Happy Halloween!

Halloween is one of the holidays that really do get better with age*. Sure, it’s fun to dress up and go trick-or-treating when you’re younger, but the real fun comes when the costumes are highly inappropriate and the pumpkin juice is alcoholic. Also, you’re no longer suffocated by your parents checking for injection points or razors in your candy. Who cares if there is poison in it, I just wanted my GD candy!

*The reverse of that, the holiday that gets WORSE with age, is definitely Valentines Day. That holiday can suck it. Not that I am bitter or anything.

Arts and Craft Time

You guys, I am adding the finishing touches to my fabulous Halloween costume. A huge shout out to Keltron 3000! For without her, this costume wouldn't be nearly as magnificent. Now comes my favorite part... the accessorizing!

Want a hint about who I am going to be? I'll give you one hint: yeast infection.

Ok, now I'll need to explain myself otherwise that would just be weird to leave it at that.

Yeast infection = pissed p****y = mad kitten = THE CHESHIRE CAT!

Hells yeah you guys. It is going to be awesome.

Pictures to come.

Growing Up Terrorist

One’s family’s wackiness is relative. No pun intended. Growing up in the Derka-Derka house never left me wanting for entertainment or amusement despite the fact that we had pretty strict rules and guidelines that all 4 of us had to follow. For example, my older sister and I weren’t allowed to so much as mention the word “boy” without severe consequence while our 14 year old baby brother was reminded by our father to always “wrap it up.”

Totally fair. Seriously though – I had to SNEAK OUT of the house at the age of 18 to go on a date. EIGHTEEN! And let’s not forget the time I “ruined the family’s honor” when I accepted a ride with Jeff W. – a friend and brother figure to me. Anyway……

There were clear cut chores and cleaning responsibilities. Saturdays were dedicated to cleaning the house – top to bottom. No exceptions. If you wanted to do something on a Saturday it had to come after you cleaned and vacuumed the living room and scrubbed the bathroom…or after you paid/bartered one of your siblings to do the chores for you. And we were NOT cheap labor.

Your work was inspected, and if you failed you got to do it over. And if you failed consistently you got to go get “the owie stick” from the drawer – bring it to mom or dad and be spanked with it.

That makes my parents sound like bad people, but each and every one of us deserved it every time we got spanked. MHIBTY Trivia: I got beat the most out of all 4 of us kids. I’m not entirely sure about this, but I believe that one point, it was just named “Natasha’s Owie Stick.”

But that was just the preface; I just wanted to paint a picture of the general order and organization of my childhood home.

There was one thing that consistently failed to be dealt with. It got to the point where NOT dealing with it became normal and routine. When visitors came over and asked about it, we’d look at them funny and then vaguely remember that, no, this was not normal. We couldn’t even blame being foreign. This should have been obvious to HUMANITY, not just AMERICANS that this had to be dealt with. Yet, time and time again – this would just be ignored, pushed to the proverbial back burner or utterly disregarded.

No one ever, ever, bothered to replace batteries in the smoke detectors.

Think about it.

The beeping! Yeah… we’d live with it for MONTHS! before someone did anything about it. Yes, it was loud and yes, no one did or said anything about it. I think (or maybe just want to believe) that on some level we all knew that someone should have gotten batteries and replaced them… but no one ever did. Or at least no one ever did right away.

I’ve tried to psychoanalyze the why or how-come, but I think I am too close to the situation to be objective. I can distinctly remember knowing, at the time, that my family had a serious quirk and that it wasn’t normal to ignore a smoke detector beeping for days, weeks, months on end. Never mind the safety implications of non-functioning smoke detectors in a house of 6, lets talk about the sheer amount of focus and determination it took for all of us to over-look loud beeps in 5-10 second intervals.

Probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear. But that was the least of the neighbors concerns. We, every spring, jumped over huge fires in our back yard while chanting songs in Farsi. Looking back, I am not sure whether to be amazed or flabbergasted why no one ever messed with us.

