Strange As It Seems

The oddest thing happened last night. This is something that has not happened to me in, well, in my lifetime. I'm 54 and there are very few firsts left for me, but last night I had one and it was kind of fun! The thing that happened to me last night was the most unusual thing in forever. I was dainty. When I was little being dainty was what all female people were supposed to aspire to.

I saw an old deodorant ad from a 1940's magazine which indicated that daintiness equaled smelling good. My little girl self equated it with wearing a pretty dress and socks with lace on them. My friend, Kim, was dainty. I was not. She had blond perfect hair and wore gingham shorts sets. I had a brown nest on my head and wore cut off jeans and t-shirts. There was nothing dainty about me. Partly because I didn't get the whole matching socks and hair bows thing and I loved a good fart joke.

Last night, though, the daintiness fairy came to roost. A guy from the hub's work is transferring to another park so we went to a brew pub in Hayward for a goodbye bash. We were a party of 12 so we didn't expect to get seated right away, but after waiting an hour and a half for a table and finding out that the toilets had all backed up...we activated the "abort" sequence and walked a few blocks to La Imperial, a really dive-y Mexican place that serves burritos the size of newborn babies.

There's a waiter there who is also the floor show. The dining room (and I use the term loosely) is pretty big and we were one of about three groups in there. This waiter, Uncle Ron, had lots of time to spend with us. And spend time he did. He was having so much fun being corny and telling stories that the other patrons started serving themselves drinks and chips. We had a lot of fun, too, and the food was fattening and delicious.

My daintiness moment came towards the end of the evening when things had degenerated into a joke telling round robin. My hub knows endless jokes and one-liners and he was in fine form. Then Uncle Ron asked if anybody minded adult jokes. Of course we all said "no" so he told one. It was pretty filthy and this is when it happened...I blushed.

Apparently, it was a pretty good blush because Uncle Ron apologized to me. The ironic thing is that I have a repertoire of some of the crudest jokes known to peoplekind. I could make an army barracks blush! If you have any knowledge of dirty jokage, you'll recognize some of my favorite punchlines: "Get off the table, Mable, the two bucks is for the beer.", "If you'd get your tits out of the ashtray you wouldn't have heartburn" and "Move over, girls, I've gotta gargle". But I blushed!

I felt like such a girly girl. It was fun. I actually think I blushed less because I was shocked at the joke content and more because I wasn't expecting it. Also I had never heard that particular joke before. I will use it in the future, though - it was a goody. Without going into too much detail, the punchline was "Medium". You had to be there. If you had been you'd have seen me blush. Because for a brief moment, I was dainty...

I Love Dogs

I love dogs. Even the word "dog" connotes everything sweet and fuzzy. Dogs are the embodiment of everything loving and devoted. Yes, they get mud on the carpet and crap all over the backyard, and that anal gland thing is really gross, but still...Until our son dumped his cat on us - I mean brought her to live with us at our house - I had never lived with a feline. My mom hated cats. She called them "land fish" and preferred to keep them at arm's (and leg's) length.

The son unit got a cat when he was living in Berkeley (the first time). He responsibly rescued her from a shelter and when he had to move to a new place that didn't take pets, was distraught over having to take her back to the pound. And this is where I stepped in. "You can't send my grandkitty to the Big House! She's an unfriendly pain in the ass...Nobody will adopt her. She'll be killed." And that is exactly what I whined to my hub.

So Beatrice the unfriendly pain in the ass cat came to live with us and our three (at the time) dogs. She spent most of her time upstairs until the hub and I got worried that she'd turn feral and take over up there. This would be weird, even in our house. So we started bringing her downstairs for visits until the dogs got sort of used to her. They learned to live together. Sure, every now and then there'd be a snarl or a hiss or a pro forma attempt at a nip, but for the most part they managed to coexist.

Our Cairn terrier, Ernie, lost his battle with life last January, and we were down to two dogs and one land fish - uh - cat. The house felt empty somehow. Granted, it smelled a lot better (Ernie liked to mark his turf) but something was missing. So, never willing to leave well enough alone, and even though Beatrice was a well known cat hater - despite being one - I got Wilson, the World's Cutest Kitten. Wilson for short.

Wilson is everything that is fun and wonderful in life. He has revealed the true nature of kitties to us. This isn't to say we don't still love Beatrice but Geez, that is a freaking boring mammal!
I'm truly glad that we brought Wilson into our lives. We might never have known how wonderful cats could be if we hadn't.

