in circle formation), how long have we been friends? Diet schmiet. Diets are for losers. And skinny people. I am neither. So as I sit here eating my chips and licking the sauce from my fingers in the most disgusting way, I’m wondering if I might be the first women ever to finish the entire plate by herself? I do feel like the people around me are whispering to one another, “I think she is going to do it. Look at her go!”

Friends like T are hard to come by. Not only is she one of my closest friends, I have been friends with her longer than another else in my life. We went to high school together, college too. In fact, the first time I had sex, I was wearing a skirt (yes, I was that scared…I didn’t take off my skirt during the act) that I borrowed from her. At that time, T and I were the last of the virgins. I remember going over to her house after doing the deed, giddy with excitement that my teenage body had done a very womanly thing. A thing that had scared me for so long. Even after the first time, I was scared. Scared that I would become addicted to sex, drop out of high school and whore myself about town. Mostly though, I was afraid that I would get preggers and not be able to go to college. This would hurt my parents so terribly, that they would glue my younger sister’s legs together and never let her leave the house. The fear of this caused me to hold off on my budding sexuality. I just wasn’t ready for the consequences. And beside, I found out like most girl do, that the first time isn’t that good. And if you are still thinking about me doing the nasty with her skirt, I did have it dry cleaned before I gave it back to her. That is just the way I roll.

It has been over 10 years since T and I lived in the same city. Thanks to Alexander Grahm Bell, we have never let the distance separate us. So I am super duper excited to be visiting her, in her new home of Chicago, for the first time. In many ways, my adult friendship making has been hindered by the relationships that I have with those close to me. Those people being T, my sister, mother and husband. The last job I had, I traveled about 60% of the time. I didn’t work out of an office, but out of my home. I had no idea how difficult it would be to make friends as an adult. My new job, one that requires very little travel, has changed all of that. I now know that I will be home every night and am able to commit to things that I couldn’t before. Tennis is my favorite of those things. I have met so many people over the last few years from tennis. There are a few that I am getting to be rather close with. But friendship takes time. And I have to tell you that sometimes I get impatient. But I have to remember that the friendships I have with my inner circle (very George Clooney, don’t you think?) took many years to develop. Besides, if you remember, George got his start on The Facts of Life, long after it had jumped the shark. I guess there is still hope for me.

Before: Duche fag with a bad mullet who works for Mrs. Garrett and goes rollerskating on the weekends with Tootie...

After: Award winning friend of Brat Pitt...

Ho Wednesday

I can't believe how quickly the summer is moving past me. I feel like I've got nothing to show for it. Next week, I promise to change that. I am on my way to Chicago tomorrow to visit one of my oldest friends. Not that SHE'S old, I mean we have been friends for a long, long time. It is interesting that every time I have typed "Chicago" today, I mistype and spell it "Chicagho." Hmmm....there will be no hoing for me.....I am after all a very married lady. I have typed it more than normal because my OCD brain has had me look up directions a million times. Because my OCD is spiralling out of control today (as it always does right before a trip), here are some random thoughts from the brain of Big Momma:

1. Ho. Every time I say ho to Mr. Big Momma he always replies, "Ho problems." Apparently there is some dude in Florida that has a van with an 80's style mural on it and it says "Ho problems." Mr. Big Momma was lucky to have seen in a few years ago while in Florida for business. I'm even told that there is a picture of it that one of his colleagues took. If I had it, I would so post it for everyone to enjoy. I'm nice like that.

2. Last night the Krazy Krushers had their first game of the playoffs. It didn't look good at first, but we were able to pull it off. I started to wonder if our poor spelling skills were coming back to haunt us. I guess not, for now.

3. After tennis last night, we went, as we always do to O'Reilleys to indulge in some free pitchers. Thankfully we have a bar that sponsors us. Our old bodies rely on the beer buzz. I really think that beer has healing powers. Even Miller Lite. One of my teammates, who I do not know very well, was getting text messages from some married dude that she is screwing. He actually texted her, "wanna fuck?" How romantic. I am so glad to be out of the dating pool and not faced with the harsh reality of text dating. Or text booty calls. Or pervy old ho men who might think that a message like that is a turn on for a gal. Seriously guys, a little romance goes a long way.

4. I am a little sad that I won't be on the couch with Mr. Big Momma this Friday to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics. This has been a tradition of ours for many years now. The Olympics is like crack, for dopey nerds like us. Go USA!