401(NOT o)K

I am stoked to retire. Who isn't, right? I was born to be old. I've always found kindred spirits in grandmas, grandpas and great-aunts. I eat prunes and oatmeal (together, even), I have my very own - at watch for - My Spin ID©. I am a member of the Wheel Watchers Club. Quick MHIBITY Trivia - I've tried out, unsuccessfully, for WOF.

But can I get an HALLELUJAH AMEN that I can't retire for another 40 years?!

What the hell, 401k? I thought we were cool? I gave you money every month and then a handful of times a year, you'd send me a statement showing me how much money you've made me and I told you how proud I am of you and how happy you make me and you blushed and then we hugged. Sometimes I'd hang on to the hug for too long and it would be awkward, but you didn't mind because we were tight.

Now, it's like you're an effing teenager! A bitchy adolescent BEGGING me for cash and when I find a little bit more in my budget to give you - you turn around a throw it all away! And when I confront you about it and I'm all like "DUDE, 401K, I know we need to make this work out between us - but it's a friggin 2 way street!" and you're all like "Pssh, Whatever. Give me money!" it really gets my goat. I've reached my breaking point. Last week, 401k, you told me that I OWE you money? Like you DESERVE it? Like you've actually contributed to this relationship and I've benefited from it in some way?

401K - are you on drugs? You must be. Because you'd have to be smoking or sniffing or injecting SOMETHING for you to think that you can get away with this.

I plan on retiring with the fattest nest egg possible and you're going to make it happen whether you like it or not. I WILL have my Craftmatic-adjustable bed, dammit and I am NOT going to let you kill that dream for me.

Yo Mama is so Presidential

I cannot take credit for these, but I have to share...

Yo mama so fat, she authorized a $700 billion bailout of Dairy Queen.

Yo mama so fat, she thinks the G8 is a Value Meal.

Yo mama so fat, her other biography is called "The Audacity of Hardee's."

Yo mama so fat, the only Supreme Court verdict she wants to overturn is HomeTown Buffet v. Yo Mama.

Yo mama so fat, she thinks sub-prime is a steak cut.

Yo mama so fat, McCain refers to her as "Those Ones."

Your mama so fat, when they asked which menus she reads, she said "You know, all of 'em."

Yo mama's so ugly, Obama said "You can put lipstick on a pig and it would look like yo mama on dollar margarita night."

Yo moms so fat ACORN registered her to vote 3 times.

Yo moms so fat Russia can see her from their house.

Yo mama such a ho, the tab for the federal bailout plan is "700 billion dollars, plus fifty cents to have sex with yo mama."

Yo mama so stupid she tried to arrange the genres on her iPod to put Country First.

Yo mama so fat McCain gives patronizing air quotes when he talks about the "health of yo mama."

But "these ones" are mine... Enjoy!

Yo mama so fat she ate “my friends.”

Yo mama so dumb that she thought “The Bridge to No Where” was a Led Zeppelin album.

Yo mama is such a ho, when asked about her lackluster poll performance … she blamed the DJ that worked that night.

Phone lines are now open for you to submit your very own. Call Now!

OOOOOOOOOOOOklahoma: A near beer weekend

Dear Oklahoma,

Thank you for the great weekend, you were an awesome host and my girls and I had a fantastic time. You really went out of your way when you provided perfect weather all weekend. Who would have expected 70s and Sunshine for a mid-October weekend? You even found us the best digs to crash at! If there had actually been time to sleep, I am sure that I would have snoozed on the comfy leather couch you procured me. And the people! The people were great.

Our time with you, dear south-western neighbor of ours, was nothing short of spectacular and, if I may say so myself, rocked.

