ComfyTown is OH, So Fabulous

I was nominated for the “Oh So Fabulous” award (shuttey your uppey, I was) by the amazing Complete Bliss Blog. Click that link for proof.

This is me all over, right? Don't answer that. 

It was awhile ago, but you don’t even want to know the shit (sometimes quite literally) that interrupts my day, my life, my already fragile train of thought. Especially lately. Let’s just get on with it.

Okay

Rules for participating:

1. You must link back to the person who nominated you. See Link above to http://completeblissblog.blogspot.com

2. You must answer the 5 questions given to you by your nominator.See below for questions posted by Complete Bliss Blog and my answers!

3. You must pick bloggers, each with under 1,000 subscribers, to be nominated for the award. (I chose BlogLovin' statistics for my nominees) See Below for my Nominees!

4. You must come up with 5 questions for YOUR nominees to answer.See below!

5. You must go to their blog and notify them of the award nomination. Also email is a great way to notify them, if known.

*Be sure to include the Oh So Fabulous graphic with your blog post*

My 5 questions:

1.If you could choose one person to meet, alive, dead, fictional or real, who would it be and why?

I'm going to assume you mean besides Harry Potter, because seriously.

That’s easy:

Spuds MacKenzie.

Bud Light gives me the runs, but it would be worth it

That dog loved to party. Who wouldn’t want to surf and drink beer with a party dog? PUT ME DOWN for summa that.

I prefer Miller Lite to Bud Light, yes despite the spelling of Lite, but I’m assuming Spuds gets free Bud for life, so hey party on dawg. *finger phone* Call me.

2. If you were a superhero, what superpower would you choose and why?

Super Sarcasm Girl – she can take any comment, good or bad, and turn it into a bitchy, snarky remark. I would also shoot beer out of my wrists like Spiderman’s web. Because THAT is a SUPER power.

3.What is the first thing you would do if you hit the lottery for 3 million dollars?

Laugh. Then track down a few of my old bosses, some to really swear at hardcore, and one so we could remind him how he always said if HE won the lottery? He would go back to his tiny home town and, I swear to blog I am NOT making this up, PUNCH the pastor of his church in the face. Not even kidding. So if he would do that for a small amount of money, I would consider giving him money. Consider, I said. You wouldn't want to see a priest get punched? Well, I guess we have different taste.

I also would build a new custom ComfyTown. A huge, comfy CASTLE that looked like a medieval castle on the outside and in the foyer, (I’m a dork for SciFi and Fantasy, especially anything medieval,) but the inside would be filled with modern luxuries and the kitchen would be closer to Star Trek. Every room would have THEE most comfortable furniture money can buy.

The kids would have big marshmallow rooms filled with cushions and pillows. As would the adults, but the adult rooms would also have televisions and fully-stocked bars.

EVERY ROOM would have those gun things with hoses like they have behind bars, but instead of soda, they would dispense vodka, rum, Southern Comfort.

The basement would look like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, yes of COURSE the old one.  Always and forever the old one.

We would also pay off my father-in-law’s condo, or maybe a huge house closer to us, and other family members’ houses, but that’s not as funny and interesting as our ComfyTown Castle would be. It would be flippin SWEET!

4. What do you consider your best achievement to date?

That’s tough. And not because there are so many.

Is not murdering annoying people an achievement? Because I seriously have worked with some HUM DINGERS. No huh?

I am a great mom. I didn’t think I would be, I was a really shitty person before my son was born. And yes, okay, I still am, but I am a fantastic, (over) nurturing mother. Not perfect obviously, but I love my children so much that doing what is best for them is easier for me than I thought it would be.

Same with my husband, but he is easy to love, he is totally adorable and lovable. My children are a little tougher. Because they are children. Children don’t think about anyone but themselves, they need to be taught those things. BY US, so that makes it harder to be mad when they do something selfish. Their faults are on US.

5. Open up that phone's camera. What is the last picture you took and whats the story behind it (including it is optional)?

