Sometimes You Just Gotta Say....

I was perusing Drugstore.com the other day looking for replacement brush heads for my Sonicare toothbrush.

Me, being the frugal shopper that I am, browsed around to see if there was anything else I couldn't "live without" that would push my purchase price into the free shipping category.

I hate to pay for shipping if I don't have to.

I quickly flipped through a page in the "health" section and a big red "Whhaaaa?" lit up in my head.

So I went back.

To a product that is called the "Myself Pelvic Muscle Trainer".

Huh?

A personal PELVIC muscle trainer?

Is it something like a Thighmaster?

No.

Apparently the "Myself" is a "clinically-proven kegel exercise trainer for resolving incontinence, increasing vaginal tone, and enhancing intimacy."

Although I'm pretty sure that every woman in the stratosphere already knows what Kegel exercises are, I'm operating under the assumption that there might be a couple of manly lurkers who haven't run away screaming yet.

Kegel exercises are designed for women to strengthen their pelvic floors. In other words, they basically work the same set of muscles that control the flow of pee.

Traditionally in the past, women's magazines and the Total Woman Handbook (foisted on us at puberty by the period-fairy along with perfumed douches, a secret handshake and a "welcome to the club" speech which included a gift basket full of embarrassment in regards to our natural bodily functions) brought us information about Kegels.

They made it seem as if it was practically a womanly duty to perform these exercises routinely as a way to keep our future men satisfied. If we didn't, they'd go running off to the Caymans at age 45 with a bimbette named Tammi, her thong, and the kids' college funds.

That was before Lorena Bobbitt brought a whole new dimension to the playing field, but I'm digressing.

The beauty of Kegels is that this workout can be performed any where, any time, and doesn't require any equipment, like dumbbells (you can leave him at home) or knee pads (sorry, Monica!).

Squinch and release. Squinch and release.

Theoretically, if you do this every day, ultimately you'll have a crotch of steel.

It's like a secret Superpower just for women.

Women can do Kegels while we're driving the Hummer (getting our girl on!) or watching TV. We can do them on the sidelines at soccer games or while singing in the choir.

We can even do them at business meetings.

Next time a man is chairing a meeting and being particularly pompous, patriarchal or pedantic (believe me, some of those dinosours are still around), look at the women in the room.

If they appear to be especially serene (not bored or irritated) they're probably thinking, "Yeah, Buddy. One flex and I could rip your dick off."

That's why I'm wondering-why-oh-why-somebody came up with a gadget when none is really required? And what exactly does it do?

Evidently, the "Myself" measures how strong your vaginal squeeze is.

Yes. You heard it right.

"How does it do that?" you might ask.

You have to stick an inflatable (and disposable---you can buy replacements for 9.99) sensor UP INTO YOUR GIRLY PARTS to measure your strength when you squinch! Then the information goes from the sensor to a handheld monitor which shows you your crotchety progress with a smiley face or something like that.

Yikes! And well, YIKES!

How about a big honking WTF for good measure?!!

On top of the revolting squickiness, this gadget kind of reminds me of a BowLingual---the dog language translator that was a popular gift item a few years ago.

You stick a sensor on your dog's collar, and when she barks, it translates on a little monitor with emoticon faces that say everything from "I'm Needy!" to "Feed me, Bitch!"

The "Myself" tells you WHEN to squinch and release. As if your squinch timing is a precise, complicated, scientific calculation. Doh!

Additionally, it trains you through 3 different strength levels.

But what KIND of strength levels? And what kind of faces does it display to mark your progress?

Inquiring minds and all...

Level 1: Wet dishrag (big sad frowny with a teardrop face)
Level 2: Cracking Walnuts (lavicious eye wink face)
Level 3: Breaking Brass Bolts* (your choice of Gene Simmons, Colin Ferrell or generic Himbo screaming in agony face)

Seriously, this must be some kind of joke---a way to "squeeze" out 79+ bucks on a Superpower any woman can develop for free. Pun intended.

Why buy a "Myself" for something I can do...well...by myself?

Anybody else see the irony in that?

Somewhere the person behind this is laughing maniacally all the way to the bank.

*With Apologies to The Fugs

Takin' a Break...

Sorry I've been gone, but I've been busy reading the last Harry Potter book and rearranging my own face.

Yep.

Had a bug on my shin (you know how I feel about bugs!), bent down real fast to slap it away (get off!! get off!!) and misjudged the distance between my face and the corner of a wrought-iron and granite baker's rack.

So now I'm the proud owner of two puffy eyes and a gash across the bridge of my nose. I look (and feel) like I got beat down with the business end of an ugly stick.

It hurts to wear my glasses, and trying to focus without them gives me a headache, so I'm taking a few more days off.

