jurlpower

40 Year Old Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Thu, 12 Apr 2012 09:39:36 PDT

On March 22 I reached the mid-point of my life- 40. I honestly never thought I'd live this long. Remember how old your parents seemed at 40? Of course, I've remained totally young on the inside, nee, immature, despite my body's rapid descent into a geriatric tragedy. I cling to the myth that young at heart is all that really matters and in effort to convince myself I submit the following:

I pee on myself when I sneeze, but can't resist the well played fart joke.

I limp for a second when I get out of the bed in the morning, but if someone doodles a penis with a mustache and monocle I will laugh until I pee myself (which these days is about 47 seconds).

I don't understand Twitter, but I like to give pretend interviews to Oprah. Often about how I don't understand Twitter, or memes, or Linked in, or where the hec is the world wide web.

I can't stay up past 10:30 p.m., but in my waking hours I cuss like a twelve year old boy who just discovered how great the F word sounds in front of and behind every word. Example: F you F'er.

I sometimes have a musty smell coming from my bat cave, but I'm as hairy as any twenty year old!

Some of that hair is coming out in strange places, but it's still thick and luxurious- I could do a Pantene commercial for catfish whiskers. Imagine them swishing back and forth in slow motion while someone says off camera: "How do you take catfish whiskers and turn up the heat? Set them on fire with Pantene's new Pro V Whisker Wash with barracuda anal juice! Your whiskers will be the first and last thing anyone sees when they look at you! Warning: this product may contain acid."

I'm a 40 year old wife/mother/part-time lawyer that makes lunches every morning, washes everyone's dirty drawers, and sometimes wonders if this is really living an authentic life, but hey, I just made up a Pantene commercial!

Do your best body, you dirty bitch, you mother f***in, mother f***er! I will fight your decay with fart jokes, a mustachioed penis, the F word, fake commercials, and my best friend and confidant, Oprah!

Here's to the first decade of the rest of my life, bitches!

Cooking Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 07:22:35 PDT

Well, jurls, you might not know this about me, but I'm a pretty decent cook. Nothing fancy, just yummy and soothing food as food should be (if used as mood elevator). So I share with you two of my secret ingredients: Bisquick and Whippin Cream.

If you are making mashed potatoes use whippin cream instead of milk.

If you want a melt in your mouth biscuit, mix Bisquick and whippin cream together, bake at 375 until done. Oh, yeah.

Want yummy baked chicken? Mix Bisquick, salt, and pepper together, dip a chicken tender in gently whisked egg, dip chicken in Bisquick, stick it on a foil covered cookie sheet, then pour a small (or big, whatev) amount of melted butter over it. Bake at 450 till done. Yums.

Cool Whip? You don't need no stinking cool whip. Whip whippin cream until stiff peaks appear then add sugar and a splash of vanilla. Oh no, you didn't.

If lovin you is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Staggering Compassion, Jurls

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 13:06:07 PDT

A 9/11 story that will cause your heart to fill up and your eyes to leak pesky tears.

http://globalpublicsquare.blogs.cnn.com/2011/09/10/remembering-911-an-unexpected-gift-to-america/

Oh, Jurl, You Are Drunk and French. What Could be Worse?

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 07:41:24 PDT

By now you have probably heard about Gerard Depardieu's recent incontinence problem on a passenger jet. If not, then allow me to break the news: the big French lout took a piss on the carpet of the plane he was in as they awaited take off.

When this made news I was torn. On the one hand, I was grossed out because I can imagine the assault of his hot, steamy, stinky, yellow pee pee blasting out of his french sausage link and splattering across the inside of what is essentially an overgrown tin can. Yaht. On the other hand, if you are stuck sitting on the tarmac needing to go potty then you should be able to use the facilities and if the flight attendants insist you keep your seat with no regard to the peril of your swollen bladder, then piss on them.

So, as to The Great Pee Pee Caper I was on the fence. And then this:

http://dai.ly/nUPapF

Urinating when you are drunk and/or held hostage I can understand. This spoof that passes for french humor I cannot abide. I now speak to the people of France:

Why are you so weird, French people? Why is this funny? It's not. Are your comedy writers all cocaine-fueled Jerry Lewis impersonators? Why does the plane look like a backstage Vegas dressing room? Why does the guy across the aisle seem totally bemused by how he got in this skit? Why is the opera Viking costume so hilarious to you people? We leave that for Bugs Bunny. And only when he cross-dresses. Why is Gerard Depardieu a sex symbol? Seriously, why? Why?!

My advice, because I know you want it, is to stick to making cheese, wine, and rude comments to American tourists. And since I am an American tourist allow me to quote my good friend N.D. who, when robbed in Paris and given the run around at a French bank, said "If not for us you'd all be speaking German!"

Spreken ze that Gerard.

Burning Down the Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 07:24:08 PDT

Texas is on fire. CNN just reported that Governor Rick Perry is returning to our dry, barren, burning, wasteland of a state to help. Help? Hmmm. He must really think he can do something because he was scheduled to speak at a town hall as he continues his attempt to capture the White House and violate it for four years. But, what can he do to help with our fires? Oh, yes. He can piss on them like he has pissed on our state for the last twelve years.

Oooooh! Can I run the siren??? Whre's my firefighter's hat?!

Love the Rug, Jurl.

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 13:50:03 PDT

This is giving me serious rug envy.

Get a Clue, Jurl!

