tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68374519384401282672024-03-13T10:44:33.076-04:00Ain't Nobody's MamaKris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-31992686721838013652015-07-09T19:32:00.000-04:002015-07-09T19:32:49.876-04:00Shame on You<a href="http://www.cnn.com/2015/07/08/living/old-navy-fat-shaming-feat/">By now I'm sure you've seen the woman's selfie in an Old Navy tank top that recently went viral.</a> The lady overheard a teen comment to her mother about a plus-size tank top being large enough for two people to fit inside at the same time. The mom agreed and laughed. The offended woman took this as "fat shaming" and left the store crying.<br />
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A clothing company for babies was under fire for selling a onesie with <a href="http://wry%20baby,%20a%20clothing%20company%20for%20little%20tots%20is%20under%20fire%20for%20selling%20a%20onesie%20with%20the%20words%20%22i%20hate%20my%20thighs.%22%20the%20garment,%20which%20many%20are%20calling%20tactless,%20no%20longer%20appears%20on%20wry%20baby's%20site,%20but%20removing%20the%20item%20hasn't%20stopped%20the%20online%20criticism%20from%20pouring%20in.%20many%20are%20going%20as%20far%20as%20saying%20that%20the%20%22snapsuit%22%20is%20basically%20baby%20fat-shaming./">"I Hate My Thighs"</a> printed on the front. Some people were outraged because they say the garment is basically baby fat-shaming. Fat babies are the greatest! How big of a stick must you have up your ass to even come up with the idea that talking about a baby's fat is shameful???<br />
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People need to lighten up -- and I don't mean that they need to reduce their caloric intake and exercise more frequently. I mean we need to stop being offended by every-fucking-little-thing someone says that we don't agree with or that hurts our feelings.<br />
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Are there insensitive assholes in the world? YES! Are there people with opinions that counter mine? YES! But classifying every instance as an act of shaming is absolutely ridiculous.<br />
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I looked up different kinds of shaming and here are just a few of kinds I discovered: pet shaming, body shaming (includes fat and thin), slut shaming, mom shaming, passenger shaming, and the one I was most surprised by -- sunscreen shaming.<br />
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What is sunscreen shaming you ask? That is when someone who actively tans and perhaps doesn't use sunscreen makes a comment like, "You're pale" to someone who chooses to use sunscreen to prevent tanning.<br />
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Are.You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?!?!<br />
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Going back to the Old Navy case, the girl remarked that the top was large enough for two people to fit into it at the same time. Based on the size of the top and the size of some people, I'd venture to say that was a factual statement. Stupid and pointless, but likely factual.<br />
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Who. Gives. A. Shit?!?<br />
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An observation or heaven forbid a criticism is NOT shaming. Take it or fucking leave it for goodness sake rather than making it a huge deal. Classifying every criticism as shaming devalues true cases of bullying. By constantly alleging shaming, you are giving people who offend you far more power than they deserve. <br />
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Fact: I'm short and have little boobs. If some asshole comments on either of these facts, it would never enter my mind to allege vertically challenged shaming or tiny titty shaming. Would such comments hurt my feelings? Maybe, but I would get over it because I've been offended or had my feelings hurt before and have learned that it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Hell, if I've had a drink or two, I'm likely to counter, "Like I give a shit you giant, little dicked asshat!" Boom. Over. Resume normally scheduled programming for fuck's sake.<br />
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However, if over-shaming continues to be the norm, I'm primed to initiate two types of shaming that will enhance the world in which we live:<br />
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1. Chewing with your mouth open and/or smacking shaming -- There is no excuse for this and all of mankind benefits if this shaming causes some of these animals to close their damn mouths and cut it with the visual reminiscent of a dumpster after last call.<br />
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2. Pen click shaming -- An annoying-as-fuck habit that serves absolutely no purpose in the world other than cause rational people to totally lose their shit upon prolonged exposure.<br />
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You. Are. Welcome.<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-11222463347134696002014-07-03T23:41:00.000-04:002014-07-04T08:57:02.374-04:00Art or Not?Artist Tracey Emin recently turned the scene of personal heartbreak and despair into a windfall. Her art installation titled, the <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2014/07/01/us/unmade-bed-art/index.html">Unmade Bed </a>just sold for over $4 million. For that price, the buyer not only gets the rumpled, stained sheets, but an assortment of empty liquor bottles, cigarettes, panties AND a condom. <br />
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Un. Fucking. Believable. <br />
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I'm amazed by this for a couple of reasons. First, that someone would have the cajones to put her panty-laden, unmade bed in a gallery and call it art. Second, that someone would pay that kind of money for an unmade bed with shit strewn on and around it.<br />
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Damn. I'm sitting on a goldmine. I'm surrounded by "art installments" just waiting to be discovered. When the dogs got into the trash, like a fool, I cleaned it up. Next time, I'm getting an agent and putting that feast for the senses on the market. Ca-ching! Ca-ching!<br />
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Y'all get ready because I already have an artistic vision for my first show.... Keep in mind, these are only photographs. The actual pieces will be life-sized and easily worth millions to people who have far more money than sense. Hell, just because I want to share my art with the world, I'll go ahead and say right now that I'll sell the entire collection for a cool $1 million.<br />
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Total. Bargain.<br />
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This first piece depicts the triumph of procrastination over easy care and clearly shows that labels do not define me. Bonus! The jeans can actually be worn when not on display.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">"Fluff"</span></i></td></tr>
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Society places rules and expectations on us. Some of which I cannot abide. For example, don't tell me a crisper drawer is for vegetables. Who needs an entire drawer for lettuce? No, sir. Not in this house. Ours is reserved for wheat and barley.<br />
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This piece is a personal one for me. It depicts my commitment to diet beverages and recycling. The lone regular drink hidden among the others represents temptation. Deep. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">"Aspartame Orgy"</span></i></td></tr>
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It's a cold, hard, fact: Crime is everywhere. Never is it more threatening to our existence than when it creeps into even the darkest corners of our home, brought by the ones we love.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">"Money Laundering"</span></i></td></tr>
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My last installment will be an experience for the senses. You will you see it. Hear it. Smell it. It may take time to rightfully gain access to the Commodores' hit, "Brick House" as it is the essential soundtrack to this piece, but I shall persevere until my vision is realized.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiubI90zhLerol1d0ITEkb7iSRocaf8x07IDAQamALwNcnvt3T1slse-vdx4u3PnDh4ah4RNPx9JQkyy_KrVvCKfXBEoAWtW0ty8W17VyGXK9kOZVotm_DI4m3yvvI0cQOjr9rQGdpj14/s1600/blog5+(360x640).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiubI90zhLerol1d0ITEkb7iSRocaf8x07IDAQamALwNcnvt3T1slse-vdx4u3PnDh4ah4RNPx9JQkyy_KrVvCKfXBEoAWtW0ty8W17VyGXK9kOZVotm_DI4m3yvvI0cQOjr9rQGdpj14/s1600/blog5+(360x640).jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">"Shit House"</span></i></td></tr>
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Whew.... I'm drained. Journeying deep into my soul to create these one-of-a-kind masterpieces is totally exhausting. No doubt, it will take time to replenish what I have lost through the creative process.</div>
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Time to hit The Vault....<br />
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-80354131739950579512014-06-26T16:10:00.001-04:002014-06-26T16:10:44.912-04:00Dixie PantiesI've spent my entire life living in the South. So, who would've ever guessed that I'd have to travel to a tiny island in Central America to meet the single most Southern woman I have ever encountered? Imagine if Scarlett O'Hara and Foghorn Leghorn had a love child. <br />
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In our very first conversation, she told me, "No matter where I go, I ALWAYS wear my Dixie panties!" Let me give you a better idea of how this actually sounded....<br />
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<em>No matta wheya I go, I awl ways wheaya my Dixay paantays!</em></div>
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The term "Dixie panties" was a first for me, but I can't help but picture a pair of granny panties with the Confederate flag splayed across the ass and old lace around the leg openings. Who knows? Maybe there's even a thong version. Either way, classy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Devil went down on Georgia.</span></em></td></tr>
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She also told me that she never dreamed she'd be married to a Yankee (and her husband was not a major league baseball player.) She referred to the Civil War as if it occurred earlier this year. She told me about a Yankee friend of her husband's whom she despised. She recounted once telling the man, "You sir, I do not care for. Your people did not even bury our dead!" Again, here's how it sounded....<br />
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<em>You sir, I do not cay ya forwa. Yourwa people did not even bury our dea-ud!</em></div>
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She was in her sixties, but I have to give her credit, she looked great. She'd definitely gone in for some maintenance, but it was extremely well done. She was the only woman on the island who approached a day on the water with full makeup and lipstick. (I'm pretty certain they had to throw away the snorkel she used after she left given that shade of lipstick.)<br />