Be good! Wear bug repellant! Keep your face away from pointy corners!

ATM

P.S. I added a picture just for Beth. No, my nose isn't usually this big. LOL

My Eyes!! MY EYESSSSSSS!!!!!!

Two thoughts simultaneously.

....Not EVEN if he's the last man on the planet. No Way, No How.

And how in the world could he DO that to himself?

Gonna go poke my eyeballs out now.

I've seen hell, and it looks like teeth.

Juice Pigs for Breakfast

Many years ago, Hubby and I caught a bit by a very funny and bizarre Canadian comedy team named Corky & the Juice Pigs. We never saw or heard from them again.

Last week I was reading a blog that mentioned them, and a little "ding ding ding" went off in my head.

Apparently they still have quite a following, although they broke up as a group a few years ago.

It's not the most PC performance ever, but you won't be able to get the song out of your head. ;-)

Thanks a Bunch!!

I've been really lucky to have received some awards in the last couple of weeks by fellow bloggers.

Blogarita awarded me a "Rockin' Girl Blogger" award.

Tom awarded me a "Schmoozing" award.

And Jod{i} gave me a "Creative" award.

You guys have made my summer. I'd send you all flowers if I could, but since I can't, I picked some from my wildflower garden just for you!

And for me. LOL

Thanks so much. You guys are the greatest!

Stop Buggin' Me!

Summer is time for fun in the sun and fresh veggies from the garden, but it's prime time for creepy crawly things too.

And you know how I feel about those.

On the ick scale, Lady Bugs and Roly-Polys rank as damn near benign and almost cute. Butterflies and moths are ok, as long as there aren't a zillion of them, such as during the Miller Moth invasion that swept the west almost 20 years ago.

Everything else scares the dickens out of me.

A few weeks ago I stumbled into the kitchen early in the morning to make coffee. The first thing I do is turn on the water to let it run for a minute or two to blow the pipes out. Don't ask me why, but our water comes from a reservoir, and that's what we've been instructed to do.

Anyway, I dumped the old coffee grounds in the trash and brought the coffee-ground-holder-thingy to the sink to rinse out.

There was a HUGE, I mean HUGE black spider in the sink. That monstrosity was at least 2 inches across.

AAAAAIIIGHHHHHHHHH!!

I ran like hell down the hall, screaming my head off, and dragged hubby out of bed.

Maybe I even peed a little.

Then I hid in the bathroom quivering, until he disposed of it.

A couple of seconds later, there was a tap-tap-tap at the door.

"Did you get it?" I whimpered.

All clear.

I opened the door and recoiled in horror. He was holding it by the leg.

Is this it?

It wasn't a spider. It was the top of a vine-ripened tomato that I'd served with dinner the night before.

That said, when I read in the news about the Colorado man who had five bumps on his scalp that were MOVING and turned out to be hairy fly larvae, I've been checking every single bump or itchy spot on my body.

Over and over again.

Even though I've never been to Belize.

And I'm never going there. No way. No how.

Aiiggghhhhh!!!

Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber

Not much going on in the Attila house this week---Little Guy's hands are healing up, and he's getting a kick out of having Mom tie his shoes just like when he was a toddler. If I'm not available, he's been pulling on a pair of Hubby's ancient Moon Boots (circa 1984) and tramping around in the yard. Looks pretty hysterical with his shorts!

We've gone 4 days without Big Kid (or his other dad) calling and begging us to let him come home early (knock on wood), so I'm operating under the assumption that no news is good news. I'd like to blog about all that, but I'm feeling kind of on the fence with that one, so I'm reserving the right to blog about it later. Be more than happy to fill anyone in if they want to email me.

Soooooo, I've been feeling pretty lazy and unmotivated to do much but read. I know my last post was about stupid in the news, but I seem to be having a lot of stupid in my life lately (like I said, email me), and I've been noticing it everywhere. Humor me, please!

Was this last week a slow news week or what?

Nicole Richie Will Only Boink Circumcised Men.

Oookay. And I should care...why?

Who exactly is Nicole Richie when she isn't riding on that other skanky celebutante's thongstrings? Is she trying to top her former BGF's media coup---jail with the little people and all---with this confession?

Her parents must be so proud.

Hubby's comment (we've been spending so much quality time together that I actually ran this by him), "At least she has one standard."

Snerk.

For months I've been reading about Posh and Becks' big plan to take the U.S. by storm.

"Who are Posh and Becks?" you might ask. Good question.

Victoria "Posh" Beckham used to be part of that wildly-popular-especially-amongst-the-tweens girl group called the Spice Girls. Some years ago, she married the UK's premier footballer (soccer to us philistines) named David Beckham.

If the Brit newspapers are to be believed, they're more newsworthy than Camilla and her newest saddle blanket.