Where Wilson charms us, he drives our dogs nuts. He likes to hide in laundry baskets and attack them when they walk by. He shreds the toilet paper when you're trying to use it. He jumps on our feet when we're sleeping. Sometimes he jumps higher up on the hub which renders him less charming. But still really cute.

So we brought these interlopers into the house and yet our dogs still love us. They still want to sit on our laps, give us kisses and they look at us with those big, liquid brown eyes. They've forgiven us our foray into felines. They're loyal and loving and they always will be.

And the Award Goes To...

I know I said I wouldn't be posting til our computer got fixed/replaced/put out of my misery, but I was reading an old newspaper and saw something that couldn't wait. There was an article about something called the "sag" awards. I thought "Awesome! Finally an award I can relate to". Turns out its not about what I thought it was about. Actors give awards to each other.

So its not enough that there's an award that the people choose. They get a big chunk of glass for winning that. There's an award that the academy chooses. That one nets the winner a nekkid golden man with a sword. There's an award from the foreign press that gives the winner a golden globe. There's even one that awards a surfboard...

Now I imagine a bunch of egotistical actor-types sitting around trying to figure out another way to get free dresses/suits, publicity and gift bags. Oh yeah, and another award. Only this one could be a nifty statue of an actor a la Degas or Goya. "Hmmm, who else can honor us?" they'd muse. Eventually, a light would go on - "Let's honor ourselves!". And so the Screen Actor's Guild awards were born.

Personally, I like my original interpretation better. "And the award for best under arm sag goes to..."The trophy could be a gold plated pill box so all the sagsters would have a place to keep their meds. Pretty, and practical - just the thing for baby boomers and older. And people my age would be on the young side for sagging awards. Betty White could host.

Also, imagine the red carpet - it would be extra wide to accommodate all the walkers and electric scooters. Designers would be forced to honor age and saggage rather than youth and perkiness. This would challenge everybody. Plus, those gift bags could be given to people on fixed incomes instead of really rich people who can afford to buy whatever they want anyway.

My awards show would be very long, mostly because it would take a long time for winners to get to the stage to accept their awards. The post awards dinner could be soft and bland but with plenty of fiber. Metamucil toasts would be made. A wonderful time would be had by all and everybody would turn in early. I could totally support this kind of awards show. As long as I was never nominated...

Computer DOA

Due to my ongoing love/detest relationship with 21st century technology, I have to delay my next blog entry until my computer is repaired. Or destroyed, depending on whether the hub or I get to it first. I'm borrowing my friend's machine and I don't feel right hogging it for as long as it takes me to craft one of my regular length missives. I'll be back as soon as our computer isn't threatening suicide. Oops, I hear the toilet flushing - gotta go!

The Beginning of the End?

The weirdest thing happened today. The hub and I got word that one of our college best friends had died in early December. We Googled all over the place and couldn't find out why he died, but knowing Marcel the way we did, it could have been any number of things. Its really sad, though, to know that a man who has seen my boobs - actually feasted his eyes on my glorious girls - is gone and their image with him!

Let me explain. Right after college and our wedding, the hub got a job at a national park in New Jersey (yes, they exist). Leaving our friends was really hard and we did lots of partying to stave off the sad. One day, we went to Marcel's house for a bar-b-que. We went to the store to get the food and, because we thought it was a really good idea we all wore our rabbit heads (pink hoods with floppy ears made from blanket material) from our Halloween costumes.

We totally cracked ourselves up by buying a huge bag of carrots and when the checker picked them up to ring up the price we mumbled "Be careful with that". The bagger lost it. Cracked up the checker, too... Anyway, back at Marcel's place, we were goofing around in the backyard, taking lots of pictures when I decided to stand on my head. My hub went behind me and, grabbing my ankles, plopped his chin on my feet. Thinking we were adorable, we grinned for the camera Marcel was holding.

Now, at the time, I rarely wore a bra. Really, I only needed one to keep the gals down. So I was upside down and my shirt flopped down over my face. The girls were free and flapping in the breeze. Marcel was a gentleman and didn't snap a picture, but he started laughing. When I tried to right myself I couldn't free my legs from my hub's hands. He was unaware of the ladies' escape and kept holding my ankles and grinning. Marcel started laughing so hard he was snorting.

I finally got covered up and upright but we couldn't stop laughing and ended up going for burgers. I'll never forget him snorting and flailing around with bar-b-que tools. I have so many memories like that. Lots of them involve laughing so hard Marcel snorted. One involves he and I dry humping each other on a dance floor to annoy this really obnoxious woman. It worked. He snorted.