As soon as I saw this, I got a BIG SMILE on my face. I haven’t taken a picture since late Saturday night, after a family wedding. We got home, the kids literally PASSED OUT in the car and we had been chasing them all night, so even though my family kept bringing us STRONG drinks (I really love my family, btw) we felt like we needed to relax with more beer at home.

I knew my husband was buzzed, because at the wedding when the bride sang a song, my husband got really excited and said (too loudly) “OH, it’s karaoke! Good, I been drinkin!”

Drunk Alex loves karaoke. Drunk Alex is a lot of fun until he gets to sloppy-drunk Alex, then he’s annoying, but we weren’t there yet.

When we got home, he was determined to find music and sing along with it. Much to my chagrin, he was on an Air Supply kick. UGH. He loves Air Supply, has their CDs and annoyingly knows ALL THE WORDS. This picture is him, singing “Make Love Out Of Nothing At All” at least I think that is the name of that song. I HATE Air Supply. So much. It’s the recipe for vomit. One time when we were dating, Drunk Alex was trying to force me to like Air Supply, kind of like a “praying the gay away” program, so no, it did not work, and instead of praying, Drunk Alex SAT ON ME and kept singing despite my screaming that I couldn’t breathe and was waiting eagerly for death. Our passed out friend, Drunk James, did nothing to help despite my screaming and yelling. Of course later I realized he was passed out upstairs and missed it all. Lucky bastard.

The 2^nd to last picture on my phone, right before this one, he picked up his laptop and I couldn’t get a picture, but here he was totally getting into the song, no defense! Hahaha My revenge for having to sit through those annoying songs!

  

I was able to steer him into big hair band ballads, Elton John which he sang along a little bit, and Billy Joel’s “Just The Way You Are” which totally made up for that whole Air Supply kick.

So there are my answers, I am sorry that each post makes you know me better.

Now onto my nominees!!

The Wild and Wonderful World of Gingerssnaps http://wildwonderfulgingerssnaps.blogspot.com/

CHill Thoughts http://www.mychillthoughts.com/

The Precious Princess Guide to Bananaland http://princessbananaland.blogspot.com

It’s Why You Like Me http://whyyoulikeme.blogspot.com/

Pink Fuzzy Slippers and My Husband’s Pants http://www.pinkfuzzyslippersandmyhubbyspants.com

Mom + Dementia + Me = A Journey of Love http://momsdementiajourney.blogspot.com/

Chronically Sick and Sometimes Manic Mother http://chronicallysickmanicmother.wordpress.com

Baby for Scale http://babyforscale.blogspot.com/

My Life on the Divide http://mylifeonthedivide.blogspot.com/

And Nominees, here are your questions!!

1.    1. What is your favorite thing about blogging? (The comments are my fave.)

2.  What is your favorite drink? Or stress snack if you don’t drink. Wait, why not? j/k

3. What is the funniest post you have written? Or makes you smile the most.

4. Do you get why people like the McRib? Splain. Seriously. I don’t get it.

5. Are you sick of seeing memes and jokes about bacon? Why or why not? DON’T EVEN LIE.

A Different Kind of Disaster

Yesterday my 3 year old daughter, Lola, was a flower girl. I had no idea what would happen, which is part of the magic of putting small children in a wedding. It could be anywhere between an adorable, magically delicious sugary-sweet ceral commercial, and a horrible wedding-video-going-viral bad. Just like every day with children.

When the bride asked me if Lola would do this, I told her the truth: I have no idea. 

She seemed like she was okay with whatever happened. She would make the skirt, they were having a DIY wedding and s’allgood kinda thing, so what the heck.

The day had a rocky start, we didn’t have the dress the morning of the wedding, but isn’t there some saying about Mothers of girls always having extra tutus? There should be. I had no idea what she was supposed to do or where, there was a rehearsal but the bride told me we didn’t need to be there. 

My husband wanted to bring the baby to the wedding also, against my advice, so I pretty much knew it was going to be a long, exhausting night. Just like any day with kids. However, I have an 18 year old son who could drive us home, so that means drinking is a GO. I’m in. Even if I have to dress up and wear heels.