Bend it Like Beckham is one of my absolute favorite movies of all time. USian Bourgeoisie that I am, it was the first time I've ever even heard of "Becks". Unfortunately, in the movie, all you see of him is his name in the title, a few seconds of a game on the telly, some shadow in an airport entourage, and a yummy-looking poster on the protagonist's wall.

Now that they've hit the states, Posh is gearing up for a reunion with the Spice Girls, but in my opinion, she might think about changing her name to "Old Spice". She's so dried out and emaciated that it looks like she's got at least 10 years on the rest of them.

Yes, yes, I know. Meow.

But I must admit that Becks is hot. He's hot with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. With chocolately sprinkles.

Fortunately for the rest of you guys, God is good and sometimes fair when He hands out gifts. Becks might be good to look at, but this boy is about as articulate as a sack of hair.

In their first big "Stormin' the States" photo and article spread in the magazine W, he talks about his relationship with Posh.

"When she tells me something doesn't look good, I believe her. We have a connection that way."

Huh?

Honey, when I tell my dog to get the hell off the couch, she believes me. We have a connection that way.

When I tell the UPS guy he delivered the wrong package to my house, he takes it away with him. We have a connection that way.

When I've had a difficult day, my Hubby knows exactly how to help. He might offer a shoulder rub. Or take the guys out for a burger so I can have a couple of hours to breathe.

Sometimes he sweeps me off my feet with flowers, or makes dinner for the horde. Or wakes up in the middle of the night to tell me he loves me.

Now he's a guy who's connected.

At this point, the "storm" is leaving me pretty underwhelmed so far.

From the Department of Duh!

I don't know if I'm the only one noticing it, but there's been a lot of stupid in the news lately.

Maybe it's because there's been a dearth of Anna Nicole and Paris Hilton breaking alerts, or maybe it's because there's been a recent influx of stupidness within my immediate and extended family, and I'm feeling sensitive to stupid.

A couple in Wilmington North Carolina signed papers allowing their 16-year-old daughter to marry her former high school coach. Now they're suing the school district for pain and suffering because the district didn't do enough to "protect her".

Hubby thinks the district should counter sue the parents for not keeping a better eye on their daughter after school hours.

Actually he worded it differently, but I'm trying to keep this PG.

Duh!

Some new residents in Gilbert, Arizona are up in arms about their neighbors---farms that have been operating for 50 years or more. They thought that building homes next to farmland and paying an extra $80K for the view would by idyllic, as long as they didn't have to be bothered by actual "farm" things, like crop dusting and cow poo.

“It impacts our ability to enjoy our back patios, that we put a lot of money into".

I guess it's reassuring to see that the well-heeled also occasionally enjoy steaming bowls of stupid for breakfast.

Duh!

An Australian woman, who was diagnosed with a psychotic illness last year recently stabbed her family, killing her father and sister, and severely wounding her mother. Her parents, who practiced Scientology, reportedly refused her psychiatric treatment or medication.

Note to Tom Cruise: Guess the vitamin therapy wasn't working too well, was it?

Duh!

A 23-year-old Turner, Maine man is having a tantrum over a not-well-publicized provision in Tina's Law, which was enacted last summer. Put in place because of a serial bad-driver who plowed into and killed a woman, drivers who receive more than 10 moving violations in 5 years will lose their licenses for 3, although they can apply for a work license after 18 months.

Joe Dehetre, a chronic bad driver who received his notice after running a stop sign in January, thinks this is unfair.

"Some guy killed somebody and now I have to deal with it."

His mother, apparently a chronic enabler (she's been driving him to and from his job since then) has been calling the Secretary of State and her legislators to protest on his behalf.

"He gets so frustrated and wound up, he cries, he yells."

You know what, Lady? Why don't you break your foot off in his ass while kicking it to the nearest bus stop instead of providing him door-to-door car service?

Considering that scofflaw drivers receive like 1 ticket for every 20 times they violate, I certainly feel safer with your whining brat off the road.

Duh!

Hope you guys have a wonderful weekend!

It's Just a Flesh Wound!

Had a great visit with my Mom, and Little Guy got back from the coast safely in one piece. Now for another few quiet weeks before Big Kid comes back.

Somewhere, the powers that be are letting out a big honking evil laugh. Bwhahahahahahhahaha!

Monday morning, Little Guy and I decided to take a quick trip to the store to pick up a couple of things before The Price is Right came on. That's one of his favorite summer vacation shows and he was excited to be able to get a chance to watch it uninterrupted. No Big Kid to pester him, no little half-sibs running around being noisy.

Since it was trash day, I stopped at the top of the driveway, and Little Guy took the empty cans down. The garage bay where we store them isn't automatic, so he reached up and pulled the door down with a rope that is attached. It was halfway down, and instead of grabbing the handle, he reached with both hands and put his fingers in the horizontal crease and pulled. And got stuck. 8 fingers.

