My good friend Wendy Prime from Of Books and Boys has written a guest post for me today. I call her Wendy Prime because we seem to have a few Wendys popping up intermittently in the Lounge. Every time I see the name Wendy I assume it’s Wendy Prime. She has a particular writing voice so when I read a comment from a different Wendy I have Wendy Prime’s voice in my head.

Now let’s move onto Wendy’s story, already in progress:

When we had our first son, like most parents, we were strict and vigilant and consumed with “doing it right.” He was not allowed to taste pop or sweets. I picked out his clothes. He watched PBS programs like “Sesame Street” and “Barney.” When he entered kindergarten, I still firmly held my ground. He was not allowed to watch things like “Pokemon” or “The Power Rangers.”

Those shows might have corrupted him in some way.

Then, slowly, gradually, the big hammer was lifted and eventually put down (almost altogether). He wanted “those shoes with a check mark on ‘em” because “they make you run really fast.” He began to watch Power Rangers, while I checked constantly for an increase in his aggression levels. We found a pack of Pokemon cards at a thrift store for a ridiculously low price and entered the phase of Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh. Boys are, after all, naturally drawn to such things.

By the time he was seven or eight, our favorite Saturday schedule included driving to the nearby mall where our son would participate in Yu-Gi-Oh duels, we would enjoy lunch in the food court, shop a bit, head home and finish the day off, sitting on the couch together watching “Maximum Exposure.” This was a show full of video clips of things gone wrong or stupid antics.

It was quality Daddy-son time for the men in my life.

By the time we moved to our present home in Indiana, our oldest son entered middle school and had a television in his own room — mostly so we would not have to watch him play endless PlayStation games. Last year, he became a fan of a show that airs on MTV called “Scarred.”

Similar to “Maximum Exposure,” this show shares stories and live video clips of thrill seekers who have been injured while attempting various stunts on skateboards, skis, motorcycles, etc. These scenes were so graphic that my son would call out to have my husband come see a particularly horrible injury.

(Editor’s note: AUUUGGHHHH!!)

This would be all well and good, if we hadn’t added two more sons to the mix. Our little boys are presently three and five years old. As soon as they heard that their older brother was watching something incredibly awesome, they began to clamor to be included. At first, I forbid it. As time went on, they would watch a snippet here or there. Now, this is their favorite thing to do at the end of the day.

Once Daddy has returned from work and dinner has been eaten, they begin to beg Daddy to sit with them and watch an episode of “Scarred.” In most episodes, they air five different stories of individuals getting “scarred,” and end the show with “the most f*cked up clip of the day.”

Of course, this is usually the one that I cannot even bear to watch because legs are split open or limbs are dangling off the body. They will call me in because they know it is too much for my wimpy demeanor to handle. Heck, I can’t even handle getting a shot; there’s no way in the world I would be able to watch someone get a metal rod inserted into their leg to reattach the two severed pieces. Yuck!

(Editor’s Note: Y’all know I love Dr. G. I might have to check this show out after all.)

When the last clip is played on the show, the announcer says the full word, however it is beeped out. Well, it’s beeped out until it hits the d in the word f*#@ed. So the boys hear, “And now … the most (beep) ‘dup clip of the day!”

The boys, being little parrots, love to spend most of the day flailing themselves onto the ground then showing me how they got “scarred.” They play this game.

All.

The.

Time.

What cracks me up the most, however, is that they are so clueless about what is actually coming out of their mouths. They preface a particular tumble with “And now … the most ‘DUP clip of the day.”

They disregard the beep and they literally think the word is DUP!

Here’s a clip of the announcer, Jacoby, saying his famous pet phrase: “The most ‘dup clip of the day.”

I’m not sure I want my middle son watching this anymore because they spell out f*#@ed up and now he can read. If he pays close attention, he might figure out that the word starts with an F.

Anyway, the other day my middle son came over to show me his scars. He had drawn a stapled scar onto one leg and a red, bloody pool on the other. As long as their injuries remain temporary tattoos, I’m fine with it. I can look at it and say “Aw, Dude, that’s ‘dup!”

I can’t wait for spring weather when we can return to the local playground. I’m pretty sure my little boys will be flinging themselves off of the merry-go-round (yes, Cardiogirl, we have one at our park! Woot!) and calling out, “that was the most ‘dup clip of the day!”

Of course, on the flip side, I’m not looking forward to possible stares from onlooking parents who in their heads may be thinking, ‘That’s really ‘dup! Can you believe that woman allows her preschool sons to watch a show like that!’ But chances are they won’t even have a clue either, so I could sit around talking about what’s ‘dup all the time.