Speaking of that, I feel like there should be a rule or law that if you have to run after at least one small child at a wedding, you should get to wear gym shoes. Let’s get on this, allegedly civilized society. Make it so already.

Getting all the kids ready for anything never goes as planned. This time was a real surprise. The little girls were relatively easy, once we found the Binny’s (discount liquore store) bag with all of the flower girl stuff shoved into it, left on our front porch when we went for a walk. I’m so glad we did go outside, and that it didn’t rain yesterday because we didn’t get a call or text saying it was out there. Nice.

The bride made a tutu out of tulle netting tied onto a long, black ribbon she saw on Pinterest. The ribbon was very slippery, so I had to double-knot the skirt, otherwise it kept falling off. She provided us with a black tanktop body suit, ALL ONE PIECE, with no snaps at the crotch, so guess what happened every time she had to go potty? Yep, we had to get totally naked in the bathroom. INCLUDING un-double-knotting the skirt and taking it off, jammed into a tiny bathroom stall, with my dress and stupid heels.

I had to dig to find some black shorts to cover the body suit bottom, which looked like black underwear that were totally showing. I’m glad we happened to have some, we would not have had time to go buy them at this point.

The however shorts added another layer of undressing every potty break. From the amount of sweat, I’m counting each of those times as workouts, so I worked out seven times yesterday. That’s not including dancing, running after my baby all evening, wrestling her to change her diaper on a tiny changing table in the tiny bathroom, and the almost heart attack I had just getting TO the wedding.

Getting her dressed and ready to leave, I cut the ribbon too short, I think it was supposed to wrap around the skirt and tie in front. Instead of just saying “Oh well, I’ll just put the bow on the side and call it a day,” my husband actually went and got our ancient sewing machine, that was part of his dowry in his packed house.

So let me reiterate: My husband brought a sewing machine upstairs ONE HOUR before we were leaving for a wedding. Let the record show that neither he, or I, know how to use an effing sewing machine.

I want this action entered into public record, someone please bring this up as evidence, in case (when) I’m committed to an insane asylum. And speaking of that, I had already asked him and the teenager if they were set with clothes for the wedding the day before.

Both assured me they were all set. At this point, one hour before the wedding, my husband decides he doesn’t like his selection of shirts (his clothing issues are a whole separateissue, separate post. Click to read the post if you have morbid curiosity,) he ALSO brings UPSTAIRS the iron and the tabletop ironing board. Let’s not just bring a shirt downstairs where all of this stuff is, let’s bring all that shit UPSTAIRS into the kitchen, where it still sits now the next day.

He is usually the calm, sane one where I am usually running around bitching that my dress bra doesn’t fit, or my shoes are double-murdering my feet, whatever my wardrobe malfunction is that day. I knew this was going to be clusterfudgy, so I actually got myself ready super early, and didn’t bother spending time on my hair. I mean, I knew I would be running after two small children so it will be a hot mess in minutes.

We are getting really close to time to leave, I check the directions, we are starting to cut it close all things considered. Everyone is pretty much ready, but where is my son?

Speaking of people who are usually calm, Tinny, my 18 year old son decides to come out of his room, at the exact time we are supposed to leave (probably 5 minutes after, but whatever) in a FLANNEL shirt. For a wedding.

Yeah nice try, he doesn’t understand what the big deal is, after some annoying arguing, re-do. He came to ask me a question, and I learned by a delightful accident that if  your teenager wants to bug you while  you're getting dressed, or probably any time, and you say "Don't come in, I don't have a bra on," they will just walk away! Learning is fun.

He goes in his room, for a long time, after much yelling things like “What is taking so long?” and “We HAVE to leave” and whatnot, he eventually does find a nicer shirt. Then suddenly he can’t find his dress shoes. He just had them for an interview, so I’m not panicking. Yet.

We load up the little girls, somehow my husband works out whatever between ironing and looking at 57 shirts he never wears but won’t get rid of, and we are all loaded up ready to go. Where’s Tinny? He is still in his room. He can’t find his shoes, where did I put them? Blah blah, “I didn’t touch them,” blah blah, build to yelling, “we have to go NOW!”