We lost touch over the years. Now and again we'd connect, exchange a card or an email but we never heard him snort again. He was good guy. He worked hard to promote causes he believed in. Like safe sex. Once he gave our kids (they were grown) a bunch of condoms and lube; Marcel wasn't subtle - I got a little foam "happy penis". And he took me to see Cher. I'm not a fan, but I had fun with him.

There's a memorial on Saturday in San Francisco. We're going to go to say goodbye. Its weird when your friends start dying off. Although I ever would have pegged Marcel as the first of our old group to go. His laugh was too big. And he snorted - like when he saw my boobs.

War Movie

There's nothing to watch on TV tonight so the hub and I are watching a movie. Because, basically, we can't get through an evening without staring at a glowing screen. We're watching "The Hurt Locker" which is supposed to be the closest thing to being in the war in Iraq without getting a sunburn. Now, you might think that my hub chose this movie, since its a war movie and all, but you'd be wrong - I chose it.

I read that it was one of Michelle Obama's favorite movies of last year. This makes me think that one of two things is true. Either Michelle has different taste in movies than I expected, or People Magazine was less than factual. I might have to rethink my slavish devotion to that publication. But then what will I read in the bathroom?

Anyway, about a third of the way into the movie, my hubster is actually leaning forward in his chair, eyes fixed on the TV screen and I'm blogging. Its about par for a war movie. Sometimes I do crossword puzzles. One of my very favorite movies is "Sense and Sensibility" with Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson. The hub has never seen the whole thing - he stops watching when they start crying. When they cry for the second time, he just leaves the room.

He hates crying movies. And mushy ones. Just when I start leaning forward in my chair, he'll start talking. Which is really pretty funny because of the two of us he's the most mushy. Over the years we've come to an agreement...if he exceeds my mush tolerance, I'll give him a dope slap up the back of the head. Painless but it gets the point across.

There is nothing remotely mushy about this movie and judging by the hub's absorption level, it must be good. Maybe Michelle really did like it. Hard to believe, though, they just showed a dead kid - close up. I hate movies with hurt kids or animals. This one also had a limping cat. I'm going to have to rethink where I get my movie recommendations.

Smart Ideas, Dumb Ideas

I'm sitting here watching the Indianapolis/Baltimore football game. I specified that it was football because I know that some of my readers don't know this. They are not dumb, just uninformed. A dumb move is when you have all the information you need but make a ridiculous choice anyway. Joe Flacco just made a dumb throw but whoever named the Ravens was really smart. They were named after that Edgar Allen Poe poem and he's from Baltimore. Cool - huh? And smart.

Peyton is kind of a sissy name (not smart) but Peyton Manning is a really smart football player. According to the announcers everything Manning does is brilliant. He even probably thoroughly plans and executes his trips to the potty! I enjoy watching him play football but the other thing? Not that interested...

My son and his sweetie got me and the hub tickets to the Star Trek exhibit at The Tech in San Jose for Christmas. That was smart. They know we're nerdy and we'd have fun. We did. We got our picture taken in the captain's chair and the transporter and we got to ride in the simulator. We are such nerds. Our son is smart. So is our daughter but she didn't feed the geek this year. She clothed us.

Whoever invented Advantage flea repellent is smart. So is the person who came up with Sally Hansen Insta-Dri nail polish - that stuff dries in minutes and it doesn't chip. Mullets are dumb (the hair, not the fish), and so are the people who fired me. The inventor of the burrito is brilliant, as is the person who thought up the pizza. Whoever decided it was OK to put rodent hairs and insect bits in hot dogs or any amount of lead in toys is an idiot.

I realize I have no experience or expertise in the area of television programing, I'm unemployed and my hub is a park ranger but even we knew that you shouldn't put Jay Leno on TV five nights a week. Now there's this big hullabaloo because its failing and its all over the news! Yawn. Most people are smart - nobody's the least bit surprised. Except the people on the news. And the ones who screwed Conan. And the ones who screwed me.

Go Away!

I'm planning a bridal shower. Its been a long time since I threw one of these and I'm determined to do it up right. The bride really wants to have a tea party, so I've been researching teas. If you look up the definition of "anal retentive" on Wikipedia, I think you'd find a picture of people planning a tea. Next to a picture of me researching them. I'm not going to be anal about all the particulars,though (Did you know a "low tea" is called low because its served on low tables?).