So, what’s ‘dup in your part of the world?

I love watching shows about true crime and medical mysteries. My husband and kids call those my freaky shows; I call them must-see TV. Regardless, I have quite a few favorites and one of those is called “Skeleton Stories” which airs on my favorite cable channel.

Pop quiz! If you’ve been here more than twice, you should know what my favorite cable channel is. If you know it, leave the answer in the VIP Lounge. The first person to get it right earns the Gold Star of the Day. Now get out there and win!

Alright, so on the show we follow “a team of the country’s leading forensic anthropologists as they unearth the last remains of a human being — the bones. Through these remains, experts reveal surprising details about a person’s life and death.”

These are all bones, all the time. There’s never a shot of the bones stewing in a pot of boiling water to remove the last remnants of flesh. It’s just the bones. So naturally we see a lot of skulls which means we see many sets of choppers. And as you know, a lot of times the teeth are what identify the skull.

Now every time I’ve seen a skull the upper teeth are flush together, no spaces in between, on the jaw. Obviously you’re not going to see that on a living breathing person because the gums cover it. But the root of the tooth is smaller than the actual tooth, so there should be a space up there, shouldn’t there?

There’s a small space up there on two of my teeth and I recently asked my dentist about that. To my horror, he told me that my gums are beginning to recede and that’s the space between the roots of my teeth emerging. A very small portal to my previously unexposed jaw.

(Takes a minute to panic at the image of her own skull revealed.)

I have no idea if “Skeleton Stories” uses real skulls. They don’t look like plastic skulls but all of the teeth are pretty straight. Are they just reusing the same skull in each episode?

But more importantly, I cannot wait for the day when a skull shows up with porcelain veneers.

Will veneers stay on the teeth after all of that decomposition? Don’t they use glue to adhere the veneers to the teeth? Won’t the veneers be shockingly white compared to the mandible?

Wikipedia says veneers were invented by Charles Pincus in the late 1930s but they weren’t very durable. Further research on veneers began in 1982. So it stands to reason that we’re not going to run into a skull with the kind of veneers Zac Efron is sporting in the near future.

And since they’re pricey — I’ve seen estimates of $1,000 to $2,500 per tooth — I think it’s going to take a while for an answer to this question.

I believe I’ll have to wait until a Disney tween star disappears and then his or her skull is found 20 years later by some dude walking his dog in the woods.

Update: Sweep the Leg!

It has been noted — accurately, I think — that Mr. Efron has used Invisalign to straighten his teeth. What are the chances of that? Dammit.

I’m pretty sure LeAnn Rimes has porcelain veneers though, so here’s a picture of her.

Naturally this gaff has jacked up my title because it’s LeAnn Rimes who might come through for me on the skull vs. veneers. And I don’t think she’s ever been on Disney so just disregard my title or let it slide, okay?

Thanks.

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

Today’s question comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 29.

Have you ever hated anyone? If so, why and for how long?

Does a bear shit in the woods? (I love that question.) Does Tuesday come after Monday? Hell to the yeah.

Yes, I have hated many mortals in my lifetime because they have committed egregious acts against me.

(pin drops)

.

.
You thought I was done with that question, didn’t you? Surprise! I am not done with that question. No sir.

Believe it or not I actually struggle with hating select others because it is not a Christian way to live. It does not espouse the things I believe in and yet it’s there. I really try to be honest with myself because I don’t want to be a hypocrite.

So in all honesty a bear does shit in the woods and there are a handful of people who I actively hate at this moment in time.

My compromise is that I choose to disassociate from those people. I could launch a hate campaign against them and interact with them in a spiteful way but I have chosen silence because that’s the best I can do right now. I cannot respectfully be in association with them and take their shit personalities so I have stepped back for my own sake and I pray that God has mercy on my soul.

There’s a guy named Rob Bell who has created a bunch of spiritual videos and the one I find most helpful is called “Luggage.”

He tells the story of a friend of his who used to keep golf balls in the glove box of his car. When someone cut him off he would pull ahead of them, grab some golf balls from the glove box and toss them out of the sunroof hoping that they would dent the car that cut him off.

It was his form of instant revenge.

I can relate to that because I do have a metaphorical glove box full of Titleist Pros. I desperately want to lob them out of the sunroof in the hopes that they will jack up those other people just the way they jacked me up. But the best I can do right now is to keep that glove box closed and just listen to the rattle of the balls.