We move the cars around, I hate having a single-lane driveway, 1^st world whatever, we are all ready to go. Still no Tinny. Where are you? Blah blah yelling.

At this point it’s 6:10, the wedding invitation says the wedding STARTS at 6:30 and it’s about 15 minutes away. We still have NO IDEA what my little flower girl is supposed to do, and because she’s 3 her hair will need to be re-done, etc. I come back in, tell him he has to come out, we have to leave RIGHT NOW, and nothing. Blah blah yelling, I tell him we are just going to have to leave him and someone will come back for him whenever we can. Suddenly, magically, he’s ready to go. Grrrrr.

He finally gets in the car, my husband is going to put his cigarette out, but I think he is going to just light one up, so yeah, I start yelling. He comes in, we’re on our way, Lola says “Mommy is yelling” and everyone has a good laugh. Yes yes, hilarious. We are on our way, we discover the fuel light in the van is on. My son drove the van last to his interview, I didn’t realize we were that low on gas. Okay, we’ll probably make it, we’re close. We have a button that you can push that tells you many miles you can drive before you’re out of gas. That number is ZERO. Zero miles we can drive.

It is now 6:15, we have to drive 10-15 minutes on fumes. Air conditioning OFF, it’s only 80-something degrees and we’re dressed for a wedding, no big deal right? UGH! So much sweating.

We drive, we will stop at the first gas station we pass, no problem. Except we don’t pass a gas station. My stomach is about to eject everything I have eaten all day, I’m sweating like whore waiting on her pregnancy test results, we have very little time, I still need to fix Lola’s hair, figure out WHAT she’s supposed to do WHERE, etc.

We finally get there, it is at a boathouse, there is street parking and you’re supposed to walk a good half mile to the house. I scream at my husband to drive down the “Authorized Vehicles Only” area that “We’re in a wedding, WE ARE AUTHORIZED, DAMN IT!” I am making up my own authori-tah.

He lets me & Lola out at the door, we’re running in, her skirt falls down, people behind us are yelling that her skirt is down, I’m ready for the cardiac unit of the hospital. Just admit me and schedule me for any procedure, put me in a medically induced coma. I can’t take it.

We get in, hardly anyone is there. Where is the bride? Where is the bridal party? Where is anyone who can tell me what to do? I’m asking everyone” Where you here for the rehearsal? You? ANYONE? Bueller?” No one was, no one knows.

I fix her hair, put the bag of plastic petals in her basket, she’s ready to go. Still no one knows, only a couple of bridesmaids there, one is my niece, she is outside so I just grab her cigarettes like a prison bully, pull one out and start smoking. Right in front of my 3 year old. I am only a social smoker, but they know if I’m smoking at this point? Don’t ask, just don’t get too close.

No one has any idea what Lola is supposed to do. The rest of my family arrives, we look around, I realize there is a deck, a stair case down to a lower deck, and then a pond. So, there is just a fence between my children and a pond. And oooohh good, there are ducks in the pond, so my spastic, curious, climber, runner, jumper baby totally wants to jump in and play with them. This is going to be awesome. Wait, not awesome, the other thing.

Eventually I see my sister, the Mother of the Bride, and practically grab her by her shoulders wanting answers. She has none, says “Don’t worry about it, we’re flying by the seat of our pants.” I can do that, why I am so nervous about my 3 yr old doing that, I have no idea. We mill about, for what feels like FOREVER, so yes, we could have stopped for gas, and I didn’t need to scream like a damn fool, but again, whatever.

I no longer have time to be worried about flower girl stuff, because my baby is RUNNING back and forth on this wooden dock, where my STUPID heels keep falling into, and jerking me backward, almost knocking me over every time. Tinny, follow that one, I need to fix Lola’s hair which has fallen out of her Audrey Hepburn bun yet again, because THREE.