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She'd saunter down each morning, her sandals clickety-clacking against the dock. A daringly cut one-piece, a brightly printed pareo around her hips. An enormous, hot pink straw hat, the likes of which is not typically seen outside the Kentucky Derby. No doubt it was needed to protect her alabaster skin. Again, I have to give her credit, she committed to a look and rocked it. The only thing missing was a parasol.<br />
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While I couldn't hear the conversation as she left the dock with a private guide, I can imagine....<br />
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Oh, Carlos, I hope we'll see more of those fish with all the pretty colors!</div>
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<em>Oh, Carlos, I hope we'll see mowa of those fish with all the pretty cohlas!</em></div>
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Lord, have mercy, surely we won't see any sharks!</div>
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<em>Lawad, have mercy, shorely we won't see any shawaks!</em></div>
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I love your accent, Carlos! I sure wish I had one.</div>
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<em>I luuv yorwa accent, Carlos! I sho</em><em>wa wish I had one.</em></div>
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I call bullshit (<em>bullshiyaat</em>) on her accent. My accent is far from exotic, but hers was over the top. She sounded like a character from the <a href="http://vimeo.com/72516124">Colonel Angus skit from Saturday Night Live</a>. My inclination is that she was a charlatan conducting shenanigans!<br />
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I also call bullshit on her matrimonial partner. No woman as devoutly Southern as she portrayed herself would ever let a Yankee anywhere near the shady thicket of her delicate poonanny. <br />
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I can't help but wonder if her car horn sounds like that of the General Lee.... At the very least, I'm sure it doesn't go, "Beep! Beep!" but rather......<br />
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<em>Hoewonk! Hoewonk!</em></div>
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As we say in the South, she was definitely a character. Bless her heart.<br />
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<em></em><br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-15835973600276598212014-05-01T11:21:00.001-04:002014-05-01T11:21:33.575-04:00Bad Ink<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Exhibit A</em></td></tr>
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There's a guy on trial for murder in Kansas with an unfortunate neck <a href="http://news.msn.com/crime-justice/accused-kansas-killer-with-murder-tattoo-to-wear-turtleneck">tattoo</a>. Out of all the things in the world he could have chosen to have permanently imprinted on his skin, he chose MURDER spelled backward. As shitty as this tattoo is, I'm surprised the spelling is correct. Okay, so what could make this an even worse choice for a tattoo? Ending up on trial for murder. Yeah. Now he's trying to get it covered up real quick and in a hurry.<br />
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Since he's in jail, he can't get it covered with another tattoo or removed. Jail really harshes your mellow. Looks like Mr. Personality will be sporting a turtleneck during his summer trial. (My guess is that this will be the first turtleneck this guy has ever worn.)<br />
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I don't think he should be able to cover up his tat for the trial. It should be "Exhibit A" to establish that he has a history of poor decision making. Not allowing the jurors to see it would be like opening your door to a blind date with MICRO DICK or HERPES tattooed on his neck and not being able to see it. That is need-to-know information!<br />
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I don't have any tats, but I have no objection to them -- especially if they are chosen well and well done. The only thing that totally baffles me regarding tattoos is the apparent whimsy with which some folks choose them. <br />
<br />
You are really committing to a look when you get a tattoo where everyone can see it -- especially on your neck. Let's be honest. MURDER tattooed on your neck vastly restricts your upward mobility. Hell, I wouldn't even want to look out and see my garbage collector fondling my Hefty's with such a menacing tat.<br />
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Since some folks don't seem to give a lot of thought when choosing their tats, I decided to provide some points to ponder when making such an important decision. I consider it a public service for both those getting tattoos and the rest of us who will look at them.<br />
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<em>So, you want to get a tattoo on your bicep.... </em>Stand in front of the mirror and make a muscle. See anything? If not, think twice about calling attention to that area. If you are a man wearing a sleeveless shirt when you do this, take it off and THROW. IT. AWAY. There's no good reason for a grown ass man to be wearing a sleeveless shirt unless he is pumping iron. Period.<br />
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<em>You are a woman thinking about getting a "tramp stamp" tattoo on the small of your back.... </em><br />
Okay. That can at least be covered up when needed. However, if you are indeed a tramp, you might want to make that tat serve a purpose. Maybe have it read, "My name is <INSERT NAME>" so that your "suitor" knows what to call you should your "relationship" progress so rapidly that basic personal information is not shared.<br />
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<em>How about a tattoo on your face.... </em>No.<br />
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<em>But what if it's really meaningful and done very well.... </em>No.<br />
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<em>You are a woman considering a tattoo on your stomach.... </em>Imagine that same image stretched across a beach ball. Is it still cute?<br />
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<em>You are a frat guy thinking about getting your Greek letters on your ankle....</em> Think how this will look one day when you are driving a minivan. Hanging on to your youth too hard makes you look sad later. As Elsa would say, "Let it go."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tdxXvUokGk6Fv99NexY_UHo7KKa53tYGR8__ZkxdUKxA2cmV28NV2i3bZvHe667mxDYGf7CQa7ELjCBqEqCfBvNDo9-jKqeL7tszsu5P947vdUcW46a_tIeRKU14lShs4TNcg7hQNfg/s1600/regert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tdxXvUokGk6Fv99NexY_UHo7KKa53tYGR8__ZkxdUKxA2cmV28NV2i3bZvHe667mxDYGf7CQa7ELjCBqEqCfBvNDo9-jKqeL7tszsu5P947vdUcW46a_tIeRKU14lShs4TNcg7hQNfg/s1600/regert.jpg" height="151" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Maybe one?</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em>How about a tattoo designed around an orifice of your body</em>.... A little guy riding a lawnmower toward your lady grass might sound cute after a few drinks, but, try to control yourself. One day you might decide to be classy.<br />
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And finally, I have to mention that if you consider having words of any kind permanently printed on your body, take at least one proofreader with you to the tattoo parlor. You don't want to have any regrets in your choice of tattoo, but ending up with REGERTS would be even worse.<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-3380248565585526312014-03-27T18:30:00.000-04:002014-03-27T18:30:04.675-04:00My Good Ol' BoyMy Hubs is without a doubt, the smartest, most tenacious person I know. Whereas I'm easily distracted and don't suffer the least bit of angst at failing to solve a problem, he's the opposite. He NEVER gives up. If he goes to bed thinking about a problem, more often than not, the solution will awaken him before dawn.<br />
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Where I read fiction to relax, he delves into highly technical articles for kicks. This man solves differential equations in his head. Ask him about thermodynamics or fluid dynamics. He'll tell you more than you ever wanted to know.<br />
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But, there is one thing he does that totally contradicts his intelligence....<br />
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Something that drives. Me. Crazy.<br />
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Does he channel surf? Sure. But, that's no biggee. The problem is that no matter how fast he flips, if he catches a glimpse of one particular show, he ALWAYS stops. No sometimes about it. ALWAYS. Surely with all those smarts it's a documentary or program on the science or history channel, right?<br />
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Nope. My brainiac husband stops at the....Dukes of Hazard. The. Dukes. Of. Fucking. Hazard.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><em>Just'a good ol' boys</em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><em>Never meanin' no harm.</em></span></div>
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The opening lines of the theme song call to him like the Sirens' song. Snaring his attention, causing his thumb to freeze over the remote. Everything comes to a halt. It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen. As he watches, he snickers and laughs like a five-year-old boy.<br />
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Blows. My. Mind.<br />
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If I'm being totally honest, I'll admit that I'd be less disturbed if I walked in on him watching clown porn than Bo and Luke battling Boss Hogg for the umpteenth time. <br />
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My theory is that Hubs' love of this moronic show is simply a release. A time when he's able to give all of his brain cells a rest. No deep plot to follow. No complicated dialog to consider. A reminder of the carefree days of childhood.<br />
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Back when he was single with no crazy wife to blog about him!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFt2137YB7LuXfrgP4ix_HNWgzwBmXJwO9j3lZDugsLlRqgL6FiV3ShC7ZMiBwgidyl6eIMfwklSwapyrVe21LbPLjHsRzzkFdSC777ughZ7ObeoNkk1HWkMT_WmPCZHdKdbd6eem9h0/s1600/roscoe.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFt2137YB7LuXfrgP4ix_HNWgzwBmXJwO9j3lZDugsLlRqgL6FiV3ShC7ZMiBwgidyl6eIMfwklSwapyrVe21LbPLjHsRzzkFdSC777ughZ7ObeoNkk1HWkMT_WmPCZHdKdbd6eem9h0/s1600/roscoe.bmp" height="161" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.maximumdonline.com/tvwavs/rosco.wav">I guess you have to laugh!</a></td></tr>
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-12667335234504561342014-03-03T10:54:00.002-05:002014-03-03T10:54:47.499-05:00Bigfoot BSHave you heard? <a href="http://www.webpronews.com/bigfoot-killed-corpse-on-tour-in-texas-2014-02">Bigfoot's corpse is on tour</a>. Yep. When it comes to a location near you, you can take a gander at the remains for $20. Here's a photo of the anatomically correct corpse that was released from the exhibit:<br />
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Used car salesman and self-proclaimed Master Bigfoot Tracker, Rick Dyer, says he lured the creature in by nailing a rack of ribs to a tree. Where can you get ribs tasty enough to tempt a sasquatch? According to Dyer, Wal-Mart's the place. I wonder if he'll add "Master Baiter" to his resume for this feat....<br />