One day I might be able to empty the glove box, but not today.

The problem with taking a break from blogging is that it becomes difficult to jump back in. For me, it’s like standing on the outer edges of a treadmill while the belt is going at a steady pace.

You have to time your jump just right and usually it involves a stumble before you’re back walking with your head up and your arms pumpin’ at your sides. So I guess this is my stumble before I get back to my 4.0 mph pace. And when you’re walking, that’s a pretty quick pace, gingah.

It feels like the previous post is an elephant in the room since I don’t care to elaborate. And since elephants and giraffes roam the African plains in love and harmony or something, I present one of my absolute favorite Youtube videos.

It’s the five stages of grief as illustrated by a giraffe stuck in quicksand; it’s a must-see.

I’m climbing rocky terrain trying to go from, “I wanna bite someone in the face, mother(beeeep), mother(beeeep)…” to “You know something? I’m cool with this.”

But in the meantime there may be some wailing and gnashing of teeth; thank you for your patience.

TO: The Bad Mojo
FROM: Cardiogirl
RE: The funk you have left in your wake

You suck.

Please leave my motivation at the door.

Long, long ago Mr. C and I had two cats. He called them our faux children; I called them angels in fur.

I loved having cats. The only pet I had growing up was a blue parakeet that barely escaped with its life. It was cool but you can’t really play with a parakeet or scritch its ears. As I recall, I couldn’t even see that bird’s ears. Do birds have ears? They must.

Anyway, back then we were DINKs — dual income, no kids — with two cats named Chloe and Clive. And contrary to what most people say, our cats enjoyed their people. They did greet me when I walked in the door from work and they meowed their hellos. Initially Chloe was an only cat but after six months or so she started asking for a playmate.

At least that’s what the vet said.

She meowed her head off when I got home from work and was glued to my side for the next 16 hours. I liked the attention, but I felt guilty while I was at work so we got her a brother. Clive was a year and a half younger than Chloe and she instantly hated him the minute he set foot in the house. He seemed to like her and he set about teasing her relentlessly, just like all brothers do.

Then she would bitch about it to me when I got home from work. I routinely told her, “You were the one who asked for a sibling,” but that didn’t stop her tattling.

So they had each other and Chloe’s meows did calm down until Armageddon: The Day They Were Trapped.

It was a work day just like any other but when I walked in the door there was nary a cat to be found. My brow instinctively furrowed and then I heard a plaintive meow. It was plaintive, gingah, and it was far away. I searched the first floor trying to find the urgent meows. Nothing.

I ran into the basement but it was clear, once I got down there, that the meows were coming from the second floor. Up I ran to find the bathroom door shut, a white paw swiping at air from under the crack and the loudest meows I’ve ever heard.

I opened the door to find Chloe completely freaked out and frantic. With pupils as big as nickles she issued a few quick meows and ran down to the basement to visit the litter box. Clive was hangin’ out on the rug with sleepy eyes. He gave a bored meow then got up and stretched his legs.

When Chloe came back she meowed her whole story and this is what I gathered from her report.

5:10 a.m. The day started out normally; she woke me for breakfast, watched me get ready for work and then sat on the back of the couch looking out the window. Mr. C got ready for work and she hissed a few times at Clive.

7:23 a.m. Clive took his spot on the back of the couch, two cat arm lengths away, and they settled in. Chloe played soccer for a bit with the play mice scattered about the house — she was into self-directed exercise — and Clive napped on the couch.

10:14 a.m. Clive got bored. He never liked individual sports; he was a fan of full-contact wrestling. So he quietly dismounted from the couch, walked up behind Chloe and pounced. She hissed and swiped then ran with Clive in pursuit.

10:15 a.m. She bounded up the stairs with him nipping at her heels. They may have bounced on the bed, rolled about while howling and then Chloe ran into the bathroom only to be followed by Clive.

10:16 a.m. This is where it gets sketchy. I think there was a tumbling fight in the confines of the bathroom and amidst the half nelsons the door slammed shut.

10:23 a.m. I imagine Clive got bored after a while, took a drink from the toilet and then fell asleep.

10:25 a.m. — 4:38 p.m. Chloe, I’m positive, spent the afternoon pacing back and forth, occasionally hissing at her nemesis.

4:39 p.m. I walked in the door, followed the meows and released the captives.

From that day on I made sure to keep the bathroom door open, flush against the wall, with a running shoe wedged under the crack. Incidentally, a Converse low top is too flat to secure our door; that’s why Chloe could reach out all the way up to her arm pit.

