Monday, January 31, 2011

Pick a Winner

You have to admit, Oscar season is fun.  Watching rich, powerful, stylish celebrities engage in the sort of popularity contest we escaped after high school graduation is gratifying, bringing back memories of the time you saw "Carabella", the most popular mean girl in the history of the earth walk around with an undetected booger in her nose during an entire lunch hour.   Ahhhh, good times, good times.  

Now don't you worry your pretty little noggin if you haven't seen all the nominees for best picture.  That is why you come to Larainy Days isn't it?  To be educated in all the finer things. Here is a tutorial that will have you up to speed in no time.

The Social Network
The story of a mean geek turning into a rich freak

Forget everything your mother ever taught you 
about drinking your own urine and pocket knife safety

 The tale of a brave girl shooting squirrels for dinner 
who gives her worthless meth dealing dad a hand

 Watching Inception will screw with your perception 
leaving you with misconceptions 
unless you are an exception

 Rooster Cogburn babysits, drinks and kills
bad guys with one eye tied behind his back

The frightening fake baby will haunt your dreams forever

Punching, sweat, and loose teeth; it's kindergarten all over again.

A tender tale of raising goats in the suburbs

You're not the only one who hates public speaking

all images found here

Friday, January 28, 2011

Organic Queries

Sometimes it is a heavy burden that you, my dear readers look to me with such utter dependence for my thoughts on...well, everything of gravitas in the whole wide world.  I take this responsibility very seriously, which causes me to lie awake into the wee hours pondering questions such as these:

Can I advertise my blog thoughts as "organic"
 if they originate in a brain fueled almost entirely by refined sugar?

If the Duggars all took turns calling out "good night" to each other 
 like the Waltons...

would anyone get any sleep?

If you top your pizza
with enough celery...

will the calories cancel out to zero?

Do any of you
recognize your favorite babysitter?

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Save That Tiger Mother

 Have you heard the growling sounds coming out of this woman?  

Her name is Amy Chua and she wrote a book called "Anthem of the Tiger Mother"describing her philosophy of child rearing. A Tiger Mother keeps her fangs sharpened at all times in case her child forgets to practice her violin 4 hours a day.

I have don't have enough energy or fur to be a tiger mother. I consider myself to be a "Cricket Mother" because on the infrequent occasions when I wear pantyhose my thighs rub together, making a chirping sound that brings comfort to my children when they hear me coming down the hall.

See if you can classify yourself or your own mother in one of the following categories.

 "The Crocodile mother"  camouflages herself as a common household object, lying motionless, partially submerged, waiting to pounce on the ungrateful child who doesn't finish his greenbeans.

"The Bat Mother" comes out at night, flitting around doing laundry and watching tivoed episodes of Biggest Loser while eating Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies that she has successfully hidden from the rest of the family.


You can spot a "Dinosaur Mother" a mile away.  Her children are the only ones in elementary school without cell phones.  Waa waa waa.

A "Marmot Mother" feeds her children only whole grains.  Santa Claus puts sesame covered tofu in their Christmas stockings and they have been raised to think "Twinkies" are a synonym for "wedgies".  Anyone who admits to eating unorganic has to weave a yard on the family cloth project.

A "Narwhal Mother" never raises her voice because she is always equipped with a motivational tool
A "Panda Mother" is an endangered species who is rarely seen but can be read about in many blogs, (the veracity of which is questionable).  This legendary creature looks like Barbie, cooks like Rachael Ray, listens to Rush Limbaugh and NPR, knits underwear for the homeless and her children are all well adjusted models of perfection.

The "Poison Frog Mother" is the one whose kid doesn't like your kid.

The "Anteater Mother" typically wears out a vacuum every ten months.  She is rarely seen without Windex in one hand and a Mr. Clean Magic eraser in the other.  You could comfortably eat a piece of pie off her bathroom floor, but of course no one is allowed to eat anywhere but at their assigned seat at the gleaming dining room table under the sparkling chandelier.

Do you or your mother fit in any of these classifications?  
Or are you in a class by yourself?

Monday, January 24, 2011

Eavesdropping at the Gym

Sometimes it pays to leave my earbuds out at the gym. 

This is NOT ME but thanks for asking.  Image found here

While flailing away on the elliptorturtical machine I heard two conversations that illustrate the ancient tale of how men are different from women.

T-shirted Woman:   Oh hiiiiii Jaynie.  I haven't seen you forever.  (Voice rises high in admiration)  You are just wasting away!

Spandexed Woman:  Oh I am not.  You are!

T-shirted Woman:  You are such a liar

Both Women:  (Mutually satisfied giggles)


Young Hairy Man:  (Cheerfully) Hey! What's up you stupid piece of crap?

Muscled Tank Top Man:  Hey, not much.  Looks like you are still as ugly as ever.
Both Men: (Fist bump, smiles all around, subconscious flexing) 

I'm so glad I'm a girl.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Barbs from Bill

 A few years ago the husband and I had a jolly good time clomping around the mother country for a couple of weeks.