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No footage of the legendary beast tearing into those ribs though. Sounds fishy to me. I don't know any hunter who would lure a trophy beast without setting up a game camera to capture it. <br />
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Any pictures of Dyer posed with his bounty after the kill? Nope. I have lived in the South my entire life, so I can say this with absolute certainty: No redneck worth his Skoal would kill Bigfoot and not have a photo of himself smiling from ear-to-ear beside the carcass. That hairy son of a bitch would be thrown in a truck and driven around town until everybody and his brother had a picture of themselves posing next to it.<br />
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No mention of all the meat that would have been harvested from the beast either. It's a rare hunter who will let a harvested animal of any kind go to waste. My pal <a href="http://aintnobodysmama.blogspot.com/2013/07/foul-play-pact.html">Skeeter</a> would've had that thing processed and in her freezers in no time. In addition to being an avid hunter, Skeeter is the Crock-Pot Queen. (She has at least four that I know of and I wouldn't be surprised if she had backups.) I can assure you, she'd have all her crocks working overtime on some squatch roast.<br />
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I call bullshit on this Bigfoot claim all the way around. But, I have to ask.... Am I the only one who assumed even a fake Bigfoot would have a dwanger bigger than a cocktail wienie? I would've thought it would be more in the Polska Kielbasa range. At the very least, a BallPark Frank....<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-32965737505205678822014-01-07T19:59:00.004-05:002014-01-07T20:01:17.123-05:00Weighing InMore power to you if dropping a few pounds is on your to do list for 2014. I'm no expert, but I suggest steering clear of radical or celebrity hyped plans.<br />
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On Gwyneth Paltrow's lifestyle blog, Goop, she lists menus for a 300 calorie per day Winter detox. Here's Day One:<br />
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<em>Glass of room temperature lemon water</em><br />
<em>Herbal tea</em><br />
<em>Chai Gingerbread Shake</em><br />
<em>Mug of hot lemon water or herbal tea</em><br />
<em>Chickpea Soup</em><br />
<em>Walnut Lentil <span dir="auto">Pâté</span></em><br />
<em>Quinoa Stuffed Kabocha</em><br />
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Wow. I'm starving just reading that. About the only thing I have on that list is the water. Gwynnie no doubt has "people" to hunt down oddball dietary implements like kabocha and lentil p<span dir="auto">âté</span>. I've got better shit to do than go on a scavenger hunt for an Asian variety of winter squash and snack on seeds.<br />
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No doubt Gwynnie's innards are squeaky clean and you could bounce a quarter off her abs, but life is too fucking short to drink hot water and munch on dandelion roots. But, hey, if that turns you on, go for it. Just don't try to sell me on that pathetic bandwagon of self-depravation. I'm no health guru, but personally, I'm fond of moderation. (I drink with it all the time.) I watch what I eat and exercise, but I also enjoy myself.<br />
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Any bulimic starlet who says that nothing tastes as good as skinny feels has obviously never had salted caramel gelato or a Krispy Kreme while the neon light is on. I once indulged in an éclair in a small patisserie outside of Paris that was worthy of a post coital cigarette. I wouldn't trade that culinary experience for any amount of quinoa or celery juice.<br />
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Besides, celebrities get paid very well to maintain their svelte figures. They have personal chefs, trainers, nutritionists, plastic surgeons, etc. to help with the job -- and Photoshop if all that doesn't work -- so they really don't have much excuse not to look fantastic. I bet their dinner parties aren't all that much fun, though.... I imagine Gwynnie inviting friends over for wheatgrass martinis then standing around munching on edamame and doing ass clenches to help burn off the calories. I'd love to sneak a tray of bacon wrapped cocktail wienees into one of her soirees and watch what happens....<br />
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Weight loss product endorsements provide valuable incentives for celebs to shed the pounds. Jessica Simpson reportedly made over $4 million for her original deal with Weight Watchers. Weight Watchers is a solid plan, but I wouldn't do it based on seeing Jess having a grand time frolicking in a meadow now that she can get her ass back into her jeans. Hell, if someone paid me $4 million to follow a cat-turd-a-day diet, I'd dance around, give a fist bump and proclaim, "That shit's delicious!" I guaran-damn-tee you I could out-frolic good ol' Jess for way less money.<br />
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Thankfully, I've never been even close to the precipice of fame so I don't have to worry about anyone speculating when my tummy pokes out as to whether it is a baby bump or if I indulged in a Milk Dud.<br />
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Rest assured, it ain't no damn baby bump.... I Ain't Nobody's Mama!<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-5826279453297401512013-11-13T19:29:00.001-05:002013-11-13T19:29:26.885-05:00Hip-Hip-Hoo-Ha for the Holidays!Just when I thought <a href="http://www.vajazzling.com/">vajazzling</a> was the most absurd practice I'd ever heard of, I see an advertisement for "<a href="http://www.mynewpinkbutton.com/content/Product_List.htm">My New Pink Button</a>." This product is a dye to restore "the youthful pink color" back to your labia. Let me say that again in case you missed it.... DYE. For. Your. LABIA.<br />
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What. The. Fuck.<br />
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I'm in my forties and I'm already getting pretty damn pissed at the maintenance this mediocre bod of mine requires. At this rate, I'm going to have to quit my full-time job just so I'll have time to adequately moisturize, dye my hair (on my head!), exercise, shop for healthy food, and remove unwanted hair. And now I'm supposed to worry about my naughty bits losing their cherubic blush?<br />
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I. Think. Not. I got shit to do.<br />
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Unless I have a midlife crisis that involves me deciding to be a porn star, I call bullshit on this whole deal. My good Southern mama taught me a long time ago, "If it don't look good, don't put it out on the porch for everyone to see." I can safely say that this will not be a problem when it comes to my private nubbin. <br />
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Ladies, if you are getting complaints on the discoloration of your vajayjay, you are showing it too much and to the wrong people. I doubt that there is a man out there who would have a moment's hesitation of doing the deed based on the shade of his partner's cooter. (Not counting it being like freakishly day-glo or something, but even then, most men would probably appreciate the navigational help.)<br />
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I cannot imagine Hubs pointing out that my hoo-ha was losing its luster. I'm not married to an idiot. Hubs is a very technical, pragmatic guy. Before he would say something like that, he would weigh whether or not the need to make such a moronic comment would be worth me getting half his shit. A smart, smart man....<br />
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However, if a man did say that, I think turn about would be fair play. A woman could simply ask, "So, are you going to start tucking those saggy balls in your socks soon or what?"<br />
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I have a solution for any of you who are concerned about the color of your hootily-do. Pay attention because I'm only going to tell you how to solve this problem ONCE. There are actually two options....<br />
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1. Stop looking at your hoo-ha.<br />
2. Turn. Off. The. Light.<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-33278290856308300492013-10-30T20:04:00.002-04:002013-10-30T20:04:53.838-04:00Bully for You<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>One Hot Mama</em></td></tr>
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Super-fit mom, Maria Kang, caused quite the brouhaha when she posted a picture of herself in teensy workout wear along with her three small children on Facebook with the caption, "What's your excuse?" The photo went viral and lots of moms have accused her of "fat shaming" and have blasted her for the post, some even calling her a bully. You can read more about her <a href="http://www.newsday.com/news/nation/maria-kang-fit-facebook-mom-accused-of-fat-shaming-with-facebook-picture-1.6284134">here</a>.<br />
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The coach of a Texas high school football team has been accused of bullying in a formal complaint filed by the father of a player on the opposing team after his team beat another school 91-0. You can read more about the complaint <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/10/22/parent-accuses-texas-high-school-football-coach-bullying-after-1-0-blowout-game/">here</a>. <br />
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I think these are both cases where the term "bully" is misused.<br />
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Okay, so some moms are offended by Kang's picture and question. I can see that, but why the need to classify her as a bully? This woman obviously quite literally works her ass off to look like that, so if you are a mom who isn't that in to diet and fitness for whatever reason, why should you give a shit what someone else does?<br />
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Hell, if anyone should be offended, it should be those of us without kids who really don't have any excuse not to be super-fit. Are my granny panties all in a bunch over her or any woman in booty shorts flaunting a hot bod? Nope. I just say, "More power to ya chick!" and toast her with my mixed drink of vodka and diet soda while I wait for my cheese potato casserole to come out of the oven.<br />
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I'm going to go ahead and tell you right now that if my body looked like that, you'd see me in the grocery store and post office wearing an outfit like that year round. Insults or accusations of being a bully would just bounce off my taut abs. Haters could kiss my smoking hot ass.<br />
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Maria Kang's attempt to motivate other moms might have offended some, but I don't think it is bullying. At worst, maybe she's just a bitch a lot of moms wouldn't want to hang out with for her in-your-face approach. My advice? If you feel that way, don't hang out with her or visit her web site!<br />
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Now about the coach.... If you read the story, you'll see that the guy put in his second and third strings after the first quarter to try and slow down the score. High scores are the norm for this team this season. The coach said he didn't know what else he could have done short of having his players take a knee.<br />
