Big Cats... Big Drama... Part 1

I watched this movie the other night with baby badger. It was Disney and rated G so cool, I'm being a good mom, right? Looking forward to getting that trophy at the end of the year.

The movie is called "African Cats" but I would have prefer a more descriptive title that  alludes to the violence and drama that will unfold over the next two hours. Maybe something like, "These Bitch Ass Cats are Going to be Killin' a Bunch of Shit so Cover Your Child's Eyes"... kind of long for a title but come on Disney! You rate something G then the audience is expecting lame, boring, lots of musical numbers... not freaking turf wars between two lion prides.

So this documentary is set against the backdrop of one of the most dangerous places on earth, the Savannah. Their are a few main characters (none of whom were Honey Badgers so that disappointed me right off the bat).

First on the scene is this old-ass lioness named Layla. She is a super experienced hunter and sort of the head of the pride, so the young bitches in the pride don't talk back to her. While she really runs things the lionesses let the only adult male in the pride, Fang, think he is boss... kind of like how we play our men.

Fang fathered all of the cubs in the  entire pride so he is pretty keen on keeping his position as the only adult male. He's named Fang because he has this nasty broken tooth that hangs out of his mouth the whole movie. Some war injury or something. Fang, man, let me tell you... broken tooth don't make you look warrior... it makes you look trailer park. Just yank that sucker out. It's nasty.

Now the story of the lion pride has a two-fold plot --- Layla is in her last days but she is trying to hang in there until she can secure a position in the pride for her last cub, Mara (must have been one of those happy accidents).

However the real drama is centers around this pride north of the river that is almost all young males. Those youngins' look south and see this one sorry, broken-toothed old cat with all these young chicks and they are like, "What's up with that, Yo?" And these lions from the north have their hoodies on and their pants hanging down past their underwear and they are all like, "Let's go take over that corner, Yo! That toothless old G ain't gonna stop us." But before they can even make a play for Fang's turf they have to cross a river full of crocodiles. "Oh Snap!" is right. So the boys from the north corner begin to solider up. They need female companionship and that is motivation enough to put down some crocks and one raggedy old school gangster.

Part 2 tomorrow...

Raising a Baby Badger

A friend dropped by my house the other day and found me and baby badger in the backyard. She took this picture:

Yes, that is a canoe... the famed Diablo Verde, in fact. And yes, we are in the pool. I was getting baby badger acclimated to the vessel before taking him out on open water in it. We have since taken the Diablo out on the lake by our house. He made me proud. He loved leaning over the boat and splashing his hands in the water and he wasn't even the least bit phased by the giant grass carp that tried to get in the boat with us. He definitely takes after his mother, which probably means lots of trips to the emergency room in our future. 

Two Paws Up!

Warrior, have you seen it? No? Get off your tail and go rent it, download or OnDemand it right this minute. It is by far the best mixed martial arts movie ever made!

Mixed martial arts as a movie genre is rather new so a statement like "Warrior is the best mixed martial arts movie ever" is like stating that Obama is the best black president that America has ever elected... that ain't saying much. Speaking of presidents: Restore the Republic and vote for Ron Paul in 2012! (That reminds me, I need hit Academy and pick up more ammo and a generator. But put aside the impending loss of of our civil and state's rights under any administration that doesn't include Ron Paul as president and loose yourself in this Warrior flick.

The movie is about these two Honey Badger brothers that beat the snot out of each other during one scene and then they are all brotherly lovin' each other in the next scene. Juxtaposing graphic violence and tender emotion rarely works but somehow this movie pulled it off. Even more amazing, the movie producers managed to bail Nick Nolte out of jail long enough to play the role of Daddy Badger. He gives a pretty compelling performance as a former alcoholic... but is that really acting? I give it two paws up!

I'm Back! Miss Me?

PFirst, let me apologize to my readers for the lapse between this post and the last (I hope both of you found some other way to kill ten minutes each week). I hate to make excuses for myself but I have been busier than a one armed paper hanger.

OK, truth is I don't really give a shit about leaving you hanging. I've just been sitting around since January not giving a shit while my loyal readers (both of you) have been hitting the "refresh" button on your browsers waiting for a story about the FHB's latest caper or just a sign of life to reasure you that your days of LMAO and ROTFLMAO (or whatever the hell you learned from your kids this week) aren't over for good. Put the gun back in the drawer because I am back! "Watch Out!" said that bird is right.