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 08:51:00 PDT

The other day I bought Clue for my daughter (OK, me), but struggled over getting the modern version or the classic set. In the modern version gone are the parlor, billiard room, library, and conservatory, to be replaced by an observatory, patio, theatre room, and spa. Because no one reads in 2011, but everyone spas and watches movies.

Ultimately, I decided my daughter would probably like the new one better so that's the one I bought, though I feared the murder weapons would be cheap plastic instead of metal like in the olden days. Turns out murder weapons aren't murderous unless metal so they remain fairly unchanged, though they've added poison, a trophy, and a barbell.

Clue was my favorite game as a kid. I think it was because I could pretend to be Miss Scarlett, the beautiful femme fetale. Sadly, when we played the game the other night Sam insisted on being Miss Scarlett leaving me old Mrs. Peakcock. I realized, however, in real life I've morphed into Col. Mustard. With a dash of Professor Plum. They need a character called Madam Creaky Knees since I discovered I can no longer sit cross-legged on the floor for sustained periods of time. Or even short periods of time, really. Don't even get me started on my bad hip.

Game is still fun, though.

Pinterest Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 12:53:07 PDT

My friend, JG, sent me a link to pinterest.com and in three days it has taken over my life. At first I wasn't sure what it was or what to do with it......then I got it. It's a virtual bulletin board. See, I'm one of those people that is forever ripping out magazine pages of shoes, clothes, art, recipes, whatever. I sit them in a pile on my desk or stuff them into a side pocket in my wallet until I realize I have not touched them and can no longer stand the clutter they create so I toss them. Pinterest allows me to virtually rip out photos and articles then stick them on my cyber board to refer to for all time. Say, what, what??

Also, it would seem that everyone else in the world is better at surfing the web than yours truly because the stuff they find is unreal. I can't get enough of this site. Check it out and let me know what you think. I'd write more, but I have to go back to pinterest.com.

Ashamed Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 12:27:03 PDT

I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of. In the second grade I put a girl's hairbrush in a pile of human poop because two popular girls bullied me into doing it. (Then I confessed to the teacher because I felt really bad.) In high school I kicked a giant gay boy off our lunch table because, where we were an unpopular group of fat chicks and nerds, with him added our role as torture targets was really upped. (I still feel really bad about that one.) And that's just the tip of the iceberg, but of the many shameful things I have done, one that ranks right up there is....wait for it....wait for it.....watching Dance Moms. I'm sorry!

Dance Moms is a reality show about pieces of shit. Pieces of shit moms and a piece of shit dance owner. These people are monsters. I am not joking. If a turd put on a too tight dress, too much lipstick, and had trailer highlights in it's turd hair they would be on this show. This show makes Toddlers & Tiara's look like award winning journalism.

But let's leave their shitty turd selves aside for a mo because it's the little girls that I'm worried about. Two of these moms had a screaming, cursing, fight right in front of these poor babies. The girls started crying (and so did I) watching two moms act like junior high whore-bags going head to head. Their little faces looked terrified (the girls not the whore-bags). I was terrified! These little girls are on their way to eating disorders, teen pregnancy, cutting, eating detergent, and whatever other mental disorders there are out there.

DO NOT WATCH THIS SHOW. Help me not watch this show. We must boycott so they won't renew it for another season. We should report these piece of shit mothers to CPS because their children miss all kinds of school, suffer verbal and physical abuse, and are having their souls raped daily.

Oh, the shame! I watch while I drink red wine and it makes me feel better about my parenting failures. God save me from my self!

OK. Beep beep, let me back up the truck and tell you more abut this burning turd of a show. As I said it's about little dancers, ages 5-13 or so, but it's really about the mothers- how they fight, how they hate, how they pressure their little girls, how they were raised by snakes in a junk yard.

And the Queen Turd is Abbey the Owner who I have yet to see do a single dance step. Newsflash for you Abbey, dance is not the same as curing cancer. It's really not. It is not more important than reading, writing, and arithmetic. It is not more important than a 10 year old's ankle injury. You are not going to receive a Nobel Peace Prize for throwing your hefty weight at 40 pound 8 year olds. What you will receive is a place in hell.

And then there are the moms. Are they moms? At times they act like moms. They cart the kids around in their mini-vans, sew rhinestones on costumes as they watch the practice from a loft area, and occasionally offer a hug to their child. But then they open their mouths and I can no longer be sure what they are. They argue with Queen Turd about the skimpy costume and stripper moves of one performance, but then go along with it (they failed to even place at that competition due to what I assume were child pornography laws). They fuss about the hours at the dance center, but then tell there daughters to quit whining. They live and die with every high kick. They drink at lunch and gossip about the other mom's who aren't around (o.k., that's not that weird.) They keep their daughters at the dance studio till 10:00 p.m. or later every night. Hmm, I'm not doing it justice. You'll have to trust me that they are horrible, because you must not watch for yourself. Jurl, don't do it.

The two moms that go at it the most are Turd One and Turd Two. One and Two have the top two dancers (I guess), but Turd One's is often edging out the other. So what does Turd Two do? Attacks turd One. Because??? I don't know why. Because Queen Turd plays favorites? Then yell at her. Because Turd One let her daughter do two solos in one competition? Then let your daughter do two! Or three! She lives at the studio so there should be time for as many solos as you can so rhinestones to the costumes. She was particularly horrible on the show where all the screaming and cursing took place in front of these kids.