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I think the ridiculous part of this story is the fact that the father of a child on the losing team calls the huge win an act of bullying. Seriously??? Based on what I read, it sounds like the winning coach conducted himself in a respectable manner. It's not like he called plays that involved giving the opponent wedgies and commenting on the moral turpitude of their mothers. <br />
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Classifying either of these stories as acts of bullying undermines cases where legitimate bullying has taken place.<br />
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WINNING is not bullying. No one likes to lose, but losing is a fact of life. Learn from it and let that inspire you to move on and try even harder next time. Let it result in valuable traits like DETERMINATION and CHARACTER. We are breeding mediocrity with this whole "everyone-gets-a-trophy-and-a-hug" mentality. Lots of young people are going to be ill equipped and very disappointed when the time comes for them to compete in REAL LIFE. <br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-21985968884820332852013-10-07T20:19:00.000-04:002013-10-07T20:19:05.193-04:00A Whore Raising ExperienceSince I don't have kids, I rarely comment on child rearing techniques. However, I recently witnessed a parenting cluster fuck the likes of which I've never seen.<br />
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Hubs and I were with a group of friends at our favorite Greek restaurant in the city. My friend and the brother my parents never gave me, Roger, was on leave from the Army visiting with us, so we wanted him to experience this great place. (Roger isn't his real name, but I swore I'd use that name for him if he made the blog because instead of saying "yes" he always says, "Roger!") <br />
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This restaurant is typically raucous with drinking, dancing on the tabletops and roaming belly dancers. It's after 10 p.m. and we're relaxing after a delicious meal, enjoying some adult beverages and good conversation. Suddenly, we notice something we'd never seen there before: a group of small children ranging in age from I'd say three to eight years old. I'm no expert, but should young kids be out in a bar at that time of night?<br />
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But wait! There's more....<br />
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Little girls dressed in sequined outfits with bared midriffs joined the belly dancer. They even got up on the tabletops and did bump and grind moves that were waaaaaaay beyond their years. I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd started doing apple juice body shots. Our group all looked at each other and asked, "Is this making anyone else uncomfortable?" It was weird. Very weird. But, much like a train wreck, we couldn't look away. I hadn't seen bumping and grinding that inappropriate since my <a href="http://aintnobodysmama.blogspot.com/2013/03/night-at-dusty-beaver.html">Night at the Dusty Beaver</a>.<br />
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Roger, whom I'd been telling about this place for a long time, turned and gave me a look that clearly said, "I had no idea you were in to this sort of scene, pervert." I assured him that this had never happened before, but he remained skeptical, especially when the little ones began stuffing cash in the dancer's G-string.<br />
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One of the parents whom we immediately named "Stifler's Mom" due to her voluminous, exposed cleavage seemed to be directing the tots. Nice influence, there, tits. Was there a Billy Ray Cyrus parenting workshop in town we didn't know about? I thought that perhaps this group was out on the town practicing newly acquired kid pimping skills. <br />
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Now, while I believe it is important for kids to learn the art of tipping, I do not think that includes baby hands making it rain on a scantily clad dancer. There are certain things that little girls in the single digits shouldn't do. I never thought parents would have to be specifically told, "Hey, how about not letting your six-year-old drop it like it's hot next to my dinner?" Oh, and, "While you're at it, could you tell your little princess to stop twerking on the waiter?" I'm 43 years old and it's safe to say that my parents would still try to beat my ass if they saw me doing bullshit like that. <br />
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We even asked the waiter, "Is that appropriate in here?" He said that the parents were responsible, so what could they do? I beg to differ on the "responsible" part. If those girls end up dancing on a pole one day, their parents can't say a damn word. They planted the seed.<br />
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If there was a pedophile dining there that night, no doubt he thought he'd discovered the best floor show in town. Does it make you proud, Stifler's Mom, to know that some perv is tucking away images of your six-year-old's provocative dancing into his spank bank for later? Nice. Really nice. <br />
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How about displaying some good judgment and class Mom of the Year? I Ain't Nobody's Mama, but I know bullshit parenting when I see it.<br />
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-16901838294929022592013-09-10T20:54:00.001-04:002013-09-10T20:54:43.532-04:00Night at the Bashful WeinerI introduced you to my gay boyfriend, Poodle, back when I shared my <a href="http://aintnobodysmama.blogspot.com/2013/03/night-at-dusty-beaver.html">Night at the Dusty Beaver</a>. Poodle is always ready to go out and enjoy fun with our close group of friends, so when he invited us out to a drag bar, how could we resist?<br />
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He had to talk the straight guys in our group into going because they were totally not digging a drag club as a site for a fun evening out. However, Poodle lured them with the temptation that there would be lots of lesbians there. "What straight man doesn't like lesbians????" He asked. They really had no argument for that, so, off we went, complete with Poodle sporting his pink, feather boa for the occasion.<br />
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For the purpose of this post, I will call this drag bar The Bashful Weiner. (I'd hate to offend any of the performers or patrons with my critique.) Having never been to a drag show before, I expected the performers to look like Bea Arthur or George Foreman in evening gowns for some reason. I could not have been more wrong.<br />
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The first performer was wearing the equivalent of a banana peel and two Band-Aids. He/She was toned and tight as a drum balancing effortlessly on five-inch heels. I was shocked. Totally shocked. Ladies, there is absolutely no excuse for us to look like shit when a MAN can make himself into that attractive of a woman. <br />
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I was surprised at how entertaining the show was with the different performers singing, dancing, and cracking jokes. One performer, however, brought us to an uncomfortable place. He/She came out onto the stage in a wheelchair. I thought, okay, so here's a disabled drag queen. Not expected, but hey, good for him/her.<br />
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He/She proceeded to flail around to the music then suddenly -- BAM! -- he/she was face down on the floor. My first reaction was, "Oh shit!" I felt sure this was an unfortunate accident for the performer. But, then he/she began to gyrate on the stage and eventually was up -- on two stocking clad, perfectly functioning legs -- dancing. I'll be honest. I really didn't know what to make of that. I was shocked, dismayed, relieved, confused.... So I ordered another drink and kept watching.<br />
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Poodle didn't lie about the lesbians. There were a shit-ton in attendance. But, he stretched it when he intimated that a straight man would enjoy observing these ladies in this habitat. By my estimation, all of them (except for perhaps one or two) looked either like Justin Beiber, complete with side-swooped hair and oversized trucker hat or lumberjacks on furlough with their wallets chained to their jeans for safekeeping.<br />
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As I was looking around, I caught the eye of a burly looking gal with a mullet who winked and gave me a nod. My first reaction was, "Oh shit!" Then, I got a little insulted because I knew I could do better if that was the side my bread was buttered on. <br />
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As the night wore on, Hubs and the other straight guy in our group had to go to the restroom. Poodle had warned them earlier in the evening to "watch their backs" if they had to go in there because things had been known to happen. One got up and said, "Hey, man, you need to go?" The other quickly stood up, stretched and said, "Yeah, man. Let's go." This was the only time in my life I have ever seen two straight men go to the bathroom together.<br />
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They returned a few minutes later, laughing and ready for more beer. Thankfully, there were no unusually friendly guys in the men's room. They were laughing at the fact that there were flowers in one of the urinals. They'd never seen that at Hooters or at a ballgame.<br />
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It was quite an enlightening night. One to check off my Bucket List -- or at least my Fuck-It List -- for sure.<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-48397370360189805372013-08-28T20:49:00.000-04:002013-08-28T20:49:19.271-04:00Men Are FunnySome of my greatest friendships have been with men. I have to give guys credit because they typically don't come with a lot of drama. If we have a disagreement, there are no long recovery times. A "Fuck you!" followed by a couple of beers and all is right again when you have a disagreement with a guy friend. No tears or pouting. Simple. I like that.<br />
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Men say things women just never even think of and I never cease to be amazed. Here are some of the funniest things I've actually heard men say over the years. Keep in mind that I live in the South, so most of these are said with a bit of "twang." <br />
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<strong>WARNING:</strong> This list isn't for the easily offended. (But, if you are easily offended, you probably stopped reading Ain't Nobody's Mama a long time ago!)<br />
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Men are hilarious, but often crass when they....<br />
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Comment on the opposite sex....<br />
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<li><em>I wouldn't fuck her for practice.</em></li>
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<li><em>I'd rather stick my dick in a meat grinder.</em></li>
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<li><em>Her ass looks like a sack of dead cats.</em></li>
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<li><em>If I was looking at her boobs it was just so that I wouldn't have to look at her face.</em></li>