Despite the name, "high" tea does not involve marijuana, but that would probably be fun. No, high tea or "meat tea" is a heavier meal - more like dinner. I am having neither high nor low tea. It will be on dinner height tables and there will be no marijuana or meat. Maybe some fish.

Anyway, I went to a local party supply store to check out decorations and invitations. I wasn't two steps in the door when an odd looking young man said "Hello! Can I help you?" I said "No, thanks, I'm just looking" He fired back, "Anything in particular?" "No, I'm just looking (for a place in this store where you aren't...)" Nothing grabbed me there so I left that store (didn't say goodbye) and went next door to an office supply place. I thought there might be some pretty paper I could use for invitations.

I opened the door and a voice met me - "Can I help you?" I wasn't even in the freakin' store yet! "No, thanks, I'm just looking." Then the party store guy's female counterpart went back to doing her sideways leg lifts. She was using a display case to steady herself. Like a ballet barre. Pretty good way to kill time if you ask me.

I don't blame those kids with what has to be really crappy jobs for being annoying. I blame Walmart. I don't remember any of this stupid "greeter" stuff til they showed up on the scene.
Those greeters don't fool me. I'm pretty sure they're not all that glad to see me. And I don't think they are interested in what I'm looking for. But at least they have jobs.

What I haven't mentioned is that this bridal tea isn't til May. I know, I know, its January. And I said I wasn't going to be anal. I lied, I'm going to be really anal because that's just how I am. I just need to be sure to stop before I get all the teeny, tiny sandwiches made and the crusts trimmed off...five months early.

Superhero!

I've decided that the world needs a new superhero. Really, Michelle Obama can only do so much. She's committed to the cause but she's just one woman. Granted, she has arms that look like they were carved out of mahogany and she looks fantastic in dresses, but she can't do it alone. What she can't do alone is fight obesity to the death and leave it in the dust.

Now that I've lost my flab, I'm in danger of being one of those totally obnoxious people who has been won over to a new lifestyle and can't shut up about it. Its been good to read about the First Lady's organic garden and that she's involving local school kids in the project. I'd like to get the grownups straightened out and de flabbed. And that's where the superhero comes in. I could be the Arterial Avenger. I'd be like Batman. I mean, he has no actual powers, he just uses his smarts. I'm smart. I could make it work.


I'd show up at fast food places or Buffet joints. Armed with nothing more than my, well, arms - I'd go into a full belly slide across tables, my cape flapping in the breeze. As I passed by people, slapping fatty foods out of their hands before they could get them to their lips, I'd dodge their forks and save their arteries from certain hardening and plaque buildup.


My hub could be my trusty sidekick. he'd pass out statin drugs and referrals to cardiologists. He'd remove forks from where they penetrated my awesome superhero suit and put band aids on my boo boos. He would just generally be his awesome self. After I saved everybody from their unhealthy food choices, I'd stand on a table, pick fried shrimp out of my hair and explain how they were ruining their arteries and how to eat healthily.


I think Michelle and I could work together and solve the nation's obesity problem for good. That might solve much of the health care conundrum, too. Yes, she might seem sane while I would probably come off as a complete idiot, but our point would be made, the nation would be healthy, and then we could go out for fries. I heard Michelle loves fries...

He Got Out!!!

This past weekend was one of the best weekends in recent weekendom. My friend's son got out of the army. For good and forever. In order to understand how I feel about this kid, you have to know my history with him. I met this child twenty four years ago as a two day old at Kaiser Hospital in Hayward on the day I had my daughter. His mom and I became roommates in the hospital and bonded over the fact that we were both new moms for the second time (We had two year olds at home.), the fact that the attending doctor was a pig, and that we had both shoved gigantic infants out of our nether regions.

I was astonished that I had given birth to an 8 pound 10 ounce baby. My first kid was a relatively tame and ordinary 7 pounds 9.5 ounces. Eight and a half pounds was a moose! Then I saw my roomie's giant baby. That kid was over 10 pounds! I still feel stuff involuntarily clenching down below when I think about him as a newborn. Cute as a button. A really big button. Like a button on an elephant's jammies.

I was the Little Big Man's first babysitter. His mom wanted to take a shower so she asked me to watch him. I wasn't worried that he'd be any trouble for 10 minutes but what if I had to pick him up? I mean, this kid was seriously huge! Not Indonesian-kid-you-see-in-the-news-big but big enough.

His mom got in touch with me about a week after we both got out of the hospital. I love her to this day for taking that step. Our older kids became friends even though they were opposite genders and spent a bit of each visit trying to kill each other. Eventually the four of them melded into a noisy, hungry, undulating, crying, hugging, playing, laughing, peeing, pooping clump of adorableness.