Then there is the strange turd from some other town that claims to own a dance studio, but brings her child to Queen Turd for some reason I do not understand. She looks older than the other moms, but seems ageless at the same time. Like there is a portrait of her in an attic somewhere revealing her to be a 300 year old hag. She also seems to be the most aware that she is being filmed. I believe she is every bit as horrible as she appears, but I believe she's horrible with a smile because of lights! camera! action!, making her even more ghoulish than her attic portrait. And in a sad twist of fate, her poor kid looks like she was trained by a three-toed sloth. You know, not everybody is a dancer.

I've written way too much about a show I claim to want to boycott. If I watch much more of this shitberg I'll starting eating detergent.

Queen Turd

Turd One happy her daughter won, again, and Turd Two planning her murder. Can you tell which is which?

Turd Two going after Turd One. Look at that little face in the background.

Is she going to eat me? She's going to eat me. Please don't eat me!

Strange Turd.

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 09:28:27 PDT

Coming out of our hotel this morning a 12 year old very white boy said, "see y'all at the reggae fest.". That explains the overwhelming scent of hydroponic wafting down the hallway. Husband lingered for the guiltless contact high. Now, was our young white Rastafarian really commenting that we don't look like a couple that enjoys the reggae? By calling it THE reggae have I proved him right? Well, I love the movie Cool Runnings so I think that says it all.

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 14:20:39 PDT

Husband and I are in Austin for the weekend so I will post about the strangeness I witness. Like the bare tit flopped out at a restaurant as a woman pinched her nipple and tried to force feed her baby. After some suckage her teat sprang free revealing a startling three inch compressed nipple. Too harsh? You didn't see it. Over your bowl of chili.

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 12:07:19 PDT

In Austin, breast-feeding is the new sidewalk cafe--Knocker Express.

Idiocracy Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 07:16:04 PDT

I give up. I am resigned to the hard cold fact we live in an Idiocracy. Our country is populated with idiots. That must be why we keep electing politicians (I almost said 'people', but that's not what they are) to run our country into the ground from the city level to the Capitol.

I knew it was over when I saw the news report on GE's tax status. Did you know that you could have it better than paying zero income tax? Sure! This is America, people! Where our drinks are extreme and our Doritos are flavor-blasted! What's better than no taxes? The government paying you a few billion! Don't believe me then ask GE cause last year they earned 14 billion and paid no taxes on it, but we the people paid them 2 or 3 billion. Why? Because U.S. tax laws for corporations are XXX-EXTREME and DOUBLE FLAVOR-BLASTED, baby! #@$%@$@#$! And I give up.

The other day Pip and I were discussing why U.S. companies continue to ship jobs overseas. I suggested it was to avoid paying taxes and their ability to pay a Chinese worker a nickel for a days pay. Pip argued that the U.S. had to tax U.S. companies on foreign revenue. I agree, but don't know how you would ever accomplish that. We don't even tax them on U.S. revenue! Give. Up.

Still, no one will care that GE takes bail out money in the crash, makes 14 billion, then collects a cool couple billion more just for playing. But teachers, policemen, firemen, now that's the real problem with this country. They're the greedy whores ruining everything! Damn those Unions for giving us weekends, child labor laws, bathroom breaks, and the right not to burn up in a windowless factory! Unions are good for workers and bad for our nation! Except our nation is made up of workers...right? So, if workers make more money then they have more money to spend which in turn boosts our economy, right? Hmm, that sounds familiar. Where else has that trickle down economic theory been applied......Oh, yeah, GE.

Look, I'm the first to say that Unions can be the undoing of an industry and can put the collective ahead of what is most important- like a teacher's union that refuses to allow a school district to fire bad teachers and in exchange raise teacher salaries. When a Union would rather keep pay low so even the worst teacher has tenure you've got a problem. But taking money from educators and public servants is not the answer, is it? I mean, couldn't we take more from giant corporations? Oh, wait, if we let corporations keep their money then they will create jobs and funnel it back into the U.S. Oh, wait, they don't do that at all even when we give them money to do so. WTF.

Of course, GE was just following the tax law and taking advantage of loopholes and our idiocracy. Can we really blame them? It's like when Husband and I dug out all of Jake's medical bills for his broken leg last year or when we take the child care deduction. Lord knows, GE needs their money more than us. They're probably just claiming their cell phones as business deductions, and don't we all.

I never thought I'd admit defeat, but here it is, I give up. In a world where Lindsay Lohan's trial will be bigger news than the fact that our children are poorly educated there is nothin left to do but wave the white flag. Our only real hope is for third world countries to unionize.

If Charlie Sheen is alive in 20 years he'll probably be president and LOL will be printed on our money.

A Jurl and Her Freak Show

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 11:36:12 PDT

Monday I found myself on the road with a traveling freak show: Orange Julius the Orange-Faced Man, McMucus the Snot Monster, and Lord Pomferoy Gentleman Dandy. Or as I usually refer to them, my family. Let me explain.

It's spring spring break so we took the wee ones to the Lost Pines Hyatt outside of Austin for some fun in the sun. As we were passing the giraffe statue that indicates the Dallas Zoo along I-35 I took my first breath after a morning of getting kids ready, more packing, ice chest filling, and last minute sweep-up of filth-flarth-and-filth on my den floor and glanced at Husband in a "we made it" kind of way. And I noticed something strange. Husband had a very distinct line of color running just along his jaw line. Like when someone wears a heavy, dark base and doesn't blend it in to their neck. Huh. I was intrigued.