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*When caught staring at an unfortunate looking woman's chest<br />
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<li><em>I wouldn't fuck her with your dick.</em></li>
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<li><em>She makes my dick harder than 10 jawbreakers.</em></li>
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<li><em>Fucking her is like rolling a hot dog down a hallway.</em></li>
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Talk about the weather....<br />
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<li><em>I'm sweatin' like a whore on dollar night.</em></li>
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<li> <em>It's hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sock.</em></li>
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<li><i>I'm sweatin' like a whore in church.</i></li>
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Question each other's sexuality....<br />
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<li><em>Man, you're so gay, if it was raining pussy, you'd get hit in the face with a dick.</em></li>
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Report driving conditions....<br />
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<li><em>That road's crookeder* than a dog's dick.</em></li>
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<em> </em>*Some folks actually say "crookeder" in the South.<br />
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And finally, this doesn't fall into any particular category, but a male friend actually said this to me and I thought it was oddly hilarious....<br />
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<li><em>I've got a muskrat in the truck if you want to see it.</em></li>
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*Muskrat was not a euphemism for anything. He actually had a muskrat.<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-39456369906155499962013-08-21T19:49:00.002-04:002013-08-21T19:49:45.772-04:00WTH Are They Thinking???I am a firm believer that we find what we look for in life, so I strive to look for the positive in every situation. I'm no Pollyanna, but I don't see the point in focusing on the negative. Am I always successful? Hell no! Do I get mad? Hell yes! A couple of recent news stories have raised my hackles to the point that I just have to share.<br />
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<a href="http://ca.news.yahoo.com/blogs/dailybrew/ontario-police-aware-hateful-letter-telling-family-euthanize-171036930.html">A lady in Canada sent her neighbor this horrible letter.</a> In a nutshell, a woman cares for her autistic grandson during the summer and lets him spend time outside in her yard each day. The child makes noises that are beyond his control. Well, this annoys the neighbor, so she sends a letter suggesting that the grandmother "do the right thing and move or euthanize him." I shit you not. She actually suggested that a CHILD be euthanized because he ANNOYED her. She further suggests that "they should take whatever non retarded body parts he possesses" and donate them to science. She signed the letter, "One pissed off mother!!!"<br />
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What. A. Vile. Cunt. This chick's hand basket to Hell just got a racing stripe. I wouldn't be surprised if this same bitch has a dog that she lets shit in everyone else's yard when she takes it for a walk.<br />
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Lady, why not take a minute to be thankful for the health and safety of your own children instead of sending a hateful letter that you are too cowardly to even sign your name to? That energy you are spewing doesn't help the situation one bit. You've devastated a family. If you feel better for it, then you are a pitiful excuse for a human being, much less a role model for your children.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/colorado-family-threatened-legal-action-wheelchair-ramp-article-1.1430839">A family in Colorado is dealing with their own neighborhood drama. They installed a wheelchair ramp in front of their house for their daughter who has cerebral palsy.</a> A neighbor is threatening to sue to have the ramp removed because she says it adversely affects CURB APPEAL in the neighborhood. Now if it was made from human bones and had puppy heads for finials, I could see her point, but that is not the case. <br />
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It is a concrete ramp with handrails to help a child with a disability. What is your problem, lady? I'd find living next to a self-centered, heartless bitch much less appealing than a fucking ramp. Wait until the neighbors complain about the traffic when you have to summon the jaws of life to get your head out of your ass!<br />
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What about common decency and empathy? We should be a lot more concerned about these traits becoming extinct rather than some three-toed, tree dwelling rat in Indonesia. (I totally made that up, so don't get worried about the rat.)<br />
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Being empathetic can take conscious effort and practice. For example.... If a person is driving in front of me, well below the speed limit, rather than ride his bumper and get my panties in a bunch over something I have absolutely no control over, I try to remember that everyone is fighting their own battle. Perhaps he just lost his spouse and is on the way home from making funeral arrangements. Who knows? Maybe having to go slower than normal prevents me from being at that dangerous intersection when a car runs a red light. <br />
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We would all do better to look at our fellow travelers in life with a degree of compassion and empathy. In the blink of an eye, any one of us could be in their shoes. Practice being thankful instead of critical. <br />
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I'm stepping down from my soapbox now....<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-15906487522463132332013-08-12T21:40:00.000-04:002013-08-12T21:40:41.725-04:00People Peeves: Part DeuxEver notice how some people just go full-tilt asshole all the time? There is no low to medium setting. They are just ON. All. The. Fucking. Time. Lots of these people are in sales, either in person or via telemarketing. Since I would HATE to do their job, I try to be as polite as possible when rejecting their offers or services. (I'm Southern, so I was groomed from birth to be polite.) Even if you are being a total douchetard, I will say, "Please," and "Thank you" in an effort not to offend. (Do not mistake this behavior or my accent for a lack of intelligence. Shit can get REAL, really quickly if you do.)<br />
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I understand that salespeople are trained to be tenacious and never take no for an answer, but let's face it -- sometimes no IS the answer. So, when I try to let you down easy, understand that you do not help your case AT ALL when you start calling me "Honey" or "Sweetheart" in a condescending tone that would keep even Channing Tatum from getting laid, much less convince me that I need your brand of toner for my copier.<br />
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People who do not take care of their children make my blood boil. I've seen more than one report this summer about people leaving a baby or child in a hot car and the child dying. I won't even leave my iPad in a hot car for fuck's sake! Unless you step out of the car and drop dead on your way to get your child out, there is absolutely NO EXCUSE for this. <br />
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Another peeve I have is for parents who dress their little girls like whores. I've seen little girls wearing midriff bearing tops, low rise jeans and makeup that is in no way age appropriate. I ain't nobody's mama, but please tell me why anyone would go even a step further and parade their child like this on the "beauty" contest circuit? Fake hair, fake teeth, spray tans, provocative routines and poses.... A five-year-old who is trained to make a duck face and operate a rip-away skirt on stage is just all kinds of wrong. You can't tell me there aren't pedophiles out there having a field day with this kind of bullshit.<br />
<br />
People with bad breath try my patience, especially if they are also "close talkers." If my face is squinched up and my eyes are watering while you're talking to me -- Back. The. Fuck. Up. Folks, how can you NOT know that your breath smells like ass? If you cannot distinguish between minty fresh and turd tongue, see a professional because there is a problem in there. Even if you're not sure, trust me, no one's going to complain if you pop an Altoid or suddenly excuse yourself to go brush your teeth as a preventive measure. <br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-52833621772513090642013-07-28T12:24:00.002-04:002013-07-28T12:26:35.078-04:00Royal RealityI'm not a royal watcher nor am I a reality TV fan, but if the two were combined, I'm thinking that might be worth watching. A glimpse "Behind Castle Walls" to see life with Will, Kate and baby George WITHOUT domestic help would be a ratings smash.<br />
<br />
Kate has been home alone with the baby since Will went back to work. She hasn't had a chance to pee or brush her teeth all day, so she's looking forward to the moment Will walks through the door and she can hand the baby over for a bit. Unfortunately, Will heads straight to the bathroom with his iPad to catch up on the day's polo and cricket matches. Thirty minutes in to his royal dump, Kate has had enough, yelling, "Damnmit Will! I'm going to cut your balls off if you don't get out here before I piss myself!"<br />
<br />
Knowing what's good for him, Will finishes his daily deuce, strikes a match and heads out hoping for a quick snog with his lady. Instead, their bundle of joy is shoved into his arms with the proclamation from his mum, "He just shit his nappy, so he's due for a change." (They're very proper, so perhaps instead of shit, they say "shat," but I'm not sure.)<br />
<br />
Later that night, we catch a glimpse of Kate sneaking outside beneath the cloak of darkness. She is wearing a pair of Will's old pajama pants, a burp stained tank top and some bedroom shoes she's had since college. She removes a loose stone from the castle wall and reaches inside.... She finds her hidden stash of fags (cigarettes people, don't get excited) and proceeds to burn one as the fog settles across the moor.<br />
<br />
The thing to remember is, that even if we catch the royals going all white trash, they will still sound classy because of that accent. "I'm going to put a boot up your ass" sounds like a delightful experience when threatened in a British accent. That will no doubt serve Prince George well as he learns to talk.<br />
<br />
When my godson, <a href="http://aintnobodysmama.blogspot.com/2013/04/feed-children.html">Bert</a>, was just a tot, his favorite treat was chocolate milk. Unfortunately, when he would ask for chocolate milk, it came out sounding exactly like "fucking" milk. You can imagine how that went over when he decided he wanted some chocolate milk during Sunday service at church. I'm pretty sure their family is still on the prayer list and that was over 8 years ago.... Even in this worst case scenario, I think the British accent would have helped lessen the shock.<br />