Between Tinny, my husband and me, we keep the baby alive and I keep fixing Lola’s hair, until eventually people start calling for the bridal party. I take Lola and go inside, no one can tell me at this point what she’s supposed to do, or even whether the wedding will be inside or outside. One of my sisters tells the brides son, who is about 9, to hold Lola’s hand and walk her down. They take her to the front of the line, I have to let her go and just hope for the best. I can’t see her from back in the building, my husband, son and baby are outside, it’s looking like the wedding is going to happen outside.

I try to go around the bridal party to go outside, someone tells me to just wait. Next thing I know, the music starts, they are heading outside, I can’t see a damn thing. After everyone goes out, I finally get to the door and down the deck, the wedding has started and people are filming it. I MISSED IT seeing my flower girl. Did she do it? Did she have fun? Did her hair fall of that damn bun again? WHAT HAPPENED?!

I watch the wedding from the inside, until I can’t stand it anymore and I go outside. The baby is not having this. She’s running back and forth, making loud noises, you name it. I was prepared, I had my secret weapons in the diaper bag: Raisins. Once she ate them all, she headed back to the building.

I tried to keep her from going inside, but she started YELLING, during a wedding being filmed, so inside we went. 

For the rest of the ceremony, and actually the reception too, she just ran back and forth yelling about who knows what. For the whole night. Well, she also added crying and some yelling to this formula shortly after that. A little bit of dancing, mixed with periods of crying, a lot of RUNNING, yelling, people bringing us STRONG drinks (God bless my sister and nieces!) More baby whining, more crying, more dancing, total cuteness. Just like every day with her.

Eventually we’re done, I saw some video of Lola flower-girling and of course, she was adorable. She turned around at one point, to throw flower pedals behind her, but it was super cute, not a big deal. The rest of the night was relatively uneventful, except that the baby did turn into a complete monster long before the food was even served. Hungry? Who knows.

Luckily, my husband has learned that in my family, you have to do what you have to do, and our parenting style is “Whatever Keeps Them Quiet.” So he cut in front of a line of people waiting for food, grabbed food out of the catering tins that wasn’t even ready to be served yet (it was just cold, it was already cooked,) and got some meat and potatoes for the baby.

My niece yelled “Hey, we’re not eating yet!” He yelled back something about two hungry babies, and walked back in front of the line of people waiting, with a plateful of food he brought and we started to feed our hungry monsters. I’ve never been more proud of this once-shy and polite man. If my dad was watching from wherever his spirit is in the universe, I’m sure he was bursting with pride. 

My dad would not only do that, he brought us to EVERY WEDDING, even the ones that said “Adults only, please.” No sitter for us, we went as a unified, certiable, family.

I guess that’s us now. We’re that family. 

The ones people probably shake their heads and think “What is wrong with them?” Who knows what is wrong with us, too long to talk about it. We have too many kids, not enough sleep, and not enough politeness training to give a crap about anything other than our family’s happiness. At the end of the day, that’s all that matters. 

We did it, a wedding with two little ones. It wasn't the exact kind of disaster I pictured, maybe a different, small disaster, but we survived. And you know what? We're pretty happy. Exhausted, but happy.

And we have this picture of my Lola. Seriously.

Man Buns, Like Em?

from magic107.com Yes, Magic 107, me likey the long hair.

this hairstyle was examined by a blog far from the gentrified streets of Brooklyn, the Red Dirt Chroniclesin March of 2011: I somewhat accidentally discovered the continual twisting of a pony tail will eventually roll up into a bun. And double-wrap a hair band around said bun and it is almost like a temporary shearing. Amazing! And, it fits around the inside straps of a hard hat.

In case that sound was NOT your panties hitting the floor, (it was mine) you might be wondering why in the name of garlic balls am I posting this. 

For one thing, I was kind of kicked off of Twitter (good advice, btw, my tweets were mad stupid today) and told to “piss off Twitter and get to writing.” If you follow me on Twitter, you can thank Lizzi ofConsiderings blog for that. She’s quite the motivational tweeter. And you can blame her for this lame-ass post.

