When the kids went out yesterday afternoon, Hubby and I locked the doors, turned down the lights, and … put in the DVD of Sin City.

Yowza! I’d heard it was violent and it was, but nobody told me about the Jiggle Factor. Let’s just say Hubby was enthralled. Lots of lucious boobalas and bottoms all over the screen—enough to make a forty-something housewife sigh as she remembers her forgotten resolution to work out regularly.

My favorite lines came from Marv:

Wendy: You could’ve taken my gun away from me any time you wanted to…

Marv: I probably would’ve had to paste you one getting the gun and I don’t hurt dames.

We need more movies that use the term “dames.”

Hubby’s Greatest Moment:

(Carla Gugino makes her appearance as the lesbian probation officer/pharmacist, wearing nothing but a thong and a concerned expression)

Hubby: Hmmm. That girl needs to do some squats.

The day he retires is the day I move out.

I mean, he’s sweet enough, all right. He’s my man, and he’s injured. I want to take care of him.

It’s just that… he can be so … ANNOYING.

BONNIE: Your omelet is right here, sweetie. And it’s a beauty. Here’s a fork and a napkin, too. You’re all set!

HUBBY: Thanks! It looks great! Um, you forgot the salt.

BONNIE: Right there beside you, dear.

HUBBY: Oh! Thanks. How about the pepper?

BONNIE: Next to the salt.

HUBBY: Boy, aren’t you efficient! Heh! And the coffee?

BONNIE: If that coffee pot was a snake, it woulda bit ya. Darling.

HUBBY: And the cream?

BONNIE: JUST LOOK AROUND FOR CRYING OUT LOUD CAN’T YOU SEE THE CREAM RIGHT BEHIND THE COFFEE POT????

HUBBY: Huffy, huffy! Okay, I see it. Thanks. And now… I’m looking… I’m looking… I’m looking… but I don’t see what I’m looking for…

BONNIE: Just tell me! What is it you want now?

HUBBY: The tabasco sauce?

BONNIE: ARRRRRGHHHHHHHH! (goes the refrigerator, gets the tabasco sauce, and slams it on the TV tray)

HUBBY: What? What’d I do?

When he’s slaving away in the office, he comes home and the laundry is done, dinner is ready, and the sweatshirt he left on the floor has mysteriously made its way back to a hanger in the closet.

But for some reason he seems to feel that since he’s home and can watch the process, the magic won’t work. Therefore, the household is going to fall apart unless he tells me how to do everything.

HUBBY: I was afraid we wouldn’t get up in time today so I set the alarm.

BONNIE: Really? I didn’t hear the alarm go off.

HUBBY: That’s because we got up on time after all! But then I forgot to turn the alarm off. I think it’s going off now. Would you mind going upstairs and turning it off?

BONNIE: Sure! (starts upstairs)

HUBBY: (calling from downstairs) There’s a little slider button on top of the alarm clock, right now it’s slid over to the position marked ON. You just slide it to the left, to where it says OFF.

BONNIE: I’m gonna kill him.

Lucky for me, I have several hours a day out of the house, where I wait at the pool for swim practice to finish, otherwise I might’ve committed Hubbicide this week.

HUBBY: Where are you right now?

BONNIE: I’m at the pool. Why?

HUBBY: Oh, nothing. I’m just wondering… are we going to eat dinner tonight?

BONNIE: (growling)

HUBBY: What was that? I couldn’t hear what you said.

BONNIE: Of course we’re going to eat dinner! We eat dinner EVERY NIGHT!

HUBBY: How am I supposed to know that? You’re not home, nobody’s home, and nothing is cooking right now!

Oh lordy, I do hope I get a female judge.

Today’s Super Sabado is still about getting ready for holidays, because believe it or not, the whole world isn’t wrapped around Hubby and his knee surgery. Just MY little world.

Yesterday, I had what is probably one of my most brilliant ideas ever.

Take a minute and let the genius of that sink in. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Jaye, eyeing her man as she pulls on some rubber gloves. YEAH! JAYE! We think that is exactly what the world needs.

“I think next year, we’ll employ bungee cords. They should keep Lord of the Manor from getting out of the car while the rest of us grab a tree and secure it to the roof.

Or, perhaps duct tape would be the better choice.