5. My next Fun Monday post is a really cool one: to post your favorite picture. This is a really easy one for me. My favorite picture is on my fridge. I look at it hundreds of times each day and it always brings a smile to my face. It is of me and Jr. when he was about 3 years old. I was in grad school and working on the weekends for a vet hospital. The vet had just gotten 2 lab puppies and asked me to watch them for the weekend while he was out of town. The picture shows each of us with a lab in hand, laughing. The kind of laughter where you are laughing so hard that your head tilts back. Jr., being an absolutely gorgeous boy has this cute little scrunchy face thing going on. Every time I look at that picture, I almost expect it to come to life. I expect to look down and have that adorable three year old standing by my side. Sadly, this never happens. Sometimes it seems like it was taken ages ago, other times it seems as if we took if just a few days ago. When I see it I also remember the follow up picture of Jr. napping on a pile of unfolded laundry with a puppy on each side of him. The three slept so peacefully. I wish he could get that kind of peace back in his life. I know that I am blowing my wad by telling you, the internet, about this picture. The reality is that I would never post it here. I have chosen to be an anonymous blogger, outside of the few family members and friends that know about it. Not only do I want to keep my identity out of this blog, I'd like to do the same for Jr. So, I'm back to square one, trying to come up with a suitable picture. I feel like I am in college again, searching for answers that don't seem obvious with a deadline looming over my head.

Well, enough thinking for tonight. I need to shut it down. Goodnight brain.

Number 1 vs. Number 2

Well, it is official. I have been thinking (more than normal) about poo for the last 24 hours thanks to this week's Fun Monday challenge. See below if you missed it. A few random comments to close out the day:

1. I am shocked that my sister did not post to this. Not only is she an excellent crapper and a DADS veteran, her lifelong nickname is POOP. I couldn't make that up if I tried. No one seems to know why she is called Poop, but we do know that it is short for Poop-ca. I told you my family was weird. She also has one of the best poop stories for your money. I won't tell it since it is hers to tell, but I will tell you that it involves beer, beds and cupcakes. All of the makings of a great story, at least in my family. Love you guys!

2. My thoughts earlier today began transitioning from poo to pee. You see our Vet has asked for a pee sample from Sasha the wonder dog. I was a bit worried about how I would get this, even for a professional pee catcher. Many years ago as a grad student at Ohio State, I was involved in a study with the vet school. And when I say "involved," I mean I was their bitch. The vet school was trying to see how long certain enhancement drugs lasted in the urine of various animals. Every morning, I would have to get up and go collect the pee of 20 fat, poo splattered, lazy pigs. In order to do this, I had a long stick with a cup holder on the end. I would put my sample cup in and wait for a pig to pee. As soon as one would crouch, I would stick my cup stick under their pig business and hope for the best. I had to get up at the butt crack of dawn so that I could drive the 45 minutes to the farm and be there before the pee fest began. Pigs, much like humans, have peeing as their number one prioritory as they start their day. Sasha does not like to have someone watch her when she does her business, so I was fearful that all of my pee collecting experience would go down the drain. But, I was a successs right out of the gate. Yeah me...not all that I learned in grad school is a loss.

3. If it rains tonight, you have me to thank since I watered my flowers today. What a sad bunch they were. I hope they perk up by morning.

4. I am shit shocked that I wasn't tossed out of the Fun Monday group.

5. I have to go to campus tomorrow, so it most certainly will be raining. You can thank me or curse me, your choice.

6. I also have a great story about collecting horse semen, but I'll save that for another time. A time when you might be less grossed out. I think I have exceeded the gag limit for today.

Goodnight all. Sweet dreams. Hopefully mine will not be excrement filled. Unlikely since I ate sausage for dinner.

P.S. I typed pig, picture and peeing into Google and all I got was a bunch of nasty porn sites. And that is my public service message for the day.

Fun Monday: The Grand Poo-Bah

My Fun Monday challenge for this week is to write about my favorite word. My new friends Jennifer and Emily came up with this challenge. To see their post and the others that participate, please visit their blog at http://www.mothersofbrothers.com/blog/.

There are many reasons why my husband and I get along so well. One of them is due to our shared love of the same word. It is a word that is heard frequently in our household (at least when Jr. isn’t over) and although some use it in a negative way, for us it is a term of endearment. However, because I have been asked to write a G rated post, I’ll have to go in another direction.

