Ay, I forgot to clean the rain gutters. They’re doing a great impression of Niagara Falls right now. But the good thing about the rain is: no yard work today! Woo hoo!

Better do some other useful thing, you know, to make up for it. Like dust the whole house or—Lordy, what the heck is this?

Okay, it looks like the little spinny thing eats walls. But salt eats the little spinny thing. Heh! Too much salt and it blows up! But water makes it grow.

Oil kind of… holds it… But I can set fire to the oil! Build walls, erase walls, make overflowing rain gutters… I mean… waterfalls…

And there are other games here, too! “Hell of Sand” and Neko Breakout… that’s a fun one. The blog is in Japanese (thank you, Google Translator!) but the game instructions are in English.

And don’t forget to try War of the Hell, where you try to fling boneless creatures back into heaven, boneless meaning of course that they couldn’t tear themselves away from online games when there were chores to do on Earth.

WHAT: My pocketbook.

I bought this pocketbook during the first half of the Clinton Administration. Yeah, I know, it looks like it.

As I recall, it took me about an hour to go through all the pocketbooks at Target until I found JUST THE RIGHT ONE: a pocketbook that could hold everything I threw at it, like:

• my checkbook
• a couple of credit cards
• at least a dozen member discount cards
• one pound of change
• one or two Lego pieces
• a button that popped off somebody’s shirt about three years ago
• one key to I know not where
• a wad of Blockbuster coupons in various stages of expiration
• one piano recital flier
• two report cards
• four swim meet entry cards
• at least eight months’ worth of receipts

… among other things.

This pocketbook held it all. Bravely. Nobly. Without complaint.

Until it met the Mojonator.

HOW: I left it on the couch with my keys (duh!) while I put away our groceries. Next thing I know, our van’s alarm is going off! After I raced to the front yard to see who was trying to break into our van, I realized:

1. Our van doesn’t have a car alarm.

It does have a “panic” button on the key ring, though, a panic button meant to be pressed only in the event of an extreme emergency—like if I can’t fit into my fat pants.

Somebody else was pressing the panic button!

And guess what I found in somebody’s dog bed?

1. One bulldog, chewing on a panic button
2. One chewed-up pocketbook

HUBBY’S REACTION: Left it on the floor, hunh?

BONNIE’S REACTION: I don’t want to talk about it.

REPLACEMENT COST: $29.95.

This is a pushup.

Start. Or Finish. You pick. I couldn’t find a picture of the middle part, when you’re kissing the ground.

Pushups are evil.

This is what I see whilst (Read the rest of “This is a pushup”)

Woo hoo! Today is a really HAPPY Super Sabado, thanks to the most MAGNIFICENT PLACE IN THE WORLD:

CyberBrew Coffee!

No more must I guiltily drive around on Saturday mornings while Tiger does his morning swim practice, guiltily looking for an unsecured wireless internet connection where I might guiltily park close enough to guiltily download or upload, as the case may be, guiltily fearful of being caught the whole time!

GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY!

No more! Because today I discovered I could 1) buy a cup of coffee and 2) use the free wi-fi at

CyberBrew Coffee!

I bought that cup of coffee. 16 ounces!

Actually, I BOUGHT TWO.

One was a Mexican Mocha Cappuccino, just to keep in with my SUPER SABADO THEME! And if I sound a little more jittery than usual, I DON’T CARE! Because this Super Sabado is brought to you by:

CyberBrew Coffee!

Um, do you happen to know where the ladies room might be?

(Read the rest of “Super Sabado: The Caffeinated Version”)

Every now and then I get a bee in my bonnet about some topic and feel I must write about it here. I don’t do this much because:

1. It’s hard to be funny whilst ranting, and
2. Who cares about my little rants anyway?

Hubby has to listen because he’s married to me—and I have a sneaky suspicion he tunes me out sometimes—but none of the rest of you are so obligated. Therefore, I don’t rant (much) on this site.

One of the few rants I did post I called “Will NutriFeron save you from the bird flu?” and it probably gets more hits than any other post I’ve made so far.

The post was inspired by a Shaklee spammer—whose original spam comment I edited to remove her name and the link to her site, but otherwise left to stand. I also posted my snarky opinions about multi-level marketing (MLMs) and NutriFeron’s dubious labeling, and in so doing received several comments from Shaklee distributors.