Hmmm, we never would’ve thought of duct tape on our own, Ms. Karen, but duct tape might be the very thing we need around the Wren Casa right now!

The complainant indicated she and her husband decorated their first Christmas tree days beforehand while dancing to this song. Complainant’s husband denies any dancing was involved.

Crime and punishment over at Heather’s house in the ’shwa, where presumably she isn’t considering Hubbicide, just dancing lessons.

“This is why men need video games.”

Words of great wisdom from the mouth of Robin’s babe KC.

To wit: experienced travellers/border guards/hunters on the run note the silence of animals and insects in the perilous forest, with much indrawn breath and alert eyes left, eyes right – who then proceed to forgetaboutit and la-la-la on their way into ambush.

Bernita, YA(wn)ing her way through what passes for 1970s adult fantasy.

Up until then, I thought Doris Day was my only competition. When I realized she and I were in the same boat and Rock Hudson was kayaking on a completely different lake it was an awakening of sorts.

Teri Grey Franta, for whom Disneyland was never the same.

There’s nothing like harvesting a tree in a blizzard or four-wheeling through the back woods and nearly plunging into a ravine to imprint the Christmas season indelibly in your mind…

Maybe not, Michelle, but this Christmas season has been indelibly imprinted on us anyway.

i’ve imagined killing my
heroine’s foe so many times,
in my mind and with words.
i saw this scene before most
of the others.

Hmmm, Cyn, your heroine’s foe didn’t happen to have had knee surgery, did he?

I’m glad you paid attention during our studies on human reproduction, but please stop taking Baby Jesus out of the manger and telling guests that he’s the size of a three month old fetus.

TC, and something she never thought she’d ever need to say to her children.

The Discworld Librarian is a wizard who was transmogrified into what primate?

A “Meme of one” from Jon.

Why do people say I don’t give a rats ass? Is giving a rats ass a good thing? Who’d want to receive a rats ass anyway?

Wander, pondering the imponderable.

In my experience, Santa nearly always bestows way more largesse upon the rich kids. I pointed this misrepresentation out to Dave, and he suggested that Santa seems to participate in a matching program, correlating his gifts to the parents’ contributions.

We think Vaguely Urban’s Dave is a real smart guy, and probably knows better than to explain to his woman the difference between the ON and the OFF switch.

And then I noticed his arms were full of …well let’s say female products. I just looked at him and he showed me one of the boxes and said, “Is this pearl?”

Shop with LaurelWreath and you, too, might be accosted by a cowboy man looking for the right tampon.

They’re heeerrrrrree. ha.

Dink, for whom Christmas just would not be the same without the dead cat ornaments.

You know your life’s a bore when…

…your plans for Friday night are to mix up a pitcher of egg nog and snuggle before a warm computer to read the Annual Christmas Crapometer.

M.G. Tarquini’s life doesn’t sound like a bore. It sounds great.

I sail home. I am singing loud and clear and Christmas carols are blasting. My hairdo is sassy. I’m kind of high. I land in the driveway, grab my bag, and head into the house. I glance down at the bag and notice…the contents…they ARE NOT MINE.

Susan, whose misfortune helped her dodge a Wisteria Lane bullet.

I bought him shoes. His were 2 sizes too small. I feel kind of bad, because I don’t want the other students to think I favor him.

A touching post from Mel.

“Quality Inn” doesn’t denote what type of quality you’re in for!

Tips on holiday travel from the GroovyOldLady.

Oh, and a word to my Beta Blogger friends….I CAN’T LOG ON TO YOUR BLOGS TO COMMENT!

Beta blogger is poop! Yikes did I say that…Yes I did….sheer frustration!

Bonnie Calhoun, still fighting the good fight against poop—er, uh, BLOGGER.

And then I saw the snow. As in snow machines pumping snow onto a large crowd of whirling, giggling kids (the grown-up kind, too). So, that’s kinda fun & Christmas-y, but what the hell was going on? No time to stop and investigate – we had a tree to pick out.

Newly published author Angie, whose Grinchly heart only expanded one-and-a-half sizes, but still.

Just for the record, I’m not plagiarizing – I’m violating a copyright! Get over it.

Lesia, just making sure everybody’s clear on this.