The foremost thing on my mind today are the results of my latest chat with my friend Google. We talk often, because you would literally not believe the gaping holes in my knowledge of all things. I needed to know what in the wide world of sports a ‘Katherine Hepburn bun’ is. 

Why? Indeed. For a wedding, in which my 3 year old daughter is supposed to be the “Botanical Disperser” tomorrow. (I am quoting that phrase directly from the wedding web site.) I hear Botanical Disperser and I immediately think THIS:

 

from amystewart.com

THIS, my friends is a freaking Botanical Disperser. Good luck getting my 3 yr old to carry that shit down the aisle. Wearing a freaking bun and sunglasses. Do you have to actually KNOW my daughter to find that hilarious? I don’t know.

But wait, it gets better. 

Just TODAY I received a picture involving a black tutu (the bride is making) and pearls and sunglasses. According to Google, sunglasses are part of this Katherine Hepburn look. That should be nothing but smooth on a dramatic 3 year old. Wait, it gets better.

Also? I may have mentioned the wedding is TOMORROW and we do not have the dress from the bride yet. 

There is a rehearsal today at 4:00, but we’re not invited to that. 

But wait, like an infomercial for something that slices and dices, THERE’S MORE.

My husband refuses to get a babysitter for the baby tomorrow for the wedding and reception, even though she is a virtual shark-nado of disaster everywhere she goes. The ceremony starts at 6:30pm with the reception to follow, and her bedtime is 8:00. She will be a hot mess by 9:00. That is his Exit Strategy. I know, he’s an eeeevil genius and I’m sorry Ladies, he’s taken.

from billerico.com

I will keep you posted if (when) the Fit hits the SHan tomorrow. 

Did you ever see the wedding episode of the Brady Bunch? Where Tiger runs over the cake (or whatever, not getting lost in Google again) and the cat is running amok over all the tables? I picture it something like that, but with toddlers instead of animals.

It should make for a great story, some day, but probably a horrible day tomorrow. 

 from m.blog.daum.com

I hope I am allowed to pack my special large Capri-Sun bags.

Which I empty and fill with booze using a flask funnel. 

Because yes I am. 

You know for the kids, they have to stay hydrated.

With my luck, it will be the ONE day ever the baby actually behaves and then we are stuck for hours at a wedding with a 1-year old and a 3-year old. Which is fine, they are the darling, entertaining fruit of my loins, and I will be packing booze. I hardly leave the house without it. 

You might think there would be an open bar, but based on the circumstances, I am willing to bet it will be a cash bar. Either way, there WILL be booze, and I do have an 18-year old son, who can DRIVE us home. Which is why we are even going in the first place.

At the risking of sounding cynical, it's just that I absolutely loathe weddings with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. They are an All-You-Can-Stand-Buffet of party manners, fake beauty and political correctness. 

I know, it's just me. Normal people probably find weddings fun. What do I know? I'm weird.

Back to something entertaining.

Here are a few other things that Google vomited at me when I searched “Katherine Hepburn bun,” including a scrote-ton of brownie recipes (her fave apparently) and rando cinnamon buns.

Does this look dirty, or just me?
 from bakingintotheether.com

from wwkhd.blogspot.com

The Fleshy, Fowl Underbuns Award

Recently Lizzi, writer of the brilliant Considerings blog, awarded me with the coveted "Golden Sideboob Award" (YES, there is a picture with that link!) Don't be too jealous, say the word in the Comments section of either blog, and we will gladly award you as well! I love that picture with all my sideboob. And at my current bra size that's a LOT of sideboob, pal.

Inspired by this award, and recent musical video events that had all media channels, especially the imaginary and long-sought-after blogosphere, totally titilated, I birthed the idea of the 'Fleshy, Fowl Underbuns Award.' Click the link if you have blissfully been living under a rock (and do you need a roommate, btw?) and missed the whole Miley Cyrus achy, breaky, herky, twerky debacle. 

Behold the Award! I apologize if you recently ate any turkey.

Things that make you go: "WTF"

I award this to Lizzi, and of course all such awards come with rules. I am the biggest rule breaker around, so no curse will be put upon you if you fail to follow these 'rules.' 

