Snickerfodder

Archive for the ‘Sweet & Sassy Somethings’ Category

 

 

Declaring my puppycrush on Dr. D. has made me think…

 

  (back away slowly and take cover)

 

 

Though, for better or for worse, The Dingus is my man.  For whatever reason, he worships the very ground I tread. 

 

  

And let’s be honest; AIN’T NO OTHER MAN could put up with my SHIT.

 

 

 

So, I guess I’ll keep him.

 

  

(for now)

 

 

 

But, as long as I’m baring my soul,  I might as well tell the whole frippin’ world just who-the-hell-else makes my heart go pitter-pat. 

 

 

I must warn you, though;

  

 

The Viv sees ‘sexy’ in more than the physical.  

 

 

 

Age matters not (unless it enhances one’s appeal).

 

 

 

Let’s start with The Usual Suspects:

 

Brad Pitt (The Yummiest)

Oh, hell, ANGELINA, too. 

Johnny Depp

Jon Bon J(oops, fainted there for a sec)ovi

Robert Pattinson  (whew!  BITE ME!  BITE ME!)

Zac Efron (Cougar bait — he has ‘happy eyes’ like The Dingus)

Andy Garcia (especially in When A Man Loves a Woman)

Kurt Russell  (3000 Miles to Graceland and Death Proof —

                           Damn! Where are my cigarettes?!)

Toby Keith (a good, THICK man)

Matthew McConaidoncarehowtospellit  (it’s the dimples)

Mel Gibson  (especially as simple Tim)

 

 

 

And the rather UNUSUAL sexy beasts:

 

Troy Polamalu  (I’ll take any number, really…43…69…it’ll end with 911…)

Goldberg!!!!!  (I DID tell him I’d leave The Dingus in a heartbeat for him;

                                      neither he nor The Dingus flinched.)

Albert Finney  (ever seen Wolfen?  my, oh my…)

Robert Redford  (esp. in The Horse Whisperer)

Robert Downey, Jr.  (dope and all)

Kevin Spacey  (Verbal sealed it — particularly the gimp)

Jeff Bridges (The DUDE!)

Tommy Lee Jones (when he’s orderin’ everyone to search

                                 every outhouse, henhouse and penthouse)

Ben Kingsley (THE Sexy Beast himself)

Gary Oldman  (as the young Dracula; HEART BE STILL!)

John Malkovich (as himself)

Sam Elliott (it’s the voice, it’s the ‘stache, it’s the

                    salt’n’pepper hair, the jeans, that slow, easy-goin’ manner….)

That kid from the freecreditreport.com commercials

Chevy Chase (the giggle! AND the dimple!)

Jesse James (vroom-vroom!)

Richard Gere (especially tappin’  in Chicago

                        and when my mom, an extra,  

                        walks behind him  in Mothman)

Jeff Goldblum  (just not when he was a fly)

 Michael Sheen  (as Lucien, not that pansy Frost)

Mr. Ed  (his Fab-O mane and deep voice;

               Geez! — what were YOU thinkin’?)

Danny DeVito  (in Cuckoo’s Nest — a babydoll!)

Robert DeNiro  (the ‘tude! and that stare)

Timothy Hutton  (happy eyes)

Harry Connick, Jr. (just plain HOT)

Stephen King (the sick, twisted,  brilliant mind)

Quentin Tarantino (ditto)

Nicholas Cage (since Valley Girl)

Michael Madsen (Mr. Blonde from Reservoir Dogs)

Hoyt Axton (the voice)

Wilford Brimley (the ‘stache AND the voice!

                              …makes me pine for sugar…)

James Earl Jones (the whole big package)

Anthony Hopkins (it’s the accent, the style, that debonair air)

Jon Stewart (the wit and the goofy expressions)

Adam Sandler (what a cutie!)

Tim Robbins (folks say The Dingus looks like him;

                         oh!  maybe THAT’S WHY I love him!)