"Um, have you been putting something on your face?" I asked sweetly.

"No. Why?" He replied suspiciously.

"Uh, because your face is darker than your neck by, like, a lot." I stated with all the vigor a woman who knows what's what.

"Oh, really?" He queried back at me like a man in deep denial of his own vanity.

"Really. Your face is orange and your neck is white. Are you sure you haven't been putting anything on your face?" I asked again though the answer was as plain as the orange on his face.

"Oh, yeah. I did put some of that face tanning lotion on. But that's all." He finally confesses.

"Hmm. Are you sure it was the kind for your face? Cause it looks like you used the hardcore, deep, dark, tan stuff for your body on your face?" I was determined to lay the truth bare.

"Well, I think so. It's some I bought and it was in a small bottle so I assumed it was the same stuff you bought." And the truth is revealed at last, a man's preening has led to a secret drug store purchase of a product known to women to be dangerous if not used properly.

"Pretty sure you used the wrong kind. Cause it looks like a rabbit sat on you face and farted. or worse." I giggled.

Once my giggling subsided I glanced in the back seat at Samantha to find that she had the biggest, yellowist, snot-glob plugging her nose heretofore known in the world. Samantha has been recovering from strep-throat and a wicked cold and though the strep has been beat back, yet again, the cold remains. I have never seen one small nose make so much foul, free-flowing discharge. Grossed out, yet? Welcome to the Freak Show. What made it worse was her dabbing at it with tissue after tissue. The child cannot blow her nose in the aggressive manner required by such inhuman quantities of snot. I finally just stopped looking at her. What I don't see, don't hurt me.

But even as I tried to ignore the backseat Snot Monster, Orange Julius was complaining about Jake's hair and urging me to turn and look at it for the millionth time. "Look at him! Look at those sideburns! He looks ridiculous!"

Look, Jake has a problem with hair clippers and that problem is terror. Getting his haircut is tantamount to a ruthless beating. At least he acts like it is. Consequently, we don't go to the hairdresser often and when we do it's always a rough cut with the side burns rarely getting buzzed. And so the gentleman dandy was born. His sideburns have grown so long they curve around his cheek like the bushy burn of a 17th Century, gentleman dandy with a top hat, frilly shirt, and velvet waistcoat. It really is ridiculous, but at this point I refuse to go back with him to the salon. I've done the last two trips and now expect Husband to do his duty. So Husband's complaining falls on deaf ears.

Besides, I can't take him seriously with that orange face. hee hee.

And that's my freak show.

Japan, Jurl!

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 07:07:20 PST

Look out! There is a giant wave pushing a tanker and a burning house toward you! Can you imagine waking up to that? Watching the images of the debris-filled water pushing across farm land and roadways is surreal. My heart goes out to those affected and I'm sure I will be donating to a Movie Star spear-headed relief campaign in a day or two. I'm also sure Sean Penn was getting bored with Haiti so this will give him some new cause to inflict himself upon. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty he was becoming angry with the poor Haitians. How else can you explain his plan to take Charlie Sheen down there? Ugh. Let's hope the assassin warlock doesn't charter a cocaine-fueled jet, chock-a-block full of porn stars (I use "stars" loosely") to Tokyo where he will try to fight the tsunami with a machete and a cigarette.

Do you see how I worked in three current events in one blog? Japan-Sheen-Haiti. Not as easy as you think.

Prayers for the Japanese. And Charlie Sheen. And Haiti. Sean Penn, you're on your own.

Charlie Sheen v. the Tsunami

Back, off you tsunami turd! You're a troll and I'm an F-18 raining down fire like a microwave heats a baked potatoe! Winning!

American Idol: First Eliminated Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 06:44:31 PST

Thank goodness, America got it right. Ashton is outta here! I'm sure she is a lovely person on the inside and for sure she is lovely on the outside, but her attempt at an obscure Diana Ross song was painful. Pretty sure I could've done what she did: sing off-key with Helen Keller like pitch. That's right, I said it. I'd rather hear Marlee Matlin sing the National Anthem than suffer through another week of all Attitude Ashton. Now, I hope Georgia Peach Lauren will kill it next week and pray that Casey gets a grip on his stomach issues cause he's my favorite. Him and Paul. And Lauren.

Jurl, Get Rid of That Dog!

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 14:52:00 PST

If you have the Sugars, i.e. the diabetes, and you have a dog, you better watch out or you'll wake up one day and your dog Bitsy will be sitting with her friend Rover over a silver platter filled with canapes made of your toes on Ritz crackers! Sounds crazy? Google that shite. It just happened, again!

Apparently, it's not uncommon for a diabetic with numb feet to wake up with a few less toes and a pooch with foot breath. yuck. gack. yaht. ack. Something about them being wired to get rid of rotting flesh. Which kind of makes a diabetic sound like a zombie.

My parents (mom and step-dad) are both diabetics, though my mom claims she is only a little diabetic (like a little bit pregnant). My step-dad has the numb feet. Thank goodness they don't have any pets or he'd be toe-less for sure.

What must it be like to wake up and discover your beloved pet has just eaten your big toe? Do you wake up and notice the pain of the chewed-off digit first? Or is your foot so numb it doesn't hurt? If the dog is chewing on the toe like a favorite squeaky do you try to wrestle it away or write it off as so much lost appendage? Do you feel compelled to check out his poops in some weird need to know where the rest of you went? Do you get rid of the dog? (I sure as hell would.) If you don't gt rid of it, will you think of your missing digits every time Fido licks your face? Will you always smell the soft scent of rotted foot on his breath?