I started to jump out, but he got himself loose and hopped in the car.

"I'm ready to go."

Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself?

"Just a little."

Let me see. I caught a glimpse of blood and strips of flesh hanging from his fingertips on both hands. Oh My God.

Raced in the house and stuck his hands under the tap. The hospital is 45 minutes away. The doctor is 5. Called his office and they said, "bring him right down".

Little Guy didn't make a sound all the way down the hill. By the time we got there, he was shaking all over. The medical assistant put his hands in ice until the doctor could see him.

The doc took one look at his hands and said, "we need X-rays". So he wrapped the kid's hands up in gauze, and sent us up the road to another facility that has X-ray capabilities. Got the pics and came back.

Thank heavens there weren't any broken bones. The skin inside (where your fingerprints are) from the top knuckle up was peeled back on three fingers, and he'll probably lose 4 fingernails. Right now, 2 days later, about an inch and a half on all his fingers are blue from bruising.

While the doc was cutting away all the loose tissue, the kid said, "I'm being brave, aren't I Mom?"

I burst into tears. Not my finest hour, because THAT'S what finally freaked him out.

And what trauma would be complete without an Attila ass incident?

It was over, and the doc went out, leaving the door open for us to exit. Of course, it was facing a packed waiting room.

I've lost a little weight and I was wearing a pair of wide-legged knit pants with an elastic waist. Somehow, while I was sitting, the bottom of the pant leg got under my shoe, so when I jumped up to help Little Guy off the table, my pants got yanked DOWN. Along with my droopy drawers.

Anybody looking in the room probably felt like poking their own eyeballs out. Oy!

Once we got home, I saw that our dog the Noodle had gotten out of the fenced yard so I had to get the kid inside, and chase the dog down.

Then there were two messages on the machine.

The first was from the Big Kid. "Can I come home?"

The second was from his dad. "Can Big Kid come home?"

Nope. Nada, not a chance. More on that later.

So that was my Monday. How is your week going?

You Want Fries to go with that STFU?

Good Grief! Will these people never go away??

TB Guy is back in the news complaining that authorities "tricked" him into quarantine. Yeah, I feel so sorry for you, you self-entitled, inconsiderate, germ-spewing Asshat. Heh.

And the Pants lawsuit guy is filing an appeal asking the judge to review her ruling that gave him the great big bag of nothing he so richly deserved. How about a $50K fine for wasting the Court's time and taxpayers' money?

I vote they just STFU already.

My Mamacita is here for a few days for some quality mother-daughter time, and my Little Guy is coming home tonight. So I'm going to take my own advice and shut my yap.

Hope you guys have a wonderful weekend!

Catch up with you soon!

Happy 4th!

After two really vicious hailstorms in the last week, I'm happy to say that my flowers in the front have survived. Unfortunately, all the container plants on the back deck were beat to heck.











But my peony is finally in bloom!! Isn't it gorgeous?

Here's a wider shot, so you can see this big ol' bush with one flower. There isn't a bud anywhere else on the plant!















My columbines and pansies made it through without much damage too.


Hope you guys have a great holiday. Stay safe!

ATM

Not Even Once

I was reading about the Montana Meth Project last week, both because we have family in Montana, and because we are acquaintances with someone whose relative was recently convicted of setting his house on fire and killing his small children for the insurance money (financial problems due to meth addiction).

The statistics in Montana are mind-boggling (from the website):

*52% of children in foster care are there due to Meth. Cost to the state: $12 million a year.

*50% of adults in prison are there due to Meth-related crime. Cost to the state: $43 million a year.

*20% of adults in treatment are there for Meth addiction. Cost to the state: $10 million a year.

"The Montana Meth Project is a large-scale exercise in prevention, aimed at significantly reducing Meth use in Montana. The integrated program consists of an ongoing, research-based marketing campaign—supported by community outreach and public policy initiatives—that realistically and graphically communicate the risks of methamphetamine to the youth of Montana."

The project is having a dramatic impact on the numbers.

I watched some of the commercials, and I have to say that they were disturbing as hell. I can see how they would be effective. They aren't targeting established meth users (who probably wouldn't recognize themselves), but instead they are reaching out to teens who might be tempted to experiment.

There are critics who think the images are too brutal, and too graphic.

They are that. But if they are effective, I'm all for it.

What do you think?

The Montana Meth Project

As a side note, the commercial entitled "Parents" really freaked us out. There have been a few times in the last year when Hubby and I have had to literally put Big Kid out of the house when he ramped himself up and refused to take his meds. This video is eerily similar (minus the meth, but add a ton of foul language) to those episodes.

It haunts me.