There is one thing though that can kill a good time rather quickly, when I arrived home at about 10:00, both boys were still awake, watching TV with their father. Seriously!

Uh, oh! Erika’s man is in big trouble!

Oh and another thing they lied about is they were saying that my husbands parents grow pot on their property. By the time that was brought up the judge wasn’t really listening because they had proved themselves to be liars.

Just to show you not everyone is having a blast running up and down the stairs fetching stuff for an injured husband, Squirrel had to go to court.

We’ve just gotten back from picking up our Marine son, Aaron… he’s home for Christmas. Next week, the girls will be down from North Carolina, so we’ll have a houseful (I know, I know.. I’ve told y’all that already!)

Judy’s World of Dreams becomes even dreamier.

Meet Will and Power… as they run out the door.

She of the expanding waistline, Kristen! Our sister in chaotic cookie consumption.

Incidentally, if you overdo the lentils and have the esplosioni the next day, your fortune doesn’t seem to be affected.

Is Welshcakes Limoncello saying what we THINK she’s saying?

The two swans in our hamlet’s pond had a cygnet this spring. I don’t know what happened to it, but it’s no longer there. What we have are two white ducks or young geese that follow the swans around as if they have been adopted. If someone has an answer to this, please leave a comment.

Steve G with a holiday mystery for someone to solve.

And for those of you who’ve stayed until the very end, here’s something I wasn’t going to post at first, because it seemed kind of mean.

That was two days ago, before I got the explanation about how the ON/OFF switch works, and now it doesn’t seem mean enough. But just to be fair to you guys, you can watch this commercial instead, which is pretty dang mean all on its own.

That black thing he’s pointing at in the “After” picture is an electric refrigerated cast, a device my engineer hubby immediately declared to be a marvel of science. Then the nurse told him he gets to KEEP IT.

Now Hubby believes there really is a Santa Claus, and her name is Rebecca of the Encinitas Surgery Center.

“Are you telling me that boy missed another deadline? He’ll be kicked out of the program!”

“Nope. It turns out he was just kidding me. But holy cow, I really blew up at him.”

“Ha!” Hubby bellowed. “Face it, babe, you got pwned.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“‘Pwned’? ‘PWNED’? You’re gonna use gamer lingo on ME? And whose side are you on, anyway?”

Hubby started to do a bobble thing with head as he wagged his finger at me. “Babe,” he said, “I am hippest of the hip. The coolest of the cool. And take it from me: you got pwned.”

What a turncoat. I mean, really, is it too much for me to expect my man to back me up when I need it? Especially when he supplied half the DNA to a kid who forgets deadlines as frequently as he scarfs down chow?

The kids came in at that moment so I could say no more, but the battle lines had been drawn.

Hubby knew it, too. He smiled.

I smiled right back. Heh! I’d show HIM pwning.

“So dad,” said Squirt, “Grandma just told me she’s mad because she lost money on you.”

“Hunh?”

“Yeah! Grandma says she bet Kat that you could figure out how to replace the fuses on the Halloween lights before Mom could, but Mom beat you to it and Grandma had to pay up.”

It took me some seconds to get past my mother-in-law’s lack of faith in my fuse-changing abilities. But then I realized my opportunity for retaliation had popped up much more quickly than I’d expected.

“Face it, babe,” I told Hubby, “you got PWNED.”

“Ugh! Mom!” said Tiger. “You can’t say ‘pwned’.”

“What?” I was indignant. “Why not?”

“You’re too—er, um… you just don’t know how to use it right.”

Hubby smiled. “Oh, she knows how to use it,” he said. “In fact, your mother was just telling me how SQUIRT PWNED HER YESTERDAY.”

Tiger cringed again. “Ugh! You shouldn’t use it, either, Dad.”

Hubby looked at me with raised eyebrows. He apparently expected the two of us to deal as allies against this blatant age discrimination. Yeah, right. Like I’d EVER collaborate with a traitor.

Hubby’s head began bobbling again. He wagged his finger at Tiger. “Yo, boy! In case you haven’t noticed, I am hippest of the hip. The coolest of the cool. And if I say you are pwned, YOU ARE PWNED.”

Squirt shuddered. “You’re right,” he told Tiger, “somehow it sounds wrong when they say it.”