I wish I was returning with a great story about falling off an ocean dock while trying to pet jellyfish, getting arrested twice in 24-hours, shooting a 200-lb feral hog (nasty hogs). Unfortunately, I don't got shit. I was on good behavior, hoping to keep my alter ego a secret while pursuing less honey badgerish endeavors. It is kind of like I am Clark Kent (but not as big boned) and I had to put my blue tights away for a while to make my deadlines for that asshole editor at the Daily Planet... except there is no asshole editor 'cause FHB don't work for no man... and I am not faggoty like Clark Kent.

Fret not, bass season is almost upon us and fishing tends to bring out the honey badger in me. I hauled the Diablo Verde (a canoe) from my dad's place in the country to the big city. I live about five minutes from an urban lake (my personal Zion). The fishing has been slow. I need to head deep but motors are prohibited. Not that FHB gives a shit about city ordinances and such --- I will take a motorboat wherever I want (mmm... that came out wrong). Anyway, I just prefer a stealthier approach to the 18-foot outboard with 250 horses pulling her. Men, hear me on this --- size does matter but not when it comes to bass boats. Sell the boat and pay for your kid's college. All you are doing is scaring the fish.

Back to my story... the reason I was telling this story in the first place (squirrel!)... my brother secured the vessel to a canoe rack atop my Tahoe. I use the word "secured" loosely (like my brother's knots). I could have done it all myself but my brother likes to think he is in charge, so most of the time I just placate him. I watched my brother tie these knots for an hour while my dad, the alleged Eagle Scout, stands by as an advisor. It was like watching monkeys fucking a football. The result was not good. Two nylon straps "secured" the canoe to the front of the truck. The left strap had a winch to tighten it but there was no winch to be found for the right strap. My brother compensated for the disparity by tying a mess of random knots. I got about 20 minutes down the road and the canoe was already getting squirrelly. FHB, determined to get the Diablo home and her ass on the water, came up with a makeshift winch using a hair comb. The Diablo Verde made it home much to my husband's dismay. I don't know what he has against having fun?

Truer Words Have Never Been Spoken

I just overheard a conversation between an undergraduate student and her grandfather:

Grandfather: "You are becoming a drunk."

Granddaughter-Living-Large-on-Someone's-Dime-at-a-Nearby-Private-University: "I am not a drunk! I just like to drink a lot."

How do you argue with logic like that? I bet she is pre-law.

I Resemble This Remark...

“I never fall apart, because I never fall together.” 
― Andy Warhol

Can Open, Whoop Ass Everywhere!

Where: Samuel Adams Bar in the Birmingham Airport.


When: 5PM on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.


Why: I am traveling with SLAPP (short for Sweet Little Angel Puddin' Pie, my 15-month-old son ). We landed an hour before the husband would be there to pick us up so we had some time to kill. I was in dire need of a glass of wine and something to eat and SLAPP's situation was even more dire. He needed sleep before his little puddin' head exploded.

What: I roll his stroller in the farthest corner of the bar behind a little partition wall. Hell is about to break loose and I am trying to reduce the collateral damage to the nearby patrons of this fine establishment.

BTW, SLAPP has been sleeping through the night since he was 9-weeks old and to this day he hits the bag every night by 7pm and slumbers for 11-12 hours. There are two things critical to his healthy sleep regime: 1) I am like the Fuhrer of the Nazi Sleep Party. I even wear an arm band with little sheep jumping over a fence. I also make the whole family salute my Second and Third in Command: Commander Turtle Night Light and General Sleep Sheep. 2) The 1pm Nap... critically important! But, he missed his nap this day on account of our travel schedule. Very few things trump the "Sleep Schedule", but since I have no suction with the Southwest Airlines Operations folks, I am at the mercy of their flight schedules. So inconvenient!

We were currently at Defcon 2... Puddin' head explosion imminent. My only line of defense, short of getting Gen. Sleep Sheep on the Red Phone was to lay a blanket over his stroller, tune my I-Phone to the soothing sounds of "The Essential Kris Kristofferson", and use my foot to rock the stroller back and forth. This tactic works every time. Unfortunately, it takes about approximately 2 minutes and 42 seconds, which may not seem like a long time, but when your baby is screaming like a high-value U.S. military target undergoing enhanced interrogation techniques, it is an eternity.