A few were angry. One was extremely rude. But most came from (Read the rest of “Free speech and blog comments”)

We’ve had Mojo a little over a year now. He’s become a very popular part of this blog, so I thought I’d post something I wrote back when I was still getting used to life with a bulldog.

(Read the rest of “Retro Post: Must… get… some… sleep…”)

Living as I do in a house full of males, I have a hate-hate relationship with one facet of our plumbing system.

Bonnie: All I’m saying is that if you aren’t going to clean it—

Tiger: I clean!

Squirt: So do I!

Bonnie: All right, then… if you aren’t going to DO A GOOD JOB cleaning it, then you might as well sit down.

Males: (shock and disbelief)

Hubby: What, are you kidding?

I do not think this is an unreasonable request. The men in this house, after all, are quite tall. And everybody knows that the greater the distance from Point A to Point B, the more likely errors will creep into certain calculations.

Besides, I’m not saying all men MUST sit down. I’m just saying…

Bonnie: If you cleaned up after yourselves then you could stand up all you wanted. Heck, you could stand on a ladder for all I care. I’m not an unreasonable woman.

Males: (general incomprehension, shock, and dismay)

Bonnie: It’s… icky… right now, and whereas I’d normally need a DNA test to determine the culprit, this time I know exactly who did it because I saw him leave the facilities. (her evil eye slowly roams over the three of them, then falls upon Squirt)

Squirt: (chokes but recovers quickly) What? Not me! It wasn’t me!

You should know I’m not arguing on only my behalf, but on the behalf of those innocent victims who visit our home. Specifically, innocent unexpected company victims. For this reason, the five words guaranteed to strike terror in my heart will always be: “May I use your bathroom?”

Squirt: No way! I have perfect aim!

Bonnie: That’s not what I call “perfect aim” on the seat right now, young man.

Squirt: Perfect! Aim!

Hubby: That’s my boy!

Squirt: (warming up) Why, I can hit a quarter AT TEN FEET!

Hubby: Amen, Son!

Squirt: You’re talking to the boy who practices his aim… BY WALKING AWAY FROM THE TOILET!

Hubby: Damn straight!

(high fives all around)

Living as I do in a house full of males, I think it would be best if you called before you dropped in.

Get it? “Rang as am”? “Anagrams“?

Oh, never mind. Besides, I wanted to see what “Ballpoint Wren” anagrammed into, but I wasn’t really prepared for the answer.

Plan Nobler Wit

I almost faint at the slur. My wit isn’t noble enough? I have to plan nobler stuff? Ye gad.

I wonder how the high and mighty might fare. Hmmm… let’s see. Dave Barry is…

Brave Yard

Come on!

Erma Bombeck is…

Crab Meek Mob

Totally useless if you ask me! Perhaps I’m better off playing Scrabble.

Ballpoint Wren = a Scrabble score of 20

Yes. This is much more fun.

President Bush = a Scrabble score of 21

I guess it’s okay if he beats me. He is the President and all.

Britney Spears = a Scrabble score of 20

Heh! I win!

Fred Flintstone = a Scrabble score of 21

What, is everybody 20-something? I need somebody with a LONG name. Aha!

Arnold Schwarzenegger = a Scrabble score of 40

Woo hoo! Imagine being able to play Arnie on a Triple Word Score! And hey! How about I run him through the Anagram maker?

He’s grown large ‘n’ crazed.

No way.

Thanks to last week’s episode of the Monday Morning Mojo, upholstery foam is no longer safe around Mojo. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that once he gets a whiff of upholstery foam, he’ll not stop until he hunts it down and crushes it between his jaws.

WHAT: Dog Bed, After Mojonator Attack

HOW: We always put this covered foam bed outside with Mojo so he has a place to lie in the sun. He’s slept on it many, many times without incident, but that was before he drew first blood—I mean, first foam—in the last Monday Morning Mojo, thus learning what illicit delights await those who rip open upholstery. (They discover FOAM INSIDE.)

When I found the carcass, I picked it up and put it in a safe place. I thought, “Perhaps I can salvage salvage some of this foam, maybe remake it into a cat carrier bed… or something.” And then I put another (non foam) dog bed outside for him to lie down upon; in fact, I put two.

Being the alert human being that I am, I realized that if I left the bed on the ground, Mojo would continue to rip the bed apart, because he is a dog who always finishes what he starts.