“Hello!” thundered Hubby. “I am THE PWNER!”

The boys grimaced and squirmed. I have to admit, I was enjoying their ageist discomfort. Hubby was a turncoat, sure, but these pups were trying to curtail our right to free speech!

“Yeah!” I said, brushing aside my plot to leave Hubby to the teenage wolves. “You might say Dad is the original opPWNent.”

“Ha!” Hubby roared. “Good one, babe!” We high-fived each other. “Just call me MR. PWN!”

The boys rolled their eyes, but Hubby was just warming up. “I am the pwnER, not the pwnEE!”

“Look what you’ve started,” said Squirt.

“Right,” said Tiger, “like you didn’t pwn Mom in the first place.”

“I am he,” Hubby proclaimed loud enough for the entire cul-de-sac to hear, “WHO PWNS UNCEASINGLY!”

Indeed. The man may need to work on his marital teamwork skills, but when it comes to unceasing pwnage, nobody can squelch teen rebellion with it like he can.

In fact, if you’d asked me back then to evaluate them on the Traumatic Events Stress Level Scale, I believe I would’ve rated piano recitals a little less stressful than, say, having to testify against a Mafia drug lord—but not by much.

Lucky for us, Hubby and I have attended so many piano recitals since then that the recital hall now seems just like home to us, except there are no size 13 footprints on the walls and there’s a lot less dog hair floating around.

Still, this relaxed attitude is not the good thing you might imagine it’d be.

HUBBY: (stage whispers) Gimme the programme, please.

(he reads it, looks at his watch, passes the programme back)

HUBBY: Goody. Only 40 more pieces to go.

Hubby’s one of those guys who can’t sit still, unlike me.

Me, I can sit for hours, as long as I’m in the shade and there is the promise of chocolate after. But Hubby—if Hubby sits for too long, he starts getting ideas.

BONNIE: (whispers) What did you just do?

HUBBY: Heh! I just called Tiger!

BONNIE: But he was playing his piece on stage!

HUBBY: Yeah! Heh! Too bad he turned his ringer off, hunh?

All practical joking aside, Hubby tends to squirm and fidget. And since he’s 6 foot 3 and almost 225 pounds, he squirms and fidgets in a most spectacular way.

(adult piano student turns the second page of a very long, classical piece and continues playing)

HUBBY: (sighs heavily and stretches his leg, which cracks loudly)  OW!

(several attendees turn and frown)

BONNIE: Shhh!

HUBBY: (rubbing leg)  Well, it HURT.

The good thing is, our piano teacher only has four recitals a year. The bad thing is, our piano teacher has four recitals a year.

(adult piano student turns the fourth page in her music booklet and continues playing)

HUBBY: (sighs heavily)

(other attendees turn and frown)

HUBBY: (stage whispers)  If she turns one more page, we’re outta here.

Today’s Super Sábado is awfully late, I know, mainly because I spent most of the day catching up on two weeks worth of reading, and then we had our piano recital to go to. So let’s not waste another minute… on to our Super Sabado!

Then a black SUV pulls up and stops. Elizabeth Hurley gets out of the car. She looks at my car. Without introduction she begins, “That’s my spot!. You’re in my spot!. Move your car that’s my spot!”

Portnoy of Reel Hollywood, who—in case you missed it—stole Ms. Elizabeth Hurley’s spot.

Then I bounced. And bounced. And then my office-neighbor gasped, “What are you doing? I just told my 12-year-old that’s for the little kids!”

And then my thighs started hurting.

Honey of Meet My Muse, whose spirit may still be 12-years-old, but whose thighs seem to have turned into a pair of elderly bouncy castle grouches.

He was pissed! He beat Larry’s ass for a good 10 minutes before he calmed down and asked for cartoons.

Erika of Mom of Two, on how her kidlet took to the loss of his pacifier.

My oldest has always been VERY curious about why we never see the Halloween Witch or a picture of her. I explained to him that she’s soooo pimply and green from all the candy she eats all year she won’t let ANYONE ever see her.

How Undone Lady explains the disappearance of her kidlets’ Halloween candy.

Easier than the huge ass bag of candy Dawg brought home.

It’s evil.