 

 

 

Unfortunately, these boys are out of reach.

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll just stick with The Dingus and

keep my hands ’round his neck. 

 

 

 

(at least until he reaches

maximum earning potential…)

 

 

Last year, a friend told me that once, when her wee one was in time out, the little girl wrote her mother a note:

I hat you !

When mom found the note, she yelled to her hubby,

   “Oh, great, honey:  (Suzy) hats me!”

When I heard that, I laughed so hard I cried!  Now, being the wicked SassyMama I am, I secretly wished that one of my M & Ms would pull a stunt like that so that I could relish the twisted, perverse pleasure of sarcastically retorting to my spellingly-challenged child.  I conjured up a few tasty little remarks and filed them for safekeeping in my Verbal Warfare Arsenal (VWA).  I would be ready.  Now, I knew that because M1 is such a sharp, quick little shit, that I’d not be seeing a note like that from her.  But M2, now she’s another story…(aka Big Source of Fodder for the Snicker).   

I must have put it out to the universe; several months ago, I was cleaning M2’s bedroom (aka Pandora’s Box – you just never know what may come out of there!) when I found a yellow jumbo sticky-note under her bed.

   Yep, you guessed it; my kid hats me, too! 

Woo-Hoo!  Oh, how proud I was that she had passed a major developmental  milestone!  (plus, I couldn’t wait to tell my pal that I, too, was an official member of the Hat Club!)

I rushed from the bedroom.  In my haste, I stepped on an open, months-old tube of Go-Gurt, squirting a congealing blue-green blob all over the dresser.  I’d have stopped to clean it up, but I figured either the dog or the ants would take care of it.  I was too happy to care!  My baby hats Mama!  It’s just too, too cute!

When I finally found my sweet M2, she was locked in the dog’s crate – with the dog – trying to make him drink water from my basting syringe. 

I unlocked her and hugged and kissed her:  My baby!

“Look what Mommy found under the bed, muffin!”

She looked from the note to my eyes with an impish grin on her cherubic little face.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”  (only, as both M & M’s have no control over their                 r-controlled vowels, it came out : saw-wee).

Gone in an instant were the sharp comebacks that were so neatly filed away; gone was my desire to make fun of my own child’s lack of verbal acuity.  Poof!

I was overwhelmed by a warm mamalove, making me treasure the moment, the cute antics of a precious child learning to navigate her emotions.  The master teacher in me kicked in, and I saw this as a perfect “teachable moment”.

“What does this note say, M2?”

“I hate Mama.”

“No, baby, this says, ‘I HAT Mama’.  What do you need to add to ‘hat’ to make it ‘hate’?  I’ll give you a hint:  it’s magic…

“Oh!  An ‘e’!  I need a Magic E!”

“That’s right, babygirl; you see, with the way this note is written, you only hat Mama.  But if you add the Magic E, you can hate Mama, okay?  Understand?”

She nodded, again, a bit sheepishly, most-likely waiting for me to rip off my head and let out the alien who will be furious with her for writing the note in the first place. 

“Now, let’s go REVISE this to make it say that you hate Mama.”  (Hey, I’m an English teacher; SCREW teaching her why we should NEVER hate anything.  If she doesn’t learn to spell and write correctly, she’s gonna hate working at McDonalds).

With a red marker, she added the Magic E (including the proper proofreading caret, go, SassyMama!).

“See, baby?  Now, you hate Mama.”

She looked up at me with great pools in her eyes, slightly shaking her head, but not enough to cause those beautiful crystal tears to overflow.  She leaned  in to bury her face in my waist.

“No, I don’t hate you, Mama.  I LOVE you!   Mommy, I LOVE you!  I LOVE YOU, MOMMY!  I LOVE YOU MOMMY!  I LOVE YOU, MOMMY!  I LOVE YOU, MOMMY!  I LOVE YOU, MOMMY!”

I smothered my baby in mamalove and thanked God for letting me into

The Hat Club.