Which leads me to the last four hours. Four painful hours of having to think of my favorite word. Admittedly, I have been procrastinating. I’ve loaded the dishwasher, regrouted the bathroom and cleaned the dust that has settled between the keys on my laptop. Mr. Big Momma was out golfing, so I wasn’t able to tap into his witty helpfulness. When he got home, I told him of my challenge and of course he came up with the word that I mentioned above and will refrain from mentioning here. Darn. So like I frequently do when I am blocked, I ventured into the bathroom. My thrice daily duties (see where I am going with this yet?) and continued suggestions from Mr. BM (another clue) lead me to my answer.

Drum roll, please….

Poo.

Now I know that many of my Fun Monday counterparts will probably come up with intellectually stimulating answers that will required me to dig out my dictionary. I however, am not this gifted. I am not a writer. I am much more of a talker who struggles to get my talk into words to which I can post on my blog. It wouldn’t surprise me at all, if after this post, I get a polite request from the people at FM asking me to leave their group. But, I have never been one to shy away from speaking my mind. And if they do ask this, I will revolt by starting my own group, Fun Tuesdays, where only R rated posts will be accepted.

Anyway, why poo? I love the word poo for many reasons. It makes me laugh when I say it. “Aww poo is a nice alternative to awww s***, for those G rated moments in life. “Holy poo” is another variation. Not only do I enjoy saying it, I very much enjoy doing it. This phenomenon, for you non-poo people out there is called Poo-phoria. I learned of this phenomenon by reading the book “What Your Poo is Telling You” by Josh Richman and Anish Sheth, M.D. This is a brilliant book that provides insight into your health by examining your poo. Not really a book suitable for your coffee table, but a great addition to your bathroom reading. I truly am a better and healthier person because of this book. It is a great way to pass the time while pooing and provides countless laughs to those who visit my loo.

I grew up in a family that frequently discussed our bathroom antics. My whole family is a poo loving bunch! You might even say that poo is the glue that binds my family together. “Family” was my first choice for this challenge, but talking about poo is so much more fun. At least for me. Over the years, as we have discussed our poo at great length, we were never savvy to the official language of pooing. The book WYPITY has now allowed us to more succinctly title our favorites. Some of them are:

Hanging Chad

The Chinese Star

D.A.D.S. or Day After Drinking Stool. This one has been a frequent topic over the years…

Deja Poo, which is also called “Haven’t I seen that somewhere before poo.” As corn lovers, this is another frequent poo topic that we enjoy during the summer months.

The Streak. Embarrassing when you go to a non-family member’s house, but a badge of pride with my clan. I have seen some award winners from my father. He is a true champion of poo. Olympic quality, gold metal poo.

So there you have it. Poo. Embrace it.

Update as of 11:16 pm on Sunday night. I'm starting to think my favorite word is lawyer, after seeing all that Mr. Big Momma is going thru with his ex tonight. I'll leave that to another post.

Random thoughts from the Sunshine State

Aaah, the Sunshine State. Could also be called:

Rain to the left, sunshine to the right State
Sweaty State
Thankful for Deodorant State
Too far from home State
Hola, como esta State
The Depends State

Florida is not my favorite place to go. We always seem to go here for our summer meetings. It would make more sense if they sent us here for our January meeting. But, since I am the low Momma on the totem pole, I have no say. A few thoughts for the day:

1. I had made plans to go to dinner with a work friend tonight. She called a little while ago and suggested we make the short trip to Miami and eat there. With some of her other friends. I opted to stay in my room because 1. I hate driving with someone I don't know and 2. I hate being at the mercy of someone else. Plus, I am kinda tired of socializing.

2. For those of you who I told I was going to Orlando, you are probably wondering how above friend suggested we drive to Miami. They are not crazy.....I am an idiot. We are not in Orlando, but in Hollywood, Florida, where open containers are legal. Who knew? I only realized this while getting my boarding pass at the airport. Sometimes I scare myself.

3. I'm not sure, but I think I might have unknowingly joined a cult. At least it is a cult that sends me a paycheck every two weeks.

4. While checking into the hotel, they had all of us sign an official document stating that we would be checking out on 7/31/08 and that we would not ask to extend our stay. I found out yesterday that the reason for this is that they have a big, international convention meeting here tomorrow. Avon convention? No. Something really important and interesting? Important, no. Interesting, definitely. The International Swingers convention begins tomorrow. If only I knew that before signing the waver. Just kidding Mr. Big Momma...you are already more than I can handle!

5. I just got my next Fun Monday assignment. It is interesting, but the hosts are requesting that our posts be G rated. A true challenge that I am not sure I'm up for. Especially with those swingers on my mind.

6. My first thought regarding the swingers was: "Exactly what does one do at a swinger's convention." Um, duh, they swing! I just hope they sterilize the sheets....