We went from south

                     to north

 and back again...

through Stratford on Avon* which is the home of the bard, alias William Shakespeare.  
(Don't worry, bard is not a cuss word in England like it is in America.)
*Also the place where all Avon ladies are required to be born in tudor style thatched cottages

You can go inside Shakespeare's boyhood home and see the lack of television that was responsible for turning little Billy into a loquacious genius.  What I mean is, you can actually go inside if you are willing to pay a goodly number of £'s.  I'm sure you know that £'s are pronounced "pounds" and Americans have fun spending "pounds" because we feel like we are losing weight with every purchase.

By the time we made it to Billy's boyhood home, the husband and I had already shed so many £s we were mere shadows of our former selves.  So we skipped the house and toured the free historical gift shop which is where I found a great treasure - Shakespeare's finest insults compiled into refrigerator magnets.  Now, if you are going to spend your last  £, can you think of any more worthy purchase?

Bolting-hutch of

Out, you

The tartness of
   his face sours
ripe grapes

Your breath
         first kindled
the dead coals of wars

crusty batch
of nature

She is spherical
Like a globe.  I could find out countries in her

Thou smell of
mountain  goat

…cream faced loon

Scratching could not make it worse…such a face as yours

Thou elvish-mark’d,
rooting hog

Now dear reader, the next time a cream-faced loon cuts you off in traffic, 
you can whip out an anglo saxon insult for the entertainment of your carpool.   

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

A Little Motherly Advice

Because of my pervasive presence in the blogosphere as a trailblazing fashionality (I own several scarves), I was contacted by a plethora of horrified mothers who watched their embarrassing daughters tromp down the red carpet at the Golden Globes in outfits even a mother couldn't love

So listen up starlets...YOUR MOTHER IS TALKING TO YOU!

 Helena, if you're going to choose your gown from the dress-up trunk, 
remember, you're only allowed one outfit at a time.

Annette honey, I know you love your 23 cats, 
but quit letting them lick your head before you go out.  
You'll look better and prevent some nasty hairballs.

Tilda dear, I know you're still mad about your name, 
but you don't have to dress like your name is Tilda.  
Call yourself Tilly and buy a skirt you don't have to roll up

 Eva, mi hija, your lovely mermaid dress 
does not have to include two sardines clipped to your belt

Sondra, you know you're not only my sweetheart...
you are America's sweetheart since you got the sympathy vote 
when you dumped that no good marlot* Jess-a-bel, 
but how can you expect to check your blindside 
when you can't see past those humongous bangs?


Jennifer, how many times have I told you 
that you are seriously overestimating the storage capacity needed for your bosoms?

Heidi-girl, we're all proud that you faced your fears 
and went skydiving, but you have got to give back the parachute.  
It's only a rental.

Julieanne, what in tarnation are you doing with a tater sack on your shoulder?  
I could have sent little brother Wilbur over with some corn pone 
if you'd a just told me you had a hankerin' fer some vittles

Annie dear,  I think it was environmentally insensitive of you 
to make your father descale all those trout 
just so you could sparkle under the lights

Katie, I know you are a sentimental girl, 
but that does not excuse wearing the dress you made in 7th grade Home-Ec.  
You still don't know how to gather.

Love, Mom

all photos found here

Monday, January 17, 2011

The Pageant and the Rodent

Shame, shame and double shame if you forgot to do your part for world peace and neglected to watch the Miss America pageant on Saturday night.  If we are plunged into WWIII this week I am going to be pointing the righteous trembling finger of rage at you.

The daughter and I celebrated the big event with our traditional Miss America cuisine; Hershey syrup right out of the bottle, BBQ pork rinds, Lil' Smokies and a hunk of cheese.  Nothing makes me hungry like watching fifty emaciated women prancing around in their skimpies with vaseline on their teeth.

Of course, the husband considers the pageant an affront to his manliness and responded by fanning his hunter/gatherer side to life with an assault on predators in the backyard.

Earlier in the day he found several hollowed out oranges hanging on our tree.  There was only one possibility…
Roof Rats!!!
Oh knock it off dear reader, I can sense your hoity toity thoughts and delicate sniff of disdain.  You think that anyone who eats Lil' Smokies deserves rats don't you?  Well I'll have you know that roof rats slither wherever they find citrus hanging ripe and luscious, and they don't care if it is in a yard littered with auto parts, or in a 40 acre manicured estate.

So, while the daughter and I watched Miss Iowa introduce herself to America by saying "From the state leading in Ethanol production, my state gives you gas!" the husband set his trap in the tree branches.

 image found here
While the daughter and I were wiping away tears of admiration as Miss Arkansas performed a stirring number involving a shiny red jumpsuit, blinding teeth and two yodeling dummies, a stealthy rat was creeping to his doom.

 image found here
 Miss Nebraska won

 The rat lost