They never went to any of the same schools, but they would take up right where they left off every time the families got together. We watched our "second son's" football games and wrestling matches and when he enlisted in the army, we worried along with his parents.

On the same weekend our daughter unit's heart failed and she was put on a pump to circulate her blood, our friends' son was deployed to Iraq. They were 21 years old. I was worried as hell - we all were- but part of me wanted to throttle the two little weasels. Our older kids never put us through any of that crap. Well, a little depression and maybe some belligerence and teenage obnoxiousness, but nothing life threatening. That we knew of.

This past weekend we got to celebrate his release from military service and his return home. He and his fiancee are expecting a baby in a few months and I am really curious to see what this grown up giant baby will unleash on the world. When her mother found out how huge he was as a newborn, she threatened him with extinction if he caused her daughter to have a 10 pound kid!

The party was a surprise for him but I think the happiest people there were my buddy and her hub unit. I know my hub and I were happy as pigs in mud. When I said goodbye on Saturday night and hugged him, my "second son" said "Thanks for meeting my mom in the hospital." then he hugged me back. I didn't embarrass myself or anything, but I came close! All because we were roomies in the hospital twenty four years ago!

Forgiveness is Fine

About five years ago, when I was getting used to a new position at the stupid place I used to work, the pastor of my former church gave me a heads up about forgiveness. She told me that you need to forgive people who wrong you, but that you don't have to keep them in your life. I remembered that the other day when my college best friend told me she'd been fired from her job as a result of a stroke she had suffered during surgery. We have so much in common! I told my buddy I was sorry and asked what she was going to do.

"Forgive them" she said. Why didn't I think of that? She's a way tougher chick than I am. I want to get to the forgiving part but I'm not there yet. I think that there are some things you can brush off easily and some things that just stick in your craw and fester like leftover spaghetti sauce in a plastic container in my fridge.

When the hub unit and I had just gotten married and he developed an allergy to telephones. I never minded if he went somewhere without me as long as I knew when he would get home. He had a hard time with that concept but eventually figured it out and it was easily forgivable.

I can forgive slights from my kids. I mean, when you become a parent, you have to lose your ego or you will go crazy. A smart parent with a strong sense of self preservation will remember that when your kids snark at you its because they feel sooo sure of your love that they can treat you like garbage and you will always be there. The little cretins.

There are some things I will never forgive. Well a few things. I will never forgive John McCain for unleashing Sarah Palin onto the world. If he'd just left well enough alone she'd be up there in Alaska, looking at Russia and taking care of her kids. She'd probably still be governor and her smarmy, smug, lying sack of crap face wouldn't show up on my TV and right next to the check stand in the grocery store. And Michael Vick. He's a butthead.

Someday, I hope I'll be able to forgive my stupid place of former employment. Most of the people there are nice, but some of them are just plain poops. I can forgive poopage and I actually think that the ice is starting to crack a little. Writing this blog is helping a lot. Maybe eventually forgiveness will come. Although forgiveness is a really odd word...

Something's Missing

Ever since I was so unceremoniously let go from my job of the past twenty years, I've been periodically checking on my grief process. I mean, I learned in that new George Clooney movie that loss of a job can have the same effect as the loss of a family member. I believe it. George has never lied to me. I also read somewhere that people who lose a job go through the same stages of grief as when they experience that same death.

Since my ouster, I have been stuck at the really pissed off stage of grief. Since the place I was fired from is a peripheral business of my church, I've stopped going there, too, and I think I'm mourning that as well. Its not that I stopped believing in God when I lost my job, I just can't figure out how people who profess to want to do good things in the world can reconcile treating someone (me!) so meanly. I figure that its not the religious experience I'm after to sit there on Sunday morning staring daggers at the backs of peoples' heads.

But I love Jesus and I believe in God. I'm just having a little trouble with organized religion. Really, God is love and perfection and all good things. People, fallible, errant, sometimes really mean people run churches. In general I love people, I really do, but some of them are just big, fat poopyheads. Its not just my former church, a friend has a friend who was married for three decades to a terrible man.

She hung in until her kids were grown then gave him the heave ho. She was a devout member of her church and the priest knew her history but he gave her a ration of crap anyway for not trying hard enough to make it work. If she tried any harder, she'd have imploded. Then he could have presided at her funeral.