Oh, for God's sake, if you are diabetic get rid of your canine or invest in some steel-toed slippers.

I smell toe candy.

Technology Can't Handle This Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 09:38:57 PST

For the last few years I have become increasingly leery of technology's growing take over of our lives. The current downward spiral began with the iphone and it's Star Trek super-transporter-phaser-shield powers. People had already been texting like crazy on phones, but the iphone take over is when EVERYONE suddenly had a phone in their hand at all times. In the car, at lunch, at the school play, in church, at the doctor's office, in the elevator: Hey, you, douche bag in the produce aisle, I don't care that your friend is going Brazilian so either learn to talk softer on the phone or hang up.

Listen, if you can't sit and have a nice lunch without checking your texts or e-mails then your ass better be President Obama because that is the only person I will accept cannot go an hour without checking his phone. And people, stop with the text lingo, just stop. Before this texhonics came along the U.S. was already way behind in math, science, reading, and writing. Now, we are raising a crop of citizens that think this is a complete sentence: u r 2 ha ha ha lmao lol jksdfjierje. I hate you lol.

Then overnight it seemed everyone was tweeting, twatting, twucking on Twitter. I signed up, but could never figure out how to make it work. Boy, am I glad I am too stupid to set up a Twitter account as I have witnessed America's devolution through soundbites from the most famous to the most sorry of creatures. My complaint about Twitter is that people are fools. Just take a gander at, I don't know, umm, Kirstie Alley's Twitter. Twitter gives everybody a platform for whatever they have to say and everybody should not have a platform.

And then there's Facebook, FB to the devoted. Or, as I like to call it, the beginning of the Tribulation. Yes, I once sang the virtues of FB until I realized that it is actually causing the divorce rate in our country to rise, kids to get involved with unsavory people, and boring people to suffer under the delusion they are interesting. Another problem I have with FB is that it is everywhere! I go to CNN to check on Charlie Sheen and there's FB, telling me what CNN stories my friends like! That is frigging creepy. FB is stalking me.

So, you can see my attitude toward technology has been souring slowly, but surely. Until, until, I realized the problem isn't technology, it's people! People can't handle technology. It takes about half a minute for someone to become addicted to tweets, FB, texts, and time travel. Yes, time travel. People get on FB and start reconnecting with high school pals and suddenly they're in 1988 with their pink and green polo shirt, hammer pants and a Footloose sound track blasting on their boom box. Time travel is dangerous. It plays tricks on your mind. You'll start to think those really were the good old days and the present is just a pile of dirty dishes in the sink and a big old pain in the ass. Next thing you know, you're leaving your husband for some high school has-been you think is so rad. Human beings cannot handle time travel.

I blame the ego. Most people, apparently, just want to be heard. They want to be heard when they have a pancake for breakfast, when they miss their exit cause they're texting LOL, when it's TGIF. Ugh. Some FB "friends" of mine have posted so often and are so mind numbingly boring that I had to hide their posts. It was just too much. And then I just stopped getting on FB, but for the occasional check-in, because it was all too much.

Don't get me wrong. I see the virtues of FB-- it allows me to stay in touch easier with family and real friends than I would without it. But I can handle it. I appreciate the convenience of my iphone-- texting, e-mail, music, pap smear, all in one. But I sat through a lovely lunch at La Duni yesterday and did not touch my phone one time. Handled. It. And, yes, I think enough of my opinions to write this blog, but these words blast off into anonymous space and are not ejaculated all over FB. In other words, I can handle it. I time traveled and saw the past exactly how it was- no where near as good as now. Handling it.

So, are you handling technology or is technology handling you?

Glee-ful Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 17:37:33 PST

I am a Gleek. Big time. I watch it, I contemplate it, and I download the tunes. But get ready for me to drop a hots sports opinion: the Puckerman-Lauren storyline makes me uncomfortable and put-out. For non-Gleeks, Puckerman is the super hot bad-boy jock who is chasing the ample tail of plus-size wrestler Lauren. In no world, universe, or galaxy would this happen. The football star never gets together with the overweight female wrestler. Never.

Now, before you judge me, a recap on my life: I was born, I was fat, and I never dated anyone in school much less a member of the football team. I never even got a look from a member of the chess team. And I was one of those fat girls that always heard "what a pretty face" and had a fantastic personality, if I do say so myself. But I was a really fat kid and a fatter teenager and it's hard to even make a friend in that condition much less get a date.

But is it the unrealistic nature of the story line that upsets me? I mean the whole show is pretty unrealistic- singing breaks out in the school's halls like lice in an elementary; every week there are over the top elaborate performances complete with costumes and sets, and then there is Sue Sylvester. It's all unrealistic, but who cares, it's fabulous! Clearly, realism isn't the issue.

So, what is it? What? Perhaps it bothers me because it might lead to deadly friendly fire. You know, when the U.S. accidentally kills one of it's own with an under thrown bomb or something. Friendly fire. You see, Glee's attempt to show that all people deserve love and are lovable is well intentioned. It is. But teenagers are unfiltered assholes and the Glee-affect might just backfire on my chubby sisters.

A lesson on survival of the plump teen: hide in plain sight. Not easy for a chunky kid to do, but is nonetheless essential to leaving the battle field at 3:00p.m. with all your limbs intact and your heart still beating steadily in your chest. Best way to remain unnoticed is:

1) Silence-- no talky talky, no raising hands, no nothing.