As this young woman will one day look back on the video and/or pictures of herself in this outfit and think "WTF" I ask you to look back at any WTF moment in life. Not necessarily something you did wrong or regret, this young lady started a virtual PR viral shark-nado, inlcuding recording a "Twerk" single the same night as the VMA's. I'm not a fan, but good for her. She didn't make a raw-turkey's-ass of herself for nothing.

The only rules: Share a WTF moment, and award another blogger if you so chose.

My WTF moment comes with no such similar success, just a great big "WTF" indeed. One evening, obviously after imbibing some sort of alcoholic beverage, I had the brilliant idea to throw hardened tortilla shells covered with hardened cheese, in the catching-and-throwing-disc fashion. Seems innocent enough? It looked hilarious, we all had a good laugh and as the saying goes, it was all fun and games until someone almost lost an eye. Me.

Here is a picture of me, after being struck in the face with a time-hardened, cheese-covered tortilla, that sat out in the air long enough to move it from foodstuffs to weapons grade tortilla. These suckers get SHARP!  WTF, right?

Me, circa early 2000's, don't mind the hair, pointing to THE WEAPON.

Be careful when playing with your food. I imagine these will no longer be allowed on aircraft soon. 

Yes, that is blood on my eye and forehead. This simple, soft flour tortilla broke the skin and left a lovely scab, which I had to explain to everyone...that it was caused by a flour tortilla. So much laughing. I did hear a lot of funny stories from people with similar facial injuries, including some forehead beer can scar story from my boss at the time.

So, Lizzi, here is your Fleshy (slightly fleshy, I mean eat a cheesy tortilla or 2, Miley) Fowl Underbuns Award! Let's here your WTF moment. 

Underbuns: The New Sideboob

As I posted on Facebook yesterday, it was obvious there had been some sort of awards program, during which Billy Ray Cyrus' daughter acted like a postal, perverted pop star. 

If you're wondering who he is, he's the mullet-totin' Achy Breaky Heart song guy, prompting several jokes about his daughter breaking his heart, causing it to "blow up and kill this man." (Lyrics to his one-hit wonder.)

I wasn't surprised. I don't follow the music world or almost anything modern, but I know that she was a Disney kid (star of that channel's show Hannah Montana,) and now she is a teenage pop star, developing her own 'brand' while no longer under the strict contracts of Disney. Combine that with the teen years and child stardom, I expect a lot of rebellion out of someone in those conditions. 

All things considered, I actually think she's done quite well, from the little bit I know about her. I am not aware that she's been forced into rehab, or even gotten so much as DUI, I haven't heard of any bar fights or facial tattoos. 

Recurring words in my newsfeed yesterday were "whore" and “outrage” over her behavior. Curiosity got the best of me and I googled the video. Here is a link if you haven't seen it. 

It will make you cringe, but it's worth watching, it's definitely different. You have to give it that. I loved the large, creepy teddy bears. Anything that makes me feel something, even if I feel creeped out, is worth the time. Did you see the movie American Beauty? That gross movie was the same way. Weird and disturbing, but it made you actually feel something, unlike so many other movies, which barely keep me awake.

In her performance, Miley is dressed like a typical modern pop star, barely any clothing, possibly starting a new trend of "under-buns" wherein her shorts are way too small and you can see almost half of her hams. 

Buzzfeed compared her hams to the backend of a turkey. 

Good, bad or indifferent, I remember the under-buns more than the music, no buns about it. She doesn't mind being the butt of jokes. You really have to ham it to her wardrobe people, her cheeky look just might be the new side boob, making parents everywhere cringe and shake their fists at the television: "This is crazy! In my day, the worst thing was Madonna, she just wore a cone bra and didn't shave her armpits!" I mean, it's always going to be something. Elvis' pelvis, The Beatles hair, everything about Black Flag (my high school fave,) every generation shocks the one before.