I try to muffle the noise best I can with the blanket and "Sunday Morning Coming Down" but with lungs like SLAPP has, he is going to be heard. I would apologize to those offended but... uh... no... I am not going to. Ya wanna know why? Because I am in an airport bar. Anyone who steps foot in an airport already knows that they are in for some type of annoyance; whether it be a cancelled flight, a group of 6 Muslim men praying on the floor in an Eastwardly direction right before they board your same flight, or a crying baby. So, I am traveling with a baby.... shit happens... they get over-tired, so deal... or get the FAA to ban children and Muslims from all domestic flights like they banned smoking in 1998 (good luck with that).

What (The Fuck?): I settled in with a glass of wine and the latest copy of House Beautiful and began rocking the stroller. SLAPP sounds like he is being water boarded, but I what can I do? The whole thing will last less than 3 minutes so I just relax and wait for the magic to happen. But, in less than the 3 minutes that is takes for Mr. Sand Man to visit sleepy SLAPP, the fifty-something year-old bartender leaves her post behind the bar and approaches my table. So, instead of slingin' drinks to all the weary travelers, which is her job,  she asks me in a very sassy tone, " Is your baby alright?"

I look up from my magazine and I have to stifle a laugh when I see her hair. She has one of those duck fart hair-cuts... but worse --- it is two-toned. The part that looks like the duck's farting ass was bleached blond. The top that would be the duck's back feathers was dark brown. I was able to politely reply, "No, he is fine." I look back to my magazine so that I don't start laughing at the duck fart. Then she went too far. She asked, "Are you sure nothing is wrong?" And this time she was even more sassy and she rolled her neck. No she di'int!

FHB took over and was starting to shake as she prepared a nice wad of spit ready to launch in duck fart's eyes... and she is a good shot in both distance and accuracy. But then I looked down at the copy of House Beautiful and glanced at my $12 glass of La Crema and remembered that I am a civilized Badger and spitting in this woman's face would cross a line. So, I thought about punching her face and again I saw that damn line. So, instead I raised my shaking hand that was clutching my wine glass and took a sip, looked up from my fancy magazine, and looked her square in the eyes (hard to do with out laughing at that hair) and replied in my sweetest, southern belle voice that really connotes "Go to Hell and Die Bitch, but I am too sweet and Southern to say such a thang", "He is fine. Thanks for asking." Then I went back to my magazine. Duck fart was furious because now she was shaking like someone with Parkinson's. She huffed and then stormed off.

Immediately following her departure SLAPP fell silent... totally asleep. 2 minutes and 36 seconds... a record. Damn, child!... couldn't you have been a few seconds earlier with that? It would have been the perfect proverbial middle finger that I needed to flip to this hose bag.

With SLAPP asleep I consider how to deal with that woman. I can't go up to the bar and confront her because FHB is still holding that wad of spit in the back of her throat. So, I take my credit card to my waitress and told her to cash me out. Then I give the young lady some hell that she didn't deserve, but I risked a night in the clank if I attempted to speak to Duck Fart personally. "Oh and by the way..." I said as I held my credit card just out of her reach, "You can tell your bartender that if she feels my parenting is not up to her standards she can call CPS... but while she is on the phone she should ask for Adult Protective Services, too, because if she ever speaks to me like that again regarding the care that I provide my child she is the one that will need protection from a social services agency, not my boy." And then I did it, too... the neck roll. I was totally embarrassed by my involuntary muscle reaction, but dude!, Duck Fart had awakened the Mama Honey Badger and she is lucky that all I did was roll my neck.

Turns out that the bartender doesn't even have children! Unfortunately for her, I pass through that airport a lot and I intend to be the bane of her existence. From now on I am not going to hide behind a partition and sooth SLAPP to sleep. No sir! I am going to belly up to that bar with SLAPP and just watch as he makes it snow cocktail napkins and then I will innocently apologize every time he spills someone's drink. And when I leave a tip it is going to be a big fat goose egg with a note that says, "Here is your tip --- see someone about that hair, Bitch."

I feel better now that I blogged that out. Thanks for reading.