2) No sudden moves- step gingerly through the mine field lunchroom, walk don't run, and for God's sake don't dance.

3) Never, for any reason, eat where anyone can see you.

I know those rules are terrible. That I should advise young ones to stand in their own space and own it. That they should never hide, never be ashamed! Dance down the hallways, cheerleaders be damned! Ah. That's the impractical advice a thin person would give these fragile victims. Like telling a drowning person to swallow.

I had a tormentor in the 6th grade. I've blocked his name out so I will call him Monty (the name of my fifth grade tormentor). One day after Monty had been particularly cruel I confessed his assault to my mother. Bless her heart. She was angry and instructed me to ask him why he was so mean the next time he called me something like Ms. Piggy. Next day, I got my chance while standing in the lunch line. As I waited for the lunch lady to ladle some brown, green beans on my plastic, divided plate, Monty struck. Again, I've blocked the remark, but not the follow-up. Deep breath. "Why are you so mean?" Without a moment of hesitation, "Why are you so fat?" And the victory goes to Monty. My sixth grade self was unprepared with a response.

It's a war inside those hallowed halls and our young ones are not equipped to fight the bastards head on. Sometimes it's just about making it. Day by day. Moment to moment.

And that brings me back to Glee. Puckerman-Lauren shines a spotlight on the very people who's survival depends on the shadows. When I watch hot guy Puck begging for Lauren to go out with him I worry about the young girls going to school the next day. Well they be serenaded by a chorus of Fat Bottom Girls as Puck so lovingly sang to Laurie? Will jocks pretend to "pull a Puck" and ask out the fat girl only to laugh at her when she thinks her dream has come true and says shyly, "sure"?

What new torture might they come up with? What horror they might invent? All thanks to that lovely, well-meaning hit, Glee.

I'm not really condemning Glee. I'm just relating the terror my sixth grade self feels when she watches it and she hears a beep and then a douche bag say "wide load coming through." If only 38 year old me could have faced Monty. If only.

But I still love Glee.

Oscar Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 10:28:28 PST

I love the Oscars so much you would think I was nominated. I love the dresses! I love the hot guys in tuxes! I love the skits and unexpected moments! I love the Oscars! I choke up with emotion every time a winner is announced even best short animated feature because some one's dream has just come true. Or maybe it's the fruition of dream coming true, but whatever it is I can feel their emotion right through the television and it moves me.

To me he Oscars represent excellence in the film industry and I know some haters think it's all politics and money fueled lobbying, but if you saw Natalie Portman in Black Swan you know she was excellent to the finest point of excellence. This year I managed to see seven of the ten best movie nominees, missing The Fighter, The King's Speech, and 127 Hours, and there was a lot of fine performances, directing, and writing. Special shout out to this year's porn-titled Winter's Bone-starts slow, but it. is. good.

So while others poo poo the idea of Hollywood richies giving themselves an award I take joy from someone exhibiting excellence and receiving approval from their peers. It there was an award show for best teachers in the country I'm sure I would watch that and weep right along with the winners.

Now for a word about out hosts of last nights show....James Franco and Anne Hathaway were not horrible. I think the dumping they're getting today is a unfair. Yes, Franco seemed bored and Anne had a little too much school girl giggle in her, but they didn't write, direct, and produce that show! They only had so much to work with, I mean Anne Hathaway is supremely talented and her singing ability was reduced to a quick hit song complaining that Hugh Jackman wouldn't sing with her. It was cute, but brief and you can do so much more with her. I think they were okay, it's a tough gig. And dragging Billy Crystal out of the closet who then drug Bob Hope out of the grave seemed unfair to the two 'youngsters". Who wants to be compared to the two greatest hosts in the middle of hosting? Uh, no one. Duh.

I thought the speeches were, for the most part, lovely. I thought it curious everyone kept dog piling on Melissa Leo's F bomb as if it was the most offensive thing to ever happen, I've seen more offensive red carpet fashion than that bleeped-out curse. Who cares? She was in the moment and it was real. She didn't mean to offend the tender, virgin ears of all those saintly celebrities. Please.

The director of the King's Speech made an odd comment about his triangle of man love with Geoffrey Rush and Colin Firth which was fine except he then kind of, I thought, insulted Helena Bonham Carter with "sorry Helena, but that's the way it is" (I'm paraphrasing, but not by much). Her face said she thought the same thing though she was laughing at it. Brits.

Having not scene the King's Speech I can only assume it's greatness. I really want to see it, The Fighter, and 127 Hours, but just ran out of time to get them in before I Oscar night, but from what I can tell the Oscars got it right. I loved when Steven Spielberg presented the Best Movie Oscar and said the movies that didn't win would be in the company of Raging Bull and several other famously excellent movies.

Now on to fashion!

Hailee Steinfeld- my favorite. Young and fresh, just like her.

Va va voom, Jennifer Hudson. looking good, but the boobs looked a little weird...

Scarlett Johanson- least favorite- it looks like curtains from a bordello.

Love the dress on Sandra, not crazy about the hair, but she is always a favorite of mine.

Natalie Portman! Lovely momma to be.

I like Hillary Swank's dress- I love feathers.

Another favorite-love the train.

Fashion "experts" loved this, but I just accept it.

Love Mila Kunis' lavender and lace and the chiffon nipple covers.

Cate Blanchet- I just don't understand this dress. It kind of grew on me as the night wore on, but I don't understand the reverse dickey.