Except... Oklahoma, I don't understand why you only serve 3.2 beer? I don't want to sound like I am complaining (even though, have no doubt, I am), but, I'm a professional here and 3.2 beer is a waste of my time. The initial thrill of $2 PBRs wore off once I realized that I'd need to have down a few more, which then, isn't cost effective. Lucky for you, someone ordered too many shots... and since I'm of the "waste not, want not" school, I helped them out and drank them. Also - it didn't hurt when Jake bought the entire tray of jell-o shots and told me to "help myself." I know this was our first time meeting, Oklahoma, but I feel like you knew I'd need a bit more than your beer could offer. I'm not sure if you meant for those things to happen or not, but they did and I want to thank you. So, in a way, you had my back if even though you couldn't give me everything that I needed. You're like the silent, suffering housewife that knows of her husbands affair but doesn't say anything because you don't want to lose him. Better to have him and have him cheating on you than not having him with you at all, right?

Oh, Oklahoma, I don't want you to feel that way. I should have told you that I am going to come back even if you will always and forever server 3.2 beer. But now that we both know a little bit more about one other, you can't be mad at me if I buy a huge cooler of beer before I cross the Kansas border, right? And I promise that I won't be upset if you continue to sell beer flavored water. You have so much more to offer, that this really isn't a deal breaker. Kinda like saying you make a mean meatloaf and keep my shirts pressed just the way I like them!

Go Pokes!

Natasha

Well, THAT'S debatable.

I never wanted to be a political blog. I just wanted to become a READ blog. Since the latter ain't gonna happen any time soon, I'm going to, for today, talk a bit of politics.

So, the Presidential "debates" sucked. Carpool Buddy Kelly said it best when she vocalized her wish for Barack to turn to John and demand "Nigga PLEASE!" For how far from ordinary this election feels (or at least the media WANTS you to feel it is), it is the same elephant and donkey show from every other election past.

What I want to know is why the McPain campaign all wet for "Joes?" Joe-Six Pack? Joe the Plumber? Are they trying to make the comparison that just because Barack doesn't have a "white/American" name that he's a terrorist?

Oh, wait.... never mind.

Anyway, I like Barack's name. Y'all know my name is full of terrorist flavor, so I can sympathize with him... but also, let's take a look at all the fun new words and phrases we can come up with!

1. Obamaddicted
2. Barackonomics
3. Barack and Roll
4. Barack our with your c*ck out
5. Barack-y Road Ice Cream

But, that's enough politiking.

In less than 5 hours I am heading towards Pokes Territory with my home girls Stef and Liz. Stef is an OSU alumni and it's homecoming weekend in Stillwater, Oklahoma. We're not sure what is going to go down once we get there (seriously, we didn't even confirmed a place to stay, but we're bringing a tent just in case), but we're pretty much positive that it is going to be awesome. If my lawyers let me, I'll tell you guys all about it when/if I make it back.

Oh - and I just blew a fuse at work. Literally. I was microwaving soup and then toasted some bread. And blew a fuse. I wonder when I'll get employee of the month?

Which one of these things are not like the others?

curly hair montage

I'd like to introduce a segment that I'll be bringing you A) Whenever I feel like it or B) Whenever I have material for it. Mostly likely a combination of both. And, it goes without saying, this could very well be the only time it's featured on MHIBTY.

::clears throat::

Is it with boundless joy that I unveil to you...

"You know who you look like?!?!"

Let's agree, for arguments sake, that everyone has been told before that they, in some small measurement, resemble some one else. Whether it be a famous celebrity, an infamous criminal or a Simpson's cartoon characters (I'll get to that one). I'm willing to bet that for the average person, there is a theme... a common occurrence, a consistent comparison that it not only reliable, it is irritating. The name so often followed by "You know who you look like" that the individual could answer it while simultaneously rolling their eyes to give the universal "Way to be original a$$hole" look.

If only.

Every time I hear "You know who you look like?" I am filled with a tension that, and I am only assuming here, would be something similar to the tension felt when playing Russian Roulette. Who are they going to say? Am I going to agree or disagree? Will this be some sort of pseudo-compliment? (Elizabeth Berkly - PRE Showgirls) or the meanest of insults (Sideshow Bob*)?