And speaking of Halloween candy, dear Kirsten of A-Mused Chaos may currently be facing the Curse of the Candy Bag That Was Opened Too Soon.

Two ghost stories I sold last spring have finally been published in the Halloween edition of Firefox News.These are true stories based on my real experiences.

And speaking of Halloween, Lesia of Biography of a Southern Writer, has gotten the season started with two really scary stories: No. 1 and No. 2.

I don’t go there for their prime rib, I go there for their side of corn.

Or so says the cupcake-lovin’ Dana, of Dana’s Tea House. We don’t know, Dana… what if the prime rib was shaped like a cupcake?

…I really want to try curling.

Just remember the long list of sports I try that involve kicking things. Hard.

Lachlan, of My So-Called Blog. And may we add that we sincerely hope she knows that we could never laugh at curling, nosirree.

We also learned that there is a thing called a serpentine drive belt. The reason it’s called a serpentine belt isn’t because it snakes all over the place, it’s named for the snake in the grass who designed it.

Ms. Karen, explaining the finer points of automotive repair theory.

“George might not return, Father. He has my money, after all. Perhaps he sailed away with one of the maids.”

“A countess in waiting. Waiting for my husband to return. I don’t think so, Father.”

Karen Ranney’s not-so-pliant romance heroine from Autumn in Scotland, due out December 1, 2006. Preorder, people. Preorder!

This is the best oatmeal around. I make it with a little brown sugar and yumm. And I found out this morning I can drink it through a straw with enough milk in it….

Laurel Wreath, on the little joys that might be found within a menu dictated by jaw surgery. Feel better, Laurel Wreath!

I got taken with this replica of a traditional Sicilian wine cask today, so it now adorns the top of one of my bookcases. The man in the wine merchant’s – where you can take your empty mineral water bottle and have it filled with wine from a much larger version of such a cask – says the old people used to pull out the cork in the side and drink straight from the barrel.

Welshcakes Limoncello of Sicily Scene. We are very much intrigued by the idea of drinking Sicilian wine straight from the barrel, Welshcakes, and hope that you investigate and report back to us on the process.

She hadn’t pumped her own gas in over 20 years. She didn’t know how to check into a hotel. It’s amazing how many “normal people” things she turned her nose up at.

April of Desperate Writer, on the spoiled rotten Oprah Winfrey, and her recent adventures with Miss Gayle.

Deterioration of mental retention is only a part of it.Your eyes misread a sudden urge of violence……not being able to hold it together.PHEW!! A mutiny is on…the crew no longer obeys the captain.It’s sheer anarchy.

Zingtrial of Working Away, describing what we feel is a perfectly normal reaction to THE JOKER WHO CUT US OFF ON THE I-5 YESTERDAY.

Ahem.

dearest member – from circa 1740, of literary origin, eventually jocular. Think of that the next time you write to your MP or Congressman.

Mother of the groom Bernita Harris of An Innnocent A-Blog, listing one of several examples of historical slang for… ahem, the male doodle-doo.

I get to go and choose some sparkles on saturday…..I love me some sparkles……not that I’ve had any up until now. (But I’ve been a very diligent window shopper!!!)

Speaking of weddings, here’s Birchsprite weighing in on one of the more pleasant wedding planning tasks: buying a ring. Congratulations to you and your love, Birchsprite!

couldn’t help but feel i stuck
out like a sore thumb there.
most people were, hmm, how
shall i put this, a little odd?
i would say the majority were,
er, big and pasty, with lanky
hair. =O to be blunt.

Cyn of a little sweet, a little sour, a little surprised at the… um… variety of SF convention attendees, which included a wedding conducted in Klingon.

“You’ll be a lot more terrified when I put you in the Assimilation Chamber, Betazoid!” comments Seven.

Oh dear; that subject always raises tempers.

And you thought meetings in your office were difficult. Imagine Jean Luc Picard trying to get his staff to agree arrangements for the ship’s Halloween party! And we’re dying to know what Worf will wear for Halloween!

Construct your own pretend “tricorder,” and “scan” people with it, announcing the results.

Ms. Bonnie Calhoun of Bonnie Writes, with an item from her list of ways to annoy people—an item we find slightly disturbing, as we never would’ve believed our make-believe tricorder could ever have annoyed anyone.