It’s also why I had to use a running shoe. That foam heel is good for arch support and then some.

Today Ron from Vent… a series of takes gave his opinion on why people feel the need to invade another person’s space. I’ll let you be the judge of that, but he had a fun graphic that went with his post and I loved the style of it.

That got me to thinking about my lack of doodles. I’ve been slacking on the doodling. And since I saw that doodle I wanted to see if I could draw like that. Really that’s what today’s post is about, but that’s boring. So I’m going to give you a series of how tos regarding Cardiogirl.

How to piss off Cardiogirl

A long time ago when I was a reporter for a newspaper someone called in with a story idea. I can’t even remember what the story was about. After I interviewed the guy who called in I asked for his phone number so I could call him back with any questions that came up.

The guy gave me his phone number but he said it in such a cadence that I had to ask him to repeat it at least five times.

In the US a standard phone number is seven digits long minus the area code. When you give someone your phone number you say the first three numbers and pause. Then you give the next four numbers. That’s how you do it. That’s how everyone does it. That’s the accepted way to recite your phone number in America. Got that? Good.

This guy had a phone number that only used the numbers six and seven. So he thought it was hilarious to give his phone number in a two-digit sequence with no pauses in between.

Me: “What’s your number?”

Him: “Do you have a pen ready?”

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “Six seven six seven six seven six.”

Me: “Pardon?

Him: “Six seven six seven six seven six.” Repeat sequence until he finally says, “Isn’t that funny? That’s how I give my number because it messes people up. It’s really six seven six (pauses) six seven six seven.”

Me: “Thanks.” (Thinks ASSHOLE.)

How to make Cardiogirl obsess and then become homicidal

We have some puzzles in the house; I like a good jigsaw puzzle. A long time ago I bought a puzzle of the 50 states. I figured it would help both me and my kids learn where the states are and what the state capitals are. As you may know, the upper east coast basically from Virginia up to Maine has some teeny tiny states.

So those wooden puzzle pieces are very small. And very easy to lose. But for some reason I always feel I can find those pieces, if I look long enough. I get my kids involved. We tear the house apart and rejoice every time another piece is found. It’s an awesome feeling.

The sense of accomplishment is so great that I will spend weeks in search of a puzzle piece. When I finally get everything together I really feel great.

On rare occasions, however, I have to bring Mr. C into the equation. Usually he asks me, “Why don’t you buy a new (fill in the blank)?” I always tell him I’m positive it’s in the house and I know I can find it. Then I illustrate clearly what I am looking for.

When we are finally on the same page he invariably says, “Oh. That? I threw that away a long time ago.”

After he says that, this is what appears inside my mind.

How to make Cardiogirl happy

Mocha frappe, how I love thee. I’m not a fan of Mickey D’s but roughly six months ago I met the frappe on a trip up north to visit my in-laws. I loved it so much I tried to get one when we got back to Detroit.

But they’d never heard of it. WTF, man?

That was wrong on many levels. And it really made me mad. Eventually I gave up the fight and figured I’d have one every six months, whenever we make the trek to the Great White North.

And then, yea verily, I saw a sign ’round these parts advertising a cool, frosty frappe. Just $2.69 for a medium.

I’ll admit it; the tires squealed as I motored into the drive thru but my true love and I were reunited.

Basically it’s a chocolate shake but made with milk and blended ice instead of ice cream. I could make one here at home with Nestle Quik. It’s cheaper and I always have Nestle Quik on hand, but the one from McDonald’s has Reddi-Wip* on top.

And it’s delicious.

I think every time Mr. C irritates me by throwing something out he should buy me a Mocha Frappe. However, in all fairness, I should interview Mr. C to find out what I do to irritate him and then doodle it. I know one of the things will include rotting bananas on the counter.

*JD and her brother call a can of Reddi-Wip noise. I love that! It does make a distinctive noise when you spray it out. But I knew if I said the one from McDonald’s has noise on top you’d think I’d finally lost it for good. Well, JD wouldn’t have thought that. But the rest of you probably would have. And then I’d have to explain it over and over in the comments. But now I don’t have to.

Oh me, oh my! Today I stumbled upon a new obsession: Food Network Humor. There’s no affiliation whatsoever with the real Food Network, which makes it extra awesome.

Ina Garten

I did not know Ina Garten sells her own brand of food at Amazon. For example, you can purchase three packs of Barefoot Contessa Outrageous Brownie Mix for $25.38.