I feel like this is a good a time to quote the very intelligent Henry Rollins of Black Flag, in one of my old favorites, the song Family Man:

"Family Man, I want to crucify you with nails from your well-stocked garage, family man. You're such a man when you're putting up your Christmas decorations, first one on the block! Family man." 

I can't imagine what my parents would have thought about that song. Yes, this was one of my favorite things ever in high school, and I never once crucified anyone. I even grew up to have my own family, even if our garage is not well-stocked and we're never the first ones to have holiday decorations up.

Back to Miley, keeping in mind your parents' opinions of your music when you were younger, does her performance really shock you? If so, that was it's purpose. 

Do you think this broke her father's achey-breaky heart? I don't. 

The last time people were "outraged" by her behavior, she was singing about Molly, the drug flavor of the summer. Did people just forget about Brian Wilson? And the myriad of other drug-obsessed pop/rock stars I can't even start to mention, or we would be here all day.

I think she is doing what she's supposed to be doing, and while watching her twerk gives me major douche chills, it entertains young people and shocks the older generation, it gave everyone on social media, television and radio something to talk about, so mission accomplished. Young people can come together in a "Yeah, EFF the boring people" kind of attitude, and the parents can shake their heads in disgust and all agree, this is NO role model for their young future booty-shaking girls, and so on.

Her father may have (had to) internally cringe watching her grind and lick stuff, but I'm sure he gets what it's all about these days: Creating a buzz. She's an expert. I don't like any of her music that I've ever heard, but I know a lot about her. Why? She creates buzz. 

I think she was home-schooled in Pop Star Training, and among many others, given courses like:

Ozzy Osbourne: The Early Years, followed by 

Ozzy Osbourne Speaks: Why Too Many Drugs Are Bad

NWA: Shocking People Gets Them Talking 

Michael Jackson: No Such Thing As Bad Press

Britney Spears: Pre-Plan For Your Comeback

Courtney Love: *This* Far Is Too Far

Let's hope she really remembers that last one. 

I can't even imagine her dance instruction. I don't know anything about it, and I'm so old I don't get twerking at all. It just looks yucky to me, makes me want to yell at kids to turn their damn music down. If there is a dance school where you can major in Creepy Tongue Antics (is she related to Ace Freely of Kiss?) and minor in Crotch-Grabbing, Miley's the valedictorian. 

She's clearly twerking hard, twerking 9 to 5 and making it twerk. Last one, when she reaches the commercial jingle portion of her career, she should invent a snack called Beef Twerky, a giant finger of beef. The commercial hasn't even been made yet and it's already disgusting.

from guardiantv.com

As a good friend pointed out, she & I do love a good celebrity rebel, but they make a crapton of money, so I don't feel bad laughing at/with them, even if I'm not invited while they are laughing all the way to the bank.

This is the entire list from Buzzfeed of 22 things Miley looked like yesterday:

http://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/things-miley-cyrus-looked-like-at-the-vmas

Things Kurt Cobain Never Got To Say

I know, it's been awhile. This is not one of those topical blogs. Kurt was gone too soon but not forgotten. My husband and I are those manic fans that will tell you his music changed our lives, and remember where we when he passed. I was at work, wearing my favorite gray and yellow plaid jacket with the brown suede collar, because 90's.

I have said one of these before but it always felt like it was still too soon. One look at his greasy hair and tortured face, and the laugh just stifled and slowly faded out, like the dying cricket in my basement. 

I am certain other people have made similar jokes, but whatever brought this back to my dome today, brought some friends with it. 

A short, (you're welcome) very incomplete list of some things Kurt Cobain never got to say.

"I don't care you guys, I'm not doing a deodorant commercial."

"Dave, tell me again why are you hosting Chelsea Lately?"

"Wow, Michael Jackson. Didn't see that one coming."


"Justin who?"

"Courtney, you look really pretty in that dress."

Drugs are so sexy. from igossip.com

My first Hot Mess Crush, until she lost me. (Francis Bean.)
from sanyucirca.1993.blogspot.com

There are so many more, but I really need to listen to Nevermind and sit and sip Pennyroyal Tea.