<br />
Imagine when the little prince gets old enough to start repeating everything his parents say.... Sunday lunch with the Queen should be interesting. (I'm sure Liz pops some stag or grouse into the royal Crock Pot before church.) While it's quiet around the table, George will innocently ask something like, "Great grandmum, may I please see the bat?"<br />
<br />
Puzzled, the old gal will no doubt inquire as to what the boy is talking about, so he will explain, "My mum says an old bat lives in the palace." Will chokes back a laugh while Kate kicks him under the table.<br />
<br />
We always see royal children on their best behavior. I want to see them acting like REAL kids. I want to see Will trying to beat George's ass when he throws a tantrum in the local stop-and-shop. I want to know if the dish-rag maneuver (when you try to put a child down and he goes limp and won't lock his knees) extends across the pond and into the royal set.<br />
<br />
I want to see Kate totally lose her shit when the future kind of England spits pudding in her hair. I want to see what happens when George becomes fascinated with the "loo" and flushes one of Mum's heirloom jewels. How great would it be to see Kate wearing a macaroni necklace during a public appearance?<br />
<br />
Royally. Awesome.<br />
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-65053087349345650642013-07-22T20:18:00.000-04:002013-07-23T09:17:33.681-04:00FurriesDo you know what a furry is? (Furry as a noun, not as an adjective.) Well, in case you don't, let me tell you.<br />
<br />
A furry is someone who likes anthropomorphic (humanlike) animals in art, fiction, cartoons, costumes, etc. The degree that someone participates in this subculture can range from a hobby to a full-blown fetish. Whereas one furry might just enjoy collecting cartoon memorabilia, another might get his rocks off by dressing up in a rabbit costume and bumping uglies with someone dressed as a goat. <br />
<br />
Many furries like to dress up in animal costumes and may even enjoy role-playing in what they refer to as their animal "fursona." They create a whole character for themselves and go out in public.<br />
<br />
Why the hell do I posses this knowledge? After witnessing a number of oddly attired people on the street the same evening we experienced the <a href="http://aintnobodysmama.blogspot.com/2013/03/night-at-dusty-beaver.html">Night at the Dusty Beaver</a>, I did some research. I wanted to know what the deal was with these folks. (That was a wildly educational night all the way around....)<br />
<br />
Apparently there was a furry convention in town. (Yes, that's a thing.) People were walking around in costumes that ranged from furry tails to full mascot-type get-ups. We saw this at a neighboring table during dinner:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYanEQV5k1MOChyphenhyphenxAW0-Pxg3l_JJsvOGQM34pB-2WQq4a0XxpvKGBpehkRIkDtvVU4U5e43wgerbokbLpUMuMM6BWn7mJ02zbqDged8CQFYj9ykKkNihEAAuKKYH8kMYlVuSMABSFb0U/s1600/f1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYanEQV5k1MOChyphenhyphenxAW0-Pxg3l_JJsvOGQM34pB-2WQq4a0XxpvKGBpehkRIkDtvVU4U5e43wgerbokbLpUMuMM6BWn7mJ02zbqDged8CQFYj9ykKkNihEAAuKKYH8kMYlVuSMABSFb0U/s320/f1.jpg" width="188" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: small;">Gives a new meaning to "chasing tail."</span></em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Now I'm a pretty open minded gal, but I just don't get this whole deal. People dressing up in animal costumes to get their freak on? Adults who like sexualized, animated creatures with human features like big boobs or muscles? That'd be like someone looking at Bambi's mom as a MILF.<br />
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Totally. Creeps. Me. Out.<br />
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Check out this furry at the same table as the dude with the tail:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: small;">Not really even sure what that thing is.... A visually impaired wolf?</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">(That's me keeping it on the down low behind the star.)</span> </span></em></td></tr>
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At the very least, it has to be hot as hell inside that costume. How would you enjoy dinner? Would you order beer in a bowl? Fellas, how would you like to see that step up to the urinal beside you? Hubs wondered if he would hike his leg.<br />
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The whole furry fascination is just beyond me. Hell, I can't even stand to see a guy with a hairy back. (No offense to all you bears out there, but it just doesn't do it for me.)<br />
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It's a damn good thing I don't have children because I don't think that I could let them enjoy Disney World if I'm constantly on the lookout for Pluto humping Donald during a smoke break. Also, now I can't help but think that the inside of those costumes is sticky.... <br />
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-5947698688008750252013-07-16T21:24:00.000-04:002013-07-16T21:24:24.276-04:00Foul Play PactActor David Carradine, most famous for his role in the 1970s TV series, Kung Fu, was found dead, hanging naked except for fishnet stockings and a wig in the closet of a hotel room several years ago. His hands were tied and there was a ligature around his genitals. (I read that "accidental asphyxiation" was given as the most probable cause of death.)<br />
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I'll never forget this news report because it didn't seem to take authorities long to determine that foul play was NOT involved. I remember wondering what kind of crazy shit someone must be into if being found this way doesn't scream, FOUL!<br />
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This bizarre news item led my friend "Skeeter" (not her given name) and I to engage in an important discussion. We decided that we should make each other aware of factors that would instantly confirm foul play in the event of the other's untimely demise. A Foul Play Pact, if you will.<br />
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For example, we both agree that if either of us is ever discovered on a jogging trail, a crime has taken place. Clearly, we were killed elsewhere and our bodies dumped. We would NEVER be on a jogging trail of our own accord, so no standing around speculating what we might have been doing out there. <br />
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With this assurance of the other's proclivities, the remaining one could call in the authorities -- local police, GBI, FBI, CIA, NASA, and any other agencies big enough to have an acronym -- post haste to investigate. <br />
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Likewise, if either of us is ever found deceased with anything tied, dangling, clamped, etc. to any of our naughty bits, a crime has indeed been committed. No need to ask around.<br />
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Would. Not. Happen.<br />
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I also made sure that Skeeter knows to call in the troops on my behalf if it is ever reported that I was:<br />
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<ul>
<li>last seen in a Gymboree or Chuck E. Cheese</li>
<li>found wearing a string bikini</li>
<li>rumored to have disappeared while working out at a public gym</li>
<li>conversing with a carnival worker</li>
<li>found sitting in front of the TV watching DVR'd episodes of anything with Kardashians</li>
<li>revealed via toxicology reports to have consumed nonalcoholic beer</li>
<li>seen running TOWARD a clown</li>
<li>buying ice cream from a truck</li>
<li>camping</li>
<li>last seen at a Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber or Kanye West concert</li>
<li>on a road trip with children or my ex sister-in-law</li>
<li>seen wearing Crocs</li>
</ul>
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All of these are sure signs of foul play. Now, if I am found slumped over my buggy in the liquor store, that could very well be chalked up to natural causes.<br />
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-42846168067491953892013-07-09T20:42:00.000-04:002013-07-10T15:25:35.048-04:00Subject LinesI will be the first to brag on Hubs for being great at pretty much everything. (Are you sensing a BUT coming up?) BUT, he is not so great when it comes to answering my emails.<br />
<br />
The problem isn't that I inundate him with correspondence. Quite the opposite.<br />
<br />
Hubs works very hard to fund my pleasure (Shout out to my Hubs, Woot! Woot!), regularly getting over 400 work emails a day, so I limit my correspondence to only the very necessary. No cutesy junk or forwarded bullshit. Strictly an exchange to give or request information in lieu of a phone call. For example, "Dinner at Mom's" or "Need your SSN." <br />
<br />
However, when I have conveyed or requested more than one tidbit of information in a single email, I noticed that Hubs would only respond to one. Over time (because I'm nowhere near as loaded up on smarts as Hubs) I figured out what was happening. He was only reading the subject line of my emails! <br />
<br />
When confronted, Hubs confessed, "Usually whatever you put on the subject line tells me what I need to know." <br />
<br />
How do you know if you don't read the whole thing?!<br />
<br />
Desperate times. Desperate measures. I knew what I had to do.... NEVER put the actual subject on the subject line. Here are some examples of subject lines I've used to successfully correspond with Hubs now that I know the deal:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Chewbacca Dandruff</li>
<li>Jalapeno Cleanse</li>
<li>Holy Guacamole</li>
<li>Maternal Psychosis</li>
<li>Chartreuse Pompadour</li>
<li>Evidentiary Propagation</li>
<li>Histrionic Patella</li>
<li>Sonuva Squid Shooter</li>
<li>Moronic Embolism</li>
<li>Elusive Weedwhacker</li>
<li>Carburetor Antithesis</li>
<li>Stranger Danger</li>
<li>Molting Podiatry</li>
<li>Homogenous Aristocrat</li>
<li>Contrary Lobotomy</li>
<li>Cranial Nomenclature</li>
<li>Pancreatic Potitus</li>
<li>Matrimonial Pony</li>
<li>Angular Constipation</li>
<li>Blazing Tricycles</li>
<li>Testicular Modification</li>
<li>Amphibious Progeny</li>
<li>Tangled Testicles*</li>
<li>Gestational Syphilis</li>
<li>Ostentatious Hobo</li>
</ul>
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*Note: If you decide to use this technique, stay away from words like shit, damn, asshat, asshole, bullshit, porn, testicles, boobs, hooters, tits, penis, cock, fuck, motherfucker, etc. because those tend to end up in the SPAM folder.<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-14747695055703643652013-07-01T17:01:00.001-04:002013-07-04T20:30:24.356-04:00The Art of SeductionI read. A LOT. Everything from popular fiction, nonfiction, Christian, to smut. I can't read that much without noticing some trends.<br />
<br />
Ever since <u>Fifty Shades of Grey</u> came out, it seems "romance" has been replaced more by getting tied up and spanked by someone you call Sir rather than having a relationship evolve from attraction to an emotional and mental connection. Now don't get me wrong. These books are fun to read, but sometimes I just have to laugh.<br />
<br />
I can't tell you how many times I've read about a woman biting her bottom lip and that resulting in a man's "member" getting harder than a diamond in a snow storm. The guy always says something like, "If you don't stop biting that lip, I'm going to do it for you." This usually garners a wide-eyed gasp from the timid nymphette and then there are animal noises.<br />