If there’s one thing that’ll get you respect and maybe even a round of applause in these parts, it’s the ability to shoot stuff. Especially living, menacing stuff like hungry coyotes, sneaky copperheads, and teenage boys who have been eyeballing your daughter.

TC of Fish in My Hair, who claims she is no Annie Oakley, especially around skunks.

Squid snack went uneaten. I feel bad that those little squids died in vain, but they were just beyond the pale.

Vaguely Urban, on the seafood vagaries of the Zone diet.

Bob shed his shirt and trousers and lay down beside her. He laid a hand gently on her flat stomach…then realized, from her deep breathing, that she had fallen asleep!

Steve G of Writing and Having Fun, and the hero of his novel, Bob, a courier who just can’t get an even break.

Okay she’s here, and who else did you want? Did you say Oliver? (now I’m looking through the seating chart again) Oliver, Oliver, Oliver. I don’t see Oliver on my list.

I ask the class: Is Oliver in this class? Does anyone know an Oliver?

The dangers of subbing whilst exhausted, as demonstrated by the Rock of on the Rock, especially when the phrase, “all of her” sounds an awful lot like “Oliver.”

Crikey.

Now look at what I have done.

tl of Life Got Away, chopping his way through some blog changes. It doesn’t look bad, tl!

Newbies have them, midlist authors have them, bestsellers have them. But professionals never let a hissy come back to haunt them.

But no matter what, once you’re done throwing your tantrum: wipe your eyes, eat some chocolate and then get your butt back to work.

Jaye of Jaye’s Blahg with some great advice, especially the part about eating some chocolate. And it turns out we don’t even have to sit through a piano recital to eat some, either.

He asked me what I want to be when i am big I sed Sednee Porhay

Dink of Ink Blog, whose eight-year-old self had the good taste to want to grow up to be Sidney Poitier.

And if it weren’t for the cruel physics of light and shadow, I never would have had to know that I’d pinned my hair up into some bizarre twisty spiky thing. I could have thought that everyone was smiling and laughing at my happy disposition, and not at the angular hair jalopy that I’d concocted as I did the laundry.

Robin of Curious Distractions. We’d like to add that we found her angular hair jalopy mighty fetching.

I don’t think there was a dry eye as we stood with heavy legs upon the ground of the massacre. Chris, a lady from Chicago who I would come to be friends with, began playing her native flute and we were all silent as the hollow notes echoed over the hills and ravines.

Bayou, of A Perfect Anomaly, on the day she visited Wounded Knee—a very eloquent and moving post, Bayou.

The Smothers Brothers (from way back in the day) used to perform a comedy routine where they worried about “pumas in the crevasses. ” Me? I’m worried about tarnished pots spreading silly gossip, or rather…I’m just plain tired of pains in the arses.

Teri Gray Franta of Here’s to Happy Women, who was recently mistaken (by a tarnished old pot) for a man-stealing, city-vamping couger.

Did I say it was a FANTASTIC movie? It is an absolute GEM of a film. Long but… WOW it flew in. Characters with actors to match and action, tension and dialogue in spades.

Forward, positively…, not really sure, still a little hesitant, really needing to do a lot of work on his movie critic confidence…

This weather sucks me dry. I hope the dryness remains on the surface; I hope it doesn’t reach my brain. I hope I don’t find myself in a month planted in front of the TV until summer returns.

Melly of All Kinds of Writing, and what the turn, turn, turning of seasons does to her.

Had my eyes tested today, i have been short sighted for 25 years, but only recently i realised my eyes were deteriorating when reading small print. Indeed, i need “graduated lenses”……$620!! I think it would have been cheaper to get a guide dog!

Michelle of Justitia.

I’m not so blinded by love that I don’t see his faults. But when you have someone who loves you so unconditionally, you learn to accept and over-look those faults. You learn to pick your battles and not nit-pick everything to death. In the grand scope of things, I consider myself a very lucky woman because he’s close enough to perfect for me.

Wander of Wander’s World, and her secret for a happy relationship. You go, Wander!

And for those of you who’ve stayed until the very end, here’s a video in honor of all the people with kittens… or, like Wander, with LOTS of cats!

Via: VideoSift