Then last week I heard Pat Robertson talking on TV about the Christmas crotch bomber, who by all accounts, was singing like a bird in custody. Pat Robertson said he thought the medical people should deny pain meds to the bomber. Now, I don't think that idiot should be coddled in any way but doesn't denying pain medicine smack of vengeance? And isn't Pat Robertson a man of the cloth?

In any case, I really hope that some day I'll find another church I can trust. I always feel calm in church and I like the spirituality of it. Its just that I don't think anything good can come of me grumbling under my breath during the opening prayer, or adding editorial comments ( "Yeah, right", Sure they did!" "Uh-huh") to the sermon. Maybe I can find one run by nice people. Or dogs. I trust dogs.

Football-ish Names

Today was the day of the last regular season football game for the 2009/10 season. You'd think that there would be some really exciting games heading into the playoffs. You'd be wrong. We watched the end of the Niners game as they pulverized the Rams. Plus, we saw Kansas City crush Denver and we just switched off the Jets shredding of Cincinnati. The games were so lopsided that I had lots of time to contemplate stuff I like to think about instead of the game.

Did you ever notice that some football players have real football sounding names? Like Joe Montana. I always thought his name was the perfect football name. Joe is a tough name, all American - and Montana -please...The announcers were talking about Donovan McNabb which is a little football-y but also kind of Irish barkeeper-y. I also heard them mention Daunte Culpepper and Brandon Flowers who sound like wedding planners. "We're going with Culpepper/Flowers they are THE best"

Chad Ochocinco used to be Chad Johnson, but his uniform number is 85 so he changed his name. I guess if my name was boring and ordinary, like Johnson, I might change it, you know, oomph it up a little, to reflect what I do. Oh wait, I don't do anything. Never mind.

There is a Bronco named Jabar Gaffney. He sounds like a genie. Dantrell Savage and Devard Darling could be fashion designers. "She's wearing Savage and Darling, and wearing it well, I must say". Rudy Niswanger probably throws good parties and laughs at dirty jokes like the ones I like to tell.

Ryan McBean sounds like a CPA. So does Leonard Pope. They could have a firm, McBean & Pope. There's a Niner named Arnaz Battle. I don't know what to make of that name. But I like it a lot. On Kansas City there's a guy called Jamaal Charles. His name's not weird, but his last name can also be a first name so it sounds funny when they announce his plays "And Charles gets a touchdown!" "Really! What did Joe do?" Plus that Charles kid is a total biscuit and he runs like lightning...

I remember when I was a kid there was a guy named Dick Butkis which I didn't realize could be really dirty until I was older and he was retired. Rats. But there is a kicker for the Chiefs named Ryan Succop. The announcer was pronouncing it "Suck up" and I had a moment of pity for the guy's high school years before I started laughing my head off. Pretty good kicker, though, but he could have worked as a gofer for the wedding planners.

The playoffs start next week. I hope the games are better. Otherwise, I'll have to start planning Tony Romo's Pizza Place or Peyton Manning's Menswear. These guys could really have a future...

Its Da Bomb

OK, I know the Christmas Day crotch bomber could have caused a major disaster. If I had been on that plane, it would take enormous amounts of all kinds of sedatives to help me get over the horror of the whole thing. My problem, and I realize this may seem just a tiny bit vapid, given the fact that I was tucked safely away in my little bedroom community here in the San Francisco Bay Area, is that I'm grossed out by the pictures of the dude's underwear they keep showing on TV.

I mean, it looks like they sliced the sides and pulled them off between his legs. Ew. I didn't even like taking off my kids' diapers like that when they were toddlers. Of course, then the explosion had already happened and I was dealing with the aftermath.

Whoever pansted this guy has to be the bravest person in the world. I mean, not only was it gross, but they had no way of knowing that they weren't about to be blown up. They had to get the undies off with the explosive intact, dude was probably not cooperating 100% and you gotta figure there was a nerve factor involved.

Plus you have to figure that the idiot with the explosive chonies was probably nervous himself, so you know there was sweat. How on earth could you fly for that long while contemplating the incineration of your gonads? I realize he thought he was going to die and go straight to Heaven. He was wrong on all counts, had he died, I think he would have gotten one way transport to Hell which, for him, would probably be a place where women are in charge.

I'd love to see that, little dude having to kowtow to females for eternity. He could be Hillary Clinton's office boy. At least then he'd have an intelligent boss...and he couldn't hurt anybody 'cause Hillary'd kick his ass.


It would just be great not to look at the news and see that cut up, slimy, sweat-soaked, explosive-caked filthy pair of underpants looking back at me. Gross. And evil.