<br />
Biting my lip has never resulted in Hubs jumping across the table, ripping off my clothes and pounding me until I walked funny the next day. A more realistic exchange would be something like....<br />
<br />
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>I gently nibble my lip in contemplation as I study the menu.</em></blockquote>
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Hubs:<em> What's up with your lip?</em></blockquote>
<br />
THAT is reality, people!<br />
<br />
I guess there are only so many different ways you can describe the act of knocking boots, but every time I read that the man's "cock sprang free" (I shit you not. I've read this more than once.) I mentally hear the cartoon sound effect of a bouncing spring, "BOOOOOOOINGGGGG!" That ruins the hot and heavy for me. Other words used way too much are thrust, pulse, throb, and growl. Why not go ahead and throw in hammer or bang to mix things up a little?<br />
<br />
As crazy as some of those descriptions sound, I just finished a book where I read this very sentence: <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>His erection stood out proudly and my mouth watered.</em></blockquote>
</div>
<br />
What. The. Fuck. I laughed out loud at that one! <br />
<br />
Now that's nice and all that his boner was proud rather than self-conscious and shit, but REALLY???? Her mouth watered??? I call bullshit on that whole scenario. Supposedly, a woman wrote the book, but that totally sounds like a man's fantasy to me. Now had he pulled out a proud, cream cheese iced, cupcake from his pocket, THEN I can see the whole mouth watering thing. <br />
<br />
I think I can write a better seduction scene....<br />
<br />
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>We sit quietly, not even side-by-side, but in the same room. I gently drag my finger across my iPad to align three like candies while he brazenly swipes his iPad screen, searching, searching for something more.</em></blockquote>
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>Suddenly! The dryer lets out a loud BUZZZZZ! breaking the silence.</em></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>He looks at me. I play coy and pretend not to notice.</em></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>He rises from the sofa. Then, in a deep, penetrating voice, he says, "I'll get the clothes out of the dryer."</em></blockquote>
<br />
Ho. Lee. Shit.<br />
<em></em><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>Excuse me while I take off my clothes....</em></blockquote>
<br />
Now THAT is a man who knows how to please a woman!<br />
<br />
I need a cigarette.<br />
<em></em><br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-2008304864343934782013-06-23T16:03:00.000-04:002013-06-23T19:00:31.790-04:00Airport A-HoleOne of my favorite sports is people watching. There's no better place to do this than at the airport. Hubs and I were recently in a small, tropical locale waiting for our flight home. I settled in, kept my eyes peeled and didn't have to wait long for the show to begin.<br />
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A lady was totally losing her mind because she lost her $400 pair of sunglasses. If she said it once, she said it a dozen times, "$400 pair of sunglasses!" Yeah lady, we get it. You spent a shitload of money on a pair of sunglasses. She immediately accused the man who helped her carry all her shit into the airport of taking them. "He took them! I know he did!" Off she went. I didn't see this ending well. I imagined security would soon be pulling out the rubber gloves and digging in her ass for those "$400 sunglasses" if she got too obnoxious.<br />
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She insisted, "I'm not leaving this country without those glasses!!!" (Enjoy your stay, beeyotch!)<br />
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While we listened to her drama, Hubs noticed that she left her bag in her seat while she stormed off in a huff. He suggested that we alert someone of the unattended bag and report that it was making us nervous. (I love that man!) We sat there laughing as we imagined the scenario going down....<br />
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"Yes, officer, the lady who left it looked VERY suspicious. We think SUNGLASSES may be a code word of some sort between her and her companion. If she gets mad when you ask her about it, I'd say she's up to something. Especially if she mentions that they cost $400."<br />
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We laughed and laughed as the folks around us no doubt wondered what the hell was so funny.<br />
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If you ask me, the lady's first mistake was bringing a $400 pair of sunglasses on vacation. I have a $12 pair of sunglasses that I bought for travel over 15 years ago. I swear, I could toss those babies over the side of the boat then find them during a dive. Cheap sunglasses are like a damn boomerang. You can't lose them!<br />
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But this lady was totally losing her shit over these glasses. Turns out, she quickly found them and was a new woman. I wonder if she apologized to the people she accused.... I doubt it. Some folks tend to always jump to the absolute worst conclusion. They shoot the messenger then go on their way. You know what I call someone who does that? An asshole.<br />
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If you can afford to spend $400 on a pair of sunglasses, you should be able to afford to lose a $400 pair of sunglasses. No matter what your socioeconomic status, if you go full asshole on hardworking people after YOU are at fault, then you are an arrogant asshole. Think twice. Choose your battles. Don't ruin someone's day or quite possibly cost them their job with your arrogance. But, if you do, apologize. Profusely. Make the effort. Money doesn't buy class. <br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-40650554441829038472013-06-10T06:58:00.001-04:002013-06-10T07:11:32.155-04:00A Life Well Lived<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
In just a few hours, we will gather to say goodbye to my Uncle Mike. No one I've loved has ever died suddenly, so I am still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that he is gone. </div>
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"Mikey," as many of us called him, was proactive when it came to his health and well-being. He loved to exercise. He watched what he ate. He was the most disciplined person I have ever known and the youngest 66-year-old you can imagine. I exercise regularly, but my motivation is to keep my ass from creeping down the back of my thighs whereas Mikey truly enjoyed the process. He was an avid cyclist. Loved snow skiing. He swam. He lifted weights. He'd been a dedicated runner.</div>
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Mikey didn't have children, but he had us -- nieces, nephews, family, lots of friends and a wife who was his partner in life, business, and without a doubt his best friend. No one will miss him more than her.<br />
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My sister and I gathered photographs to best represent Mike's life at his memorial service. Through these photos, one thing is evident: Mike's was a life well-lived.</div>
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A smiling, innocent boy with a skinned chin in a black-and-white school picture... A tan, lean young man with haunted eyes earning two Purple Hearts in Vietnam.... Marrying his best girl.... Working.... Going to college.... Traveling the world.... Pursuing his passion for aviation.... Always working, reading, learning, and moving forward.... A quiet man.... An honest man.... A better man would be hard to find.</div>
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I never heard him say an unkind word about anyone -- never knew him to judge. (I'd like to know how he managed that because personally, I've never had that kind of restraint.) Mike never treated me like a kid. He talked to me like I was his equal and always seemed amazed by my accomplishments, no matter how small. That's a big damn deal to a kid and something I've treasured as an adult.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-size: small;">Mike</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: small;">1947 - 2013</span></strong></td></tr>
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One of the things that I am most proud of is being able to make Mike laugh. Where he was a quiet, reserved and classy guy, I'm pretty sure I was born without that filter most people have that keeps them from saying exactly what they think. I think he and I appreciated each other's differences.</div>
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As disciplined as Mike was, he did allow himself a couple of indulgences -- fine, red wine and excellent Scotch. Several years ago, I asked him to teach me to drink Scotch. I joked that if I learned to drink it then he and I would have something to do when I visited him in the nursing home one day. He obliged and shared his finest (and Mike had the good shit) Scotch whiskey with me. I tried, but I never learned to fully appreciate this particular spirit. (Thankfully, Hubs picked up my slack in this area.)</div>
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But, I can tell you one thing in absolute certainty. At some point today, I will pour myself a couple of fingers of excellent Scotch and toast one of the finest men I have ever known. Cheers, Uncle Mike! You will be missed.</div>
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-84180322349878062522013-06-03T20:08:00.000-04:002013-06-03T20:08:13.306-04:00Cornhole<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
There are some words I just don't like. CORNHOLE is one of them.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJlX55Gr0kw9kkZvclPXxyKMNdwHVhmyeiX5zDyiKkG0GO2nwnPGUxYnaHDD3b4aCrdFZMRsRgIiha7ke_HLZJA8zQwqBnAHV67hItRtAmvBr2LX5QHSxGwo3dXr41AzXaVz0wa3L_1s/s1600/cornholetext.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJlX55Gr0kw9kkZvclPXxyKMNdwHVhmyeiX5zDyiKkG0GO2nwnPGUxYnaHDD3b4aCrdFZMRsRgIiha7ke_HLZJA8zQwqBnAHV67hItRtAmvBr2LX5QHSxGwo3dXr41AzXaVz0wa3L_1s/s200/cornholetext.jpg" width="174" yya="true" /></a>For those of you who aren't familiar with it, cornhole is a game that is similar to horseshoes except wooden platforms with a hole in each are used as targets and bags of corn are used for tossing. The little bags of corn look like bean bags, but I read on the American Cornhole Association's (ACA) web site (No shit, this actually exists.) "bean bags are for wimps."</div>
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Wow. Apparently, bags of corn are bad ass. Who knew?</div>
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I know a lot of people love playing cornhole and I've seen all sorts of high dollar, custom cornhole sets advertised. If you are a cornhole afficianado, cob jock, maize gladiator, kernel colonel, corn head (or whatever you call yourself) more power to you. I have no problem with the game. It's the name that I hate. </div>
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Cornhole sounds like something awful that happens in prison rather than a game played in backyards across America. When I hear "cornhole," I picture a muscled, sweaty convict towering over another dude, nostrils flaring, snarling, "Jus' you wait, motherfucker. I's gonna cornhole yo' ass when you leas' 'spect it." </div>