While that totally qualifies outrageous, it also qualifies for free shipping since the order price is over $25.

Sandra Lee

This chick is all about making things semi-homemade.

She uses roughly 75% store-bought items and then adds 25% homemade goodies to create a semi-homemade item. Yay! If you’ve ever seen her show, you know Sandra is all about the cocktail. In the last segment of her show she utters her most famous phrase, “It’s cocktail time!”

She also uses the following three words in almost every show: delicious, great and vodka. You can see a montage of her favorite phrases over at Food Network Humor. It’s quite hilarious.

Rachael Ray

I don’t like Rachael Ray. She’s just not my cup o’ tea; although I don’t like tea either. I do think her garbage bowl is a handy tip but I find her voice annoying and I don’t like her special words.

So when I watch, I put her on mute and then read what she has to say. Since I’m usually reading what she’s saying I miss a lot of her facial expressions which are huge and abundant.

But thanks to Food Network Humor, you can read what she’s saying and see her crazy facial expressions. Surprisingly, they’re not making up what she’s saying; they’re actual screen shots from the show. Yummo!

Paula Deen

I like Paula Deen and Paula Deen likes butter. I find her cackle amusing, I like when she says y’all and I think I could have lunch with her. And then I found this awesome video wherein Paula Deen has invited Kathy Griffin to her house.

Heaven.

Aaaaaand scene, y’all.

My buddy LaTonya has bestowed the Beautiful Blogger Award upon yours truly. Now I’m a bit of a punk and a bad ass in this here space so I do these things once in a while and then I leave it hanging. I never pick other people cause you’re all stars in my eyes.

And I’m a lazy ass.

Now if I were following the rules, I’d give you seven facts about me and then I’d pick seven bloggers to do the same. But there’s that lazy thing.

Side note: My lazy Converse is jacked up and I don’t feel like fixing it so I have to find another mood but I can’t think of one. Gah. I was going to go with ambivalent but I don’t want LaTonya to think I’m ambivalent about the award.

I’m going with delighted because I am happy that LaTonya chose me, but I should probably go with conflicted — because I’m happy yet slacking. Do you think she’s still glad she chose me for this award?

Okay, since I’ve jacked everything up here, I’m giving you a mere three facts and then ending this with a game to play in the VIP Lounge.

1. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be able to pull off a ponytail when I’m 50. I don’t think that’s gonna work so most of the time I figure I’ll become one of those ladies from the 1920s who wears her hair in a bun. I think gray hair in a bun sort of works, but I’m not sure. So when I’m sitting in church, naturally, I scan the crowd for hair dos.

I do that in church, when the kids are not with me, because it’s really the only time I’m sitting in one place for an extended amount of time with other people. It’s hard to analyze hair dos while standing in line at the grocery store and it doesn’t work at the Y. Most chicks have their hair pinned back while they’re exercising.

So that leaves me with no choice but the Lord’s house. I think I’ll have to go with some sort of bob. We’ll see. And I am not getting a perm. I’ve never had a good experience with a perm.

2. I wish I had more money and a better fashion sense. If I had more money I could hire some wardrobe chick at Saks Fifth Avenue or Nordstrom to dress me. She’d find that casual chic I’m looking for and we’d have monthly appointments. And she wouldn’t look down on me because she had to incorporate my low tops into every outfit.

I’d be her quirky customer who could really pull those shoes off.

3. I do not like celery but it seems like it’d be a good dieting snack. It’s too stringy, it has a bitter taste when raw and any time I attempt to eat it, I have to drown it in peanut butter, cream cheese or ranch dressing. Trying to eat it for the low calorie count is impossible when it’s swimming in peanut butter.

And yet I sort of aspire to be that chick who’s crunchin’ away at a stalk. Also, any time I hear the word celery I immediately think of the word turgid. So if we were to play a word association game and you said, “Celery” I would say “Turgid.”

Lastly, let’s do the word association game in the VIP Lounge, eh? Leave the comment you would normally leave and then at the very end throw out a word. The next person will respond to that word that you left at the end of his or her comment and it will continue throughout eternity or until tomorrow morning’s post.

Now don’t crowd each other in an attempt to be the first one to kick off the word game, she said as she bent down to release the velvet rope.

p.s. Happy Birthday to Mercedes Rose (that’s you Tonya)! I hope you and Godfather Scratch have an awesome day!

p.p.s. If anyone says January 25, I will say Tonya.