I think Amy Adams looks lovely, but not my favorite. Her hair was lovely.

Always perfect Dame Helen Mirren.

Until next year, Oscar.

American Idol Redoux Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 09:12:24 PST

I was unsure what the eclectic combination of Steven Tyler, Jennifer Lopez, and Randy Jackson would do for the flagging American Idol, or AI to those of us in the loop. I tried to watch last season because I love Ellen, but didn't catch but a bit here and there because watching Ellen on the panel made me uncomfortable like when your drawers are cutting into your thudge (where your thigh meets your torso pudge). In truth, part of the Ellen problem was that I didn't really think she was better suited to critique the would-be Idols than I was. And I was missing Paula's kookiness. Part of the show's allure was Simon's cruel quips and Paula's "I'm having a stroke" moments so without Paula AND Simon how could the show be worth watching? Isn't Steven Tyler on the show like jamming a round peg into a square hole? Isn't adding J-Lo as interesting as adding a propped up broom? Isn't Idol over?

Au contraire mon frere! Steven Tyler doesn't stroke out on us like Paula, but he does behave as if he's drunk and/or high at all times. I believe he is clean and sober, but also believe he spent so much time sauced he still acts as if he just washed down a handful of barbituates with a bottle of Jack. Kind of like when you've been on the water for a long time and then once on dry land you still feel the waves rolling under you. How awesome for Steven Tyler. And how delicious for us! Plus, he is the real deal in music, not a pop-lite diva like Paula. Yes, sometimes his leers cross the line into lechery and yes his ample lips seem to kiss every surface he can get in contact with, but hot damn I love him! Though in truth, I've always been a Steven fan. Jennifer Lopez, not so much.

I think I was on board with Jennifer until she became Bennifer. When she and Ben Afflek hooked up I felt like the apocalypse was on the horizon. Did I think if not for her I had a chance with Ben? Um, no. It just seemed wrong, somehow. Also, she seemed to go from boyfriend to boyfriend to husband to husband like a sad love addict. It just irritated me. So for years whenever she popped up I would make a noise that sounds like a pubic hair was lodged in the back of my throat- ack, ack.

But ack, ack no more! Jennifer Lopez is nice! And thoughtful. And I just love her on AI. Plus she is beautiful. I forgive her for Bennifer, Puffy and the hand gun, too many engagements/marriages and accept her as a lovely gal who judges a singing contest with gentle firmness. You know, I don't miss Simon because he wasn't just mean, he was hateful. And I'm a Simon fan. I get that you love it when he says what you're thinking, but there is a reason most of us operate with a filter, because this would be an ugly place if we always said exactly what we thought. No one would be married or employed. And you can be honest with kindness. I think that is what I enjoy most about this season-- it's pleasant. There is still criticism, heart-breaking let downs and crushed dreams, but with a heart. And I like it.

(SPOILER ALERT- IF YO HAVE NOT WATCHED LAST NIGHTS SHOW AND YOU PLAN TO CATCH UP THEN READ NO FURTHER)

Last night the judges had to tell Chris Medina he didn't make the final cut. Now, this is a guy who is talented AND has a paralyzed fiance. I get that the show went for super theatrical by making Jennifer give him the bad news, but it still got me. J-Lo's emotional breakdown afterwards broke me down and made me love her even more! Now, haters will say she was acting, but come on! Who wouldn't cry after telling a guy like Chris he had to go home- back to his disappointed, paralyzed fiance and a life of obscurity doing a job he hates?? Only Satan. And maybe Lea Michelle. Just kidding. Satan used to be an angel so he would probably be a little sorry.

The Idol gang encouraged Chris to keep working at it, to not give up, and I really hope he listens to them. There are so many talented people this year I can't imagine how they got down to 24. Well, I guess cutting people like Chris. But, I appreciate that they didn't put him through just because of his personal story. I hope Chris comes back next year.

Finally, the sign that this year's AI is really good- Ryan Seacrest is growing on me. Just a little, tiny bit.

Chris and his fiance:

Meeting the judges (and making out with Steven Tyler)

J-Lo sad to see Chris go. But green is your color, jurl.

Insane in the Membrane Jurl

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 07:42:35 PST

Moammar Gadhafi, MG to me, is not just a dictator with a cruel streak, oh no, he is gone-left crazy. He is so nuts I am convinced he is from another dimension. Evidence for this theory is as follows:

1. His bodyguards are all female and also virgins. Say what, what? Why virgins? Are virgins angrier because they have a bunch of pent up sexual energy? I doubt it. If you want angry then hire a stay at home mom who is always asked to put out while she's trying to read this month's copy of O Magazine after a long day of laundry, poop accidents, dishes, and mommy, mommy, mommy. I don't want some well rested pure in the lady parts chick guarding me, I want some one who's been dirtied up, perhaps shamed by one too many one night stands, and has an ax to grind against the forehead of any would be male attacker. That's what I want.

2. MG goes everywhere with his voluptuous blonde Scandinavian nurse. This is straight out of Hogan's Heroes. How does one get this job as voluptuous "nurse" to a Nucking Futs dictator? Was there an ad in the paper? Oh, wait that is so old school. Probably on Monster or Findjob, right? Position: personal nurse. Qualifications: voluptuous (small titties need not apply); blonde (top and bottom a plus, but not a requirement); skilled in dingus washing and asshole tickling. Pay: dictator sausage.

