yesterday my daughter made me cry. and not because she’s almost a teenager. i’m sure those days are coming soon though.

no, my daughter made me cry because she totally and completely wiped up the floor at the divisional swim meet held on sunday! she was kicking ass and taking names. she placed in every event she swam in, and took home one bronze and two silver medals.

and in the end, she walked away with the highest honor: top point scorer over all girls in her age group. hellz, yeah!

mommy cried tears of joy. hopefully this will happen a few more times before she turns 13.

 
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during the mid 80s, british groups were all over MTV, and the band dead or alive had one of the top club hits of 1985, you spin me right round (like a record baby). sorry, i know it’s in your head now.

this was a totally danceable ditty and the group’s frontman, pete burns, had everyone dancing in a new way. early 80s dancing had been sort of frenetic. think cyndi lauper swinging her arms all over the place and kicking her feet around. this was actually quite a workout.

but pete was too cool for that. he just kind of stood there, swiveling his hips and snapping his fingers…and his feet never moved. so of course, we all began dancing like this. moving your feet was sooooo 1983.

anyway, here’s our boy circa 1985.

big hair? check.
eyeliner? check.
brocade jacket? check.
pirate eyepatch? check.

sigh. he’s so “new romantic.” those british guys were so sexy in their makeup and androgynous clothes.  duran duran, boy george, george micheal. total studs. these guys were to the 80s what the emo bands are to the 2000s. and we all know it was just for show, right? all the guys from duran duran were marrying supermodels! and george micheal was so hot AND he dated brooke shields, for chrissakes!!

here’s our boy pete now.

…

well… after that, the video is kinda anticlimatic. here it is anyway. check out pete at about 2:20 to catch his bitchin’ frozen-feet dance technique. plus, in retrospect, it appears he may have pioneered “oh no, he din’t” head-bob move WAY before anybody else. that’s at 1:44.

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one of my blog friends, hey joe, usually does the honors when someone passes on, but he’s on a cruise this week, so i guess it’s up to me.

we lost a comedy pioneer this weekend. george carlin died of heart failure on sunday. he was 71. carlin changed the face of comedy during the 1970s along with other comedic renegades like richard pryor (who sadly, died a few years ago.)

here’e one of his most well known bits. people who are offended by profanity should probably not watch this. don’t say i didn’t warn you. enjoy!

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apparently, my new banner has got some of you thinking i’m a badass. which i’m secretly enjoying.

i must admit, when i was photoshopping that puppy up, i was going for something john woo-ish. i’m pretty happy with the results.

it makes me feel all uma thurmany inside. like i’m starring in some tarantino-penned, ang lee-directed, heist/con/chase/romance flick with my boyfriend, jason statham, that’s got a lot of action, some nudity (him), and a whole bunch of asskicking (me) thrown in for good measure.

of course the problem with thinking you’re a badass, is getting caught up in your own hype.

and speaking of kung foo nails… i have discovered you must respect the nails or the nails will kick your ass. it only took a few days, but my own nails have inflicted about the worse source of pain that i have ever experienced in my life and there have been exactly three.

1. the birth of child two without benefit of an epidural, not by choice, but possible death was the other option.

2. child one tripped and bullseyed a million-to-one Qtip shot into my ear and neatly ruptured my eardrum. this one brought me to my knees and made me see actual stars.

3. while futzing with the ice chest, i tried to push the little doohickey cap back on the drainage hole thingy and ripped my freaking thumbnail half off.

in case you weren’t aware, fake nails do not give way. your flesh does. it all happened so fast, at first i couldn’t tell exactly why my hand was radiating pain up to my elbow. while i was trying to figure out what the hell happened, my nail started gushing blood and i almost passed out. i spent the rest of the afternoon on darvocet and red wine.

anyway, so now i can’t decide if i’m going to keep the nails. i’ve realized that with great power, comes great responsibility and obviously, i’m not responsible (or smart) enough to keep from inflicting bodily harm on my own self.

the banner, however, is staying. 

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this week my daughter and i had a mother/daughter bonding day. she’s been bugging me for weeks about getting her nails done (she’s 11, by the way) and i had been stalling her until school was out. so this week, i finally relented and took her to the nail salon.

i was only there for her to get her nails done, but something got into me, and i came home looking like this:

don’t ask me what i was thinking, because typing is a real bitch now, and typically, i’m pretty low maintenance. aside from the bi-monthly visits to my colorist for highlights. and the occasional toni and guy haircut. and the veneers. and the surg… ok, never mind.

anyway, i thought a french manicure was a pretty respectable kind of thing, but apparently, it’s become the manicure of choice for strippers. a reporter conducted an “official” survey at a men’s club here in houston which showed a majority of strippers preferred the french manicure. 

no mention of the preferred stripper pedicure, but i’m thinking it’s probably somewhere along these lines.

anyway, so now that i’ve got the nails, i’ve been feeling a little different. a little sassy. a little hotter. i’m exactly the same as i was before…only a little bit better.

don’t hate biatchez.

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my lovely friend and follow blogger erin, just sent me an email for the trailer of the new transporter 3 movie because she appreciates a hot hunk of man meat as much as i do.

many thanks erin!  just remember to keep your mitts off jason. he’s mine.

looks like this time they’ve come up with some interesting plot devices designed to get jason out of his clothes, which is a-okay by me.

and there’s some cool french subtitles. le sigh.  

Plus d’infos sur ce film

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because i’ve definitely seen it all now.

how many times have you been standing in the checkout line at walmart, or hanging down at the 7-11, or chillin’ at the neighborhood YMCA pool, minding your own business, and suddenly you’re face to face boob with something like this:

sadly, this phenomenon isn’t solely confined to the small segment of the population i affectionately like to refer to as white trash. there seems to be some sort of minor epidemic going on. how else can you explain this?

and this?

…

“so leigh, isn’t that why we have bras,” you ask, “to prevent this sort of shit?”

yes, gentle reader. bras are made for this very reason. however, simply wearing a bra isn’t enough. wearing the right bra is what counts.

so, because i’m sick of seeing women treat their girls so unkindly, and in the interest of helping all those who are deficient in brawledge, i present a gallery of bra don’ts. 

here’s an example of the right way to wear a bra. she looks fantastic.

sadly, this phenomenon isn’t restricted to just the female sex.

in which case, there’s always the bro.

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