Poo on Thirty

Or pee on it, if you want to know the truth. Since about two weeks ago, every time I have to go to the bathroom, my brain doesn't tell me until the absolute last minute and I have to run (generally to the toilet, but sometimes to a nearby SUV) in order to keep myself from wetting my pants. I've looked this up on the internet and apparently it's something that happens to old women, which, as of a week ago, I am. Not only is MY body no longer under warranty, but Levi's compacted two of his lower vertebrae, squished most of the jelly out, and he's been hobbling around like an old guy with a big box of radio parts on his back. I won't include a photo of my urine-stained underwear, but here's Levi's x-ray:

You can see how there are black spaces (jelly) between all the vertebrae until you get to the bottom where the jelly's off the the side with a slice of toast (toast doesn't show up in x-rays, dummy). This lack of jelly means I've been Levi's bitch for the last few days. And if you want to know the truth again, I don't really mind it. As long as he keeps smacking my ass every time I fetch the ice pack. Despite the extra laundry and the pain-relieving gels, being broken can be very sexy.

As a side note, I hate you Mattress King kid! Nobody beats the king. But could somebody please put a smack down on the pimply kid who does his commercials?

Hand-Blown

The dirtiest post-title to date, fo sho. But don't these glasses make you want to drink stiff (hee hee) drinks in the morning?

I like a heavy glass. I like a glass that I can drop like a fortified Lego spaceship from four-stories that, when I go to retrieve it, is intact and begging for a beer to be poured. And I appreciate that these aren't perfect. Who needs to come home from a not-so-long day of work and drink an alcoholic beverage from a glass that's says "I'm just right -- my edges are absolute and parallel to your tabletop. Go ahead, measure me -- my sides are as calculated as Joan Rivers' cheekbones"? Not me. I'm either going to have to go to Crate and Barrel and buy a few of these, or I'm going to have to get married again.

Speaking of weddings, congratulations to Allyson, the winner of this season of "Bridalplasty," who recently tied the polymer knot. She was stunning, decidedly plastic, and looked great on top of the cake. A complimentary tip for all of you brides-to-be: you know you've got the wrong idea when your something blue is a bruise underneath the new hooters.

Gimme a Little Kiss

My mom told me a story from her childhood that I think deserves to be emblazoned upon the electric pages of the interwebs. She was at Sunday School for the first time in her life, which is weird enough already, right? I mean, you walk into a classroom, and right off the bat you notice all the animal crackers you're going to eat for snack later have wise men on their backs, and up in front of everything is the whole holy cast of the very serious Bible...in felt. That's weird. So somehow my eight or nine year old mom's gotten past all of this first-time-at-Sunday-School weirdness (I'd argue, by the way, that this weirdness continues for the duration of one's time in Sunday School). The Sunday School teacher tells the class that it's time for everyone to sing a song. What?! It's a cruel god that asks a person to believe stories that are crazy enough to require the descriptive qualities of a felt-board, but to ask your minions to sing in front of strangers? Nobody does that unless the strangers are Randy Jackson, that judge with the pretty hair and the pretty outfits, and Jennifer Lopez. So when it's my mom's turn to get up in front of everyone (kudos, Mom), she starts singing this old classic, "Gimme a Little Kiss." But apparently asking for kisses isn't really kosher with the J-Man because my ma got in trouble and was hushed like an Oscar-winner who's gotten to the I-want-to-thank-my-corn-pads part of her speech. I really like that my mom did this. It makes me think we could've been great troublemakers together if we'd grown up at the same time. But a daughter who's the same age as her mother is impossible like it's impossible for a dude to live inside a whale for a while, or for water to turn into wine at the shake of a Shake Weight.

Sarah Vaughn's "Gimme a Little Kiss":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrq-MS0pZ2A&feature=related

P.S. Can we talk about that felt board picture I found? It tells me two things: Jesus digs brothers, and Jesus needs to learn to adjust to the culture at hand -- dude, get a pair of jeans and a t-shirt already.