Hubby is not an alert human being.

Oh, yes, Hubby may LOOK alert. He may be an excellent engineer and supervise several people; Hubby may even be the proud possessor of an MBA as well as being so lucky as to be married to the author of this blog… but when it comes to his Mojo, Hubby is Definitely Not an Alert Human Being.

WHAT: Dog Bed, After Second Mojonator Attack

HOW: Hubby saw his beloved bulldog outside without a foam bed on which to lie. He searched the house for said foam bed, found it and returned it to the Mojonator, despite its partially-destroyed condition.

MOJO’S REACTION: Woo hoo! The lord giveth back what the lady taketh away! Me thinketh I’m gonna have a great time finishing the job I started!

BONNIE’S REACTION: Aw, Hubby! Why’d you give him back his bed? Didn’t you see he’d already torn it apart?

HUBBY’S REACTION: What do you mean, “torn it apart”? I didn’t notice anything wrong with it. I thought it looked fine! And he needed a bed!

BONNIE: But there were already two dog beds out there for him to use!

HUBBY: But he wanted HIS dog bed.

REPLACEMENT COST: None. Do you really think I’m going to buy more foam beds, knowing what Mojo’ll do to them?

The mail arrives… and I feel a great disturbance in the Force.

I hesitate in front of the mailbox. It seems to bulge with significance… with portent… with… with… well, it’s certainly bulging, that’s for damn sure.

Wah! There it is, between the gas and electric bill and the supermarket circular! The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue!

Elsa Benitez, Veronica Varekova, Elle Macpherson, Rebecca Romjin, Rachel Hunter, Daniela Pestova, Yamila Diaz-Rahl, and Carolyn Murphy

Omigosh, look at those breasts! I guess the price is reasonable enough for what you get—and Hubby sure does love the big ones—I’ll have to think about getting some later.

Well, that’s enough of the chicken sale in the supermarket circular. It’s time to pore over the Swimsuit Issue!

Perhaps it is really the “Half-a-Swimsuit Issue,” as many of the ladies are topless, save for a floral lei or a string of beads, or artfully placed arms and hands. The structural engineering involved is mind-boggling.

And oh, my! One gal took off her swimsuit bottom, too. Rather than stretching across her lovely bum, it dangles seductively from her big toe. Another model wears nothing more than a few hibiscus blossoms and a dusting of sand. At least she looks warmer than the one wearing the diamond and platinum”$30 Million Bikini.”

Ah, so THAT’S what a Brazilian wax is all about. I wondered…

The Heidi Klum Body Paint is well done, very pretty; a spread inspired by “the glamour girls of old Hollywood.” Artistic and tasteful and…

Holy cow! Did Heidi Klum really give birth three months before these photos were taken? To her SECOND CHILD?

And look! There’s Elle, for crying out loud, looking just like she did in the 80s. I always suspected she was really a gorgeous space alien who left her mother ship for a lucrative modeling contract. I’ll finally be proven right, too, when she’s featured in the 2046 Swimsuit Issue.

Cough, cough, HACK! What is THIS advertisement selling? A “vibrating ring”? With a “small battery in a soft casing”?

Lordy.

I looked through the magazine twice, but no athlete’s wives. Bummer! I always liked those. And only one representative of a real female athlete: Maria Sharapova. She looks better than any of these supermodels.

The best figure in the whole magazine: Maria Sharapova. Why doesn’t Sports Illustrated show us more than one female sports figures per swimsuit issue?

The articles are all so-so. Carla Campbell feels her lips “are very sensual.” Petra Nemcova has recovered from her life-threatening injuries during the Christmas 2004 tsunami—and she looks stunning in that Beach Bunny bikini. Bahamas tree frogs prefer toilets to trees… Yadda, yadda, yadda.

I’m done. Back to the supermarket circular.

When Hubby comes home I discreetly give him his mail. Do I feel insecure? Tubby? Unattractive in comparison to the beauties in those pages?

You bet.

I later find Hubby in bed, reading the regular Sports Illustrated with “Flying Tomato” Shaun White on the cover.

“Where’s the Swimsuit Issue?” I ask.

“Eh, those gals need to work out a bit. Too skinny. No muscle tone.”

Is it any wonder why I love this man?

sports illustrated, heidi klum, Models, elle macpherson, swimsuit issue