3. MG is telling his nation that the unrest is caused by rats and Americans. Hhmm. I can see the rat angle because the squirrels in my backyard turn me into a violent protester when they eat my pansies, tear up my chair cushions, plant oak trees all over my yard, and have frantic rodent sex in my trumpet vines. But Americans? MG- there is only one thing every one over there can agree on and that is "death to America." Not sure how this one helps you. Just sshhh. Sshhh, little crazy dictator. This less you say the better or the whole world will figure out you are from the planet Nuk Nuk where all the soldiers are female and virgins. Leave America out of it. Dropping our name will only get your voluptuous blonde, ass-tickling nurse set on fire. And what good would that really do?

Does MG not sound like a character from Austin Powers?

Hello, female virgin body guards.

Hello, Svetlana.
And hello, Golden Turd.

I wish you peace Libya and freedom from Golden Turd.

Jurl POWer

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 13:08:32 PST

I've been considering a return to the blogospere. Not a post here and there every few months, but a real honest to goodness consistent bloggy blog. Maybe today is the day. We shall see. I updated the look. I feel the pink hummingbirds are calming. And who doesn't need calm?

So, instead of bloggin I've been doing other things. I've been painting a bit, redoing a few rooms on the cheap, and I wrote a whole screenplay start to finish! As for the paintings I am too cheap to buy art so I make my own.

I call this one: sunset over the color purple or too cheap to buy the real thing.

I call this one Indian Summer even though we don't really have those in Texas.

I call this one stolen poppies because I ripped off the idea from an artist I found on-line.

Several months ago I stumbled on the website centsationalgirl.com and have gone project crazy! Centsational Girl, CG, is da bomb, baby. If you have a paint, craft, qnd/or project addiction problem, do not go there! You will find yourself sucked into a world craftology, spending every other day at Lowe's or Michael's, and so high from spray paint fumes you start seeing tiny little Justin Bieber's singing Baby, Baby every where you turn. (that last thing is kind of terrifying.)

This was a dooky brown, plain nightstand until CG showed me the magic of silver spray paint and paintable wall paper. Throw in some knobs from Anthropologie, and boo-yah!

This is my new entryway with more cheap art by moi, bejeweled sconces from Z Gallery, and a formerly dooky brown, junky buffet now with a new brushed pearl finish and silver spray painted handles.

Frames are also Z Gallery. Hollywood Regency is my signature style.

The bedroom had some other improvements, but when I went back there to click some pics I realized it looked like a serial killer was in residnece so those will debut another time.

Life is better high on spray paint (except for the tiny Biebers). Did you even know you could spray paint furniture? You totally can! And picture frames, lamps, chandeliers, and your children if they get in the way. Spray paint has changed my life! Thank you CG.

The other crazy thing I've been doing is writing a screenplay. I know someone who knows a producer so I sent them the script. That was two months ago. I think that's a bad sign. But at least I gave it a whirl. I'll just keep dabbling here and there until I find my way. What else is a jurl to do?

Jurl Time

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 07:47:29 PST

My jowls just met my chin in the tragic landslide of my face. The swarm of catfish whiskers living around my mouth were, sadly, unharmed. But, my ego took a direct hit and recovery is expected to be slow.

One minute you're 28 pretending to be worried about getting old and falling apart, the next minute you're 38 with the inability to hold your pee, an aching hip, and trying to figure out at what angle you should hold your head so that your face slides toward your ears, creating the illusion that it's as smooth as nubile pre-teen. What the f***? Where did the last ten years go? Where did my jawline go?

Don't get me wrong- I accept that I'm getting older and therefore am slowly decomposing. I'm just surprised that it's actually happening to me! Now! I feel like myself inside (well, in my mind), but on the outside I'm turning into the portrait of Dorian Grey. Though we all begin dying the moment we're born (happy thought) when does that death process start showing up on your face? I don't know when my cadaver lines appeared, but I noticed in the year of 38. Damn you 38!

I'm sure the tell tell signs of age were there already, but I'd been able to ignore them. Until. Until I caught sight of myself first thing in the morning as I staggered across my bedroom looking like an old whore after a night on the peir welcoming the Navy to port. And how humbling is it to roll out of bed in the morning to discover it takes a few steps to work out the kink in your hip? Suddenly, I'm hop-along-cassidy in the mornings? Don't even get me started on my creeky knees.

Oh, well. What are you gonna do? I'm just gonna go with it. As my brows start to droop I'll be glad I need less eyeshadow. When my hip gives out I'll take time to enjoy my physical therapy. And when I sneeze out a pint of pee I'll rejoice that I remembered to wear my pee pad.

That's right, decomposition sucks, but on the bright side, rigor mortis has just barely started to set in.

Merry Christmas, ya'll.

Jurl Time Capsule

mistimosteller@yahoo.com — Fri, 15 Oct 2010 07:07:58 PDT

Today in 1951 "I Love Lucy" debuted. And the funny woman was born. Oh, how I love "I Love Lucy"! The hilarity, the clothes, the hats, the hi-jinks, the out of town episodes, cousin Ernie!

The only thing I didn't love was how Lucy had to beg for everything from that bah-ba-loo bozo. And everything was always Lucy's fault! How can that be? It's mathematically impossible. If she wasn't on such a tight leash then she wouldn't have hid the meat from Ricky in the furnace! And it's not like she lit the furnace! That was Fred!

Ok, settle down. Lucille Ball- I salute you and then I fall down hilariously.