I will go on record right here and now and declare, in earnest, that I have never, EVER agreed with any celebrity resemblance put forth by anyone.

Having said that, the latest likeness drawn (courtesy of some guy in the Q.A. department) is:

Brittany Murphy. But not just regular Brittany Murphy - Brittany Murphy from Clueless.

WhoTheFvckNow? Really? Really. Brittany Murphy? I have put up with some ricockulous comparisons in my life, but this one takes the cake (mmmmmmcake). The lovely montage above isn't a random amalgam of nappy haired celebrities. I have, seriously, been compared to each and everyone of them.

Not all Asians look alike and neither do all curly headed people! For the love of god people, I do not look a thing like Curly Sue!! She's like, 11!

*Seriously. 10th grade Math. Some douche named Sheldon said I looked like Sideshow Bob. Fucker.

Tony! Toni! Toné!

What are you doing Tony Gonzalez?!?!?

Number 88, the love of my life, the Tight End with the tightest end... you've asked out. You want to leave. You've looked inside yourself and realize that in addition to holding countless records and having the adoration of an entire metropolitan city, you need a Super Bowl ring to boot.

I understand. I really do. I know a thing or two about accessorizing and empathize with wanting a big, shiny ring! But at what cost, Tony? You realize that this means that it can never work out between us? I love this city and I am not going to bail out on it when the going gets tough.

This hurts more than when Johnny Damon dumped us for the Yankees. Though what REALLY hurts is his impersonation of the Geico Caveman guy, but that is a different story.

No one knows where you're going to end up, and a little part of me hopes that a deal won't come through and that you will stay in this great little city of ours, but the part of me that loves you knows that you deserve better before it is too late. JUST like when Morgan Freeman finally comes to understand and accept why Tim Robbins doesn't belong at Shawshank, I understand that you are too great and too talented to ride out the last of your years with a team that isn't going to even take you into the post season (let's call a spade a spade here Tony, they suck completely and probably won't even break 500).

Oh Tony, how I wish things turned out differently. How I wish The Chiefs had the developed talent, how I wish we had a ... what are they called... that one guy that takes the snap and throws the football? Oh, yeah, a Quaterback!!! How I wish we were able to be the team, the team to write your name in the NFL Championship annals, but we can't, and for that, I am truly heart broken.

UPDATE: The trade deadline has passed, so therefore Tony shall live and play another day.

Ho Down

I've said it before, I'll say it again - I love Kansas City.

This past weekend was the American Royal. Cowboys Galore. Mmmmmmmm.

Guess how cool was it to get invited to a private party (under a BRIDGE) that has live music, free booze & beer and all the award winning BBQ you could ever eat. It was pretty effing cool.

I made lots of friends. I perfected my no-head-beer-pour from a keg. I learned A LOT about Rugby (who else is surprised to learn that KC has 5 (FIVE) rugby teams?). And I sighted a Black Whale Tail. What is a black whale tail you ask?

It, actually, is NOT this:

But rather, it is this:

This is not the actual one I sighted but you still get the idea. I, never knowning, when to expect the elusive creature to breech, didn't have my camera ready. You might argue if for that very reason, I should ALWAYS have my camera ready but I digress.

What made this particular Whale vulgarific was that she was old enough to be a cougar, wrinkly enough to be a shar pei, almost as orange as a goldfish and definitley drunk as a skunk.

Now you're REALLY upset I didn't get a picture of it.

She wasn't the only show of the evening, there was a fireworks display that was pretty awesome. I am a sucker for fireworks - especially the white ones that "rain" down. If I had to pick a firework to make out with, that would be the one.

And speaking of making out, have you ever made out with some one with a broken nose? It was nice because it didn't get in the way since it was off to the left, and the crook gave him character. Let me clarify a point real quick; his nose HAD BEEN broken and had healed before we met... So, yeah, I wouldn't want people to misunderstand me and start spreading rumors that my snout can cause scarring damage to your face if you kiss me. That would totally salt my game.