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If someone asks, "Y'all want to come over for some cornhole?" My safe answer will always be, "No."</div>
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You never know. One minute you're tossing little bags of corn, having a few drinks, then next they're asking you to put your car keys in a bowl and stay the night.</div>
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I. Don't. Think. So.</div>
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-58941855733065582122013-05-21T21:33:00.003-04:002013-07-10T14:57:01.431-04:00Chick PartiesI'm not a fan of chick parties. You know, those parties women invite you to because "It will be fun!" (Yeah. Not so much.) Baby showers, wedding showers, parties where you have the opportunity to buy expensive kitchen gadgets, etc. are just a few of the many chick parties I've been a part of over the years. <br />
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A girlfriend of mine once invited me to a Pampered Chef (PC) party that her sister was hosting. She knew that sort of thing was not my bag, but she urged me to come so that there would be a good turnout for her sister's first time promoting those products. I reluctantly agreed. (I'm nothing if not a good friend!)<br />
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In case you aren't familiar with PC "parties" (I find that they use that term far too loosely), they are gatherings where someone shows you how to use all kinds of neat kitchen gadgets and cookware then gives you the opportunity to purchase the items. Typically, women gather to see the products and eat snacks prepared by using the products.<br />
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I didn't know most of the women there, but soon everyone was seated in the living room. The hostess asked us to go around the room and introduce ourselves. (But wait.... There's more!) Then, we were asked to share our personal experiences with PC products. Shit.<br />
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I looked at my friend and she gave me one of those, "Sorry!" looks that only a good friend who has just screwed up your evening can give you.<br />
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When it got around to me, I was about to say, "My name is Kris. I'm an alcoholic and I'm at the wrong meeting," then politely excuse myself. But, my friend stared me down, visually begging me to play nice. Shit.<br />
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It was soon clear that I was the only person in attendance taking this event so lightly. These ladies were hard core. Apparently, to many of them, a PC party was part rave and part revival. A couple of hours outside the house and rolling in the joy of elite cookery was da bomb. I was afraid they were going to ask me to drink some magic Kool-Aid before the evening was over.<br />
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I will never forget one chick who told her story....<br />
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"Hi! My name is Betty Sue," (not her real name because while I will never forget her, I can't remember her name for shit) "and I LOVE Pampered Chef products!!!"<br />
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Damnmit Betty Sue.... You're killing me! <br />
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"I love, love, LOVE the apple peeler! It is the BEST! Oh my goodness! I use it ALL. THE. TIME." Betty Sue's exuberance for all things PC was like nothing I have ever seen. I honestly thought she was going to orgasm while extolling the virtues of that apple peeler. "It removes the entire peel in ONE STRIP!" Holy shit! Anyone got a cigarette for Betty Sue???<br />
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I'd never seen anyone so excited about an apple peeler. I wanted to ask, "How many damn apples do you have to peel at your house Betty Sue???" I wondered if perhaps "apple peeler" was a euphemism for a more personal "gadget." <br />
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Hell, by the time she was finished, I was wondering how I'd made it so many years without a $50 apple peeler. If it provided me the same satisfaction Betty Sue got from it, damn, I was ready to buy a couple of them.<br />
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Thankfully, I snapped out of the trance in time to escape this "party" with only a few, less expensive gadgets. However useful, I can honestly say that none of them have inspired any type of out-of-body-orgasmic-experience even close to what Betty Sue described.<br />
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Sometimes when the Hubs is traveling, I think that maybe I should've bought that apple peeler.... <br />
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-38250902547044385352013-05-14T22:58:00.001-04:002013-06-23T16:20:17.893-04:00Nice CatchMy sister, <a href="http://aintnobodysmama.blogspot.com/2013/03/birth-control_7.html">Nice</a>, her husband, "Jeir" and two kids stayed with Hubs and I over the weekend. Our niece "Drama" is about to turn five and our nephew "Roo" is eight months old. (I have given them aliases since I will one day rely on them to sneak contraband into the nursing home for me.) <br />
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After dinner, it was bath time for the kiddos. I talked to Nice while she ran water into the tub and got Roo undressed. Lawd, that boy is a chunky monkey. (It's too bad that chubby legs and fat feet become unattractive as we get older.) Not being able to offer anything to the process, I decided to go downstairs and leave Nice to it.<br />
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I made it less than five steps before Nice shrieked, "Oh no! No! No!"<br />
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I dashed back into the bathroom. "What happened?!?! What's wrong??!"<br />
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Nice was holding a soaped, slippery Roo out of the water with his little bum facing us. <br />
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She yelled, "He's pooping!!!!"<br />
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Sure enough, those southernmost cheeks were squeezing out a nugget.<br />
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I yelled, "Oh no! What can I do? What can I do?!??!"<br />
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Nice yells back, "I don't know!!!"<br />
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Things kind of happened in slow motion from here....<br />
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I had immediate access to a red Solo cup (don't judge) so I lurched forward, thrust the cup under that little butt and caught that turdle before it hit the water.<br />
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There was a pause, then Nice and I began laughing so hard I nearly peed my pants!<br />
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Hubs and bro-in-law wanted to know what the hell was going on. We explained and the first thing Hubs asks is, "Why didn't you just hold him over the toilet?"<br />
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Well. Shit. I didn't even think of that. (Hubs -- The Voice of Reason)<br />
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I've had a lot of things in a red Solo cup, but THAT was a first!<br />
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Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837451938440128267.post-23731775365430281662013-05-08T18:29:00.000-04:002013-05-13T13:41:10.954-04:00Super PowerWhat if we could choose a super power? Let's say it's a given that we'd all like to prevent horrible things from happening and heal the sick, so I'm taking those off the table. The beauty of fantasizing is that we don't have to be altruistic and sensible. Sometimes it's fun to be selfish and quirky.<br />
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My super power wouldn't be flying, spinning webs, or blowing shit up with my mind. My super power would be much more versatile. It would mutate to fit a situation. Let me explain....<br />
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Just the other night I was in a Greek restaurant where a very lovely young woman entertained patrons by belly dancing. Even I have to admit that her bosom was magnificent. No doubt those babies had a lot to do with the amount of cash that was tucked in her costume. <br />
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Hubs and I both noticed this old dude scoping her out, even walking across the restaurant to take her picture while she danced at another table. Later, she kindly posed with him for a picture. What does he do? He pats her on the ass -- twice! Creeper. Then, he doesn't even tip her! The dancer left the room immediately after the picture was taken.<br />
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Without hesitation, I would have used my <strong>Karma Accelerator Super Power</strong> on that dirty old asshat. <strong> KAPOW!</strong> He would have choked on some moussaka then shit his pants. No one would be the wiser as to how it all happened. <br />
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Pretty super, huh? My Karma Accelerator Super Power would no doubt keep me busy, especially while driving.<br />
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In a long line of traffic waiting to get off the exit ramp.... Everyone has gotten over in the right lane and is patiently waiting their turn. But wait, who's that? Oh, yeah. That douchebag who always speeds right past everyone then clogs everything up trying to break in line. Oh. No. He. Didn't. <br />
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Instead of flipping him off, I glare and fire my Karma Accelerator. <strong>KAPOW!</strong> <br />
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His fancy ride instantly transports to the side of the road. Every switch turns on, yodeling blares from the radio and all of the driver's clothes disappear. Each time he tries to turn anything off or use his cell phone he receives an electrical shock to his nuts.<br />
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What about people who are chronically rude? It's like they get their rocks off ruining other people's day. A lot of these folks are especially prone to "shoot the messenger." For example, when the pharmacy clerk must tell a customer that a prescription is not covered by their insurance. I've seen women and men totally unload on a person who was very politely giving them information that they had absolutely no control over.<br />
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I'd zap that mellow harshing fucktard with my Karma Accelerator. <strong>KAPOW!</strong> Suddenly, McRudy would only be able to talk like a baby in a tiny little voice and every third sentence would be, "I love you."<br />
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"Me not know what you talkie 'bout. You makie me mad. I wuv oo." That would take the starch out of his or her drawers and lighten the mood for everyone else.<br />
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Now THAT would be SUPER!<br />
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<br />Kris at AintNobodysMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02498418525254230612noreply@blogger.com2