Question of the Day?


Which sadistic a** drug company makes Amoxicillin?

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, let me get you up to speed.

Scientific Answer: Amoxicillin is a mild antibiotic made to clear up a wide range of general bacterial infections.

Mommy Answer: It is the devil.

All weekend my two year old son is running fevers ranging from “ooh he’s warm” to “rotisserie-style.” Early Monday morning I am perched at his pediatrician’s door before the office is even unlocked. The poor kid is diagnosed with a double ear infection. The doctor prescribes amoxicillin.

If you’ve never seen amoxicillin, it’s a foul smelling, bubble gum pink liquid that’s got the consistency of Elmer’s glue. I draw up 7mL in a plastic syringe and squirt it in my son’s mouth. First sign of trouble – he doesn’t say a word, just shivers.

“Ugh, that bad huh,” I ask. He doesn’t respond, just walks away.

About 10 minutes later he screams, “MOMMY!! Gotta potty!”

“Go on upstairs, I’m on my way.”

When I get there, the most God awful sounds are coming from his behind and he’s begging Spiderman for help.

So if anyone finds out who makes amoxicillin, you tell them I’m going to kick their (beep)!

Hi...My Name Is

I love college football. Actually, I’m obsessed with it. My friends long ago stopped inviting me to Saturday morning shopping trips or afternoon brunches. I like everything about the game, the frenzied fans, and the crushing collisions but there is nothing I love more than listening to white commentators saying black football player's names.


Listen, the correct pronunciation of a black football player’s name is an overlooked art form. And before you call Al Sharpton and stage a peace march on my street, I’m black and my name is Utauphia, so I am qualified to speak on this.

You should hear those commentators rattle off names like Rantavious, Vontaze and Yourhighness. It rolls of their tongues as smooth as, “John or Fletcher.” They are already calling the next play while I’m choking on my chicken wing thinking, “Did his momma really name him Your-Highness?”

If I am ever graced with a visit to ESPN studios, I will flat out ask them how they pull it off. I’ll make them run through their game day routine with me. I am convinced that along with learning game statistics and playing styles, they practice the team roster back and forth between themselves. I imagine them rehearsing the names in the dressing room saying aloud, “D’Brickashaw,” emphasis on the “duh.” Or Barkevious, come on open your throat on the –ous.

So though I know you’ll never share your trade secrets, I want to commend you, white commentators for never stumbling, laughing or getting caught saying, “WTF is his name?!?!?” while your mic is still on.

My Top Ten Favorite Names of 2011 Season:

1. Vontaze Burfict, LB, Arizona State

2. Yourhighness Morgan, LB, Florida Atlantic ---that is not a mistype

3. Matt Stankiewitch, C, Penn State ---Matt is Caucasian but how can you not love the name Stankiewitch. I love it!!

4. Tronic Williams, CB, Western Michigan

5. Bacarri Rambo, S, Georgia

6. Godspower Offor, DE, Wake Forest ---I wonder what Jesus thinks of this one

7. Barkevious Mingo, DE, LSU

8. Rokevious Watkins, OT, South Carolina

9. Gelo Orange, DT, Wake Forest

10. Ja-mes Logan, WR, Ole Miss ---Pronounced Juh-mez, I thought the rogue hypen might confuse you

Buy One Get One Free

Have you been in a store recently and seen one of those crazy coupon ladies?


You know who I’m talking about, right? She’s the lady casing the grocery store aisles carrying a Trapper Keeper full of coupons on her cart. Maybe you’ve even seen the show on TLC where this seemingly ordinary person takes you to her garage that doubles as a mini mart; then the camera pans to her in Kroger buying 18 boxes of Kotex and 20 bottles of mustard all for $3.99.

Well people, I’ve turned into one of those crazy b*tches.

Listen. I know you know me. You never saw this coming. I’m spontaneous and free spirited. I’m your girlfriend that never makes plans and flies by the seat of her pants. You’re scanning our past conversations wondering where the break down occurred. You’re afraid that if I’ve sunken this far into ridiculous-ness what in the hell will be next? I’ll show up on your doorstep selling a Kirby?!?!

Ok, ok, before you start planning an intervention at least let me explain.

I work about 2 miles away from the store, Target. My co-worker, Serita and I often drive over during our lunch break. We consider it retail therapy. One day Serita shows up with a tackle box of coupons. I think this is utterly ridiculous but I love Serita like a sister so I make vow to stand in solidarity even as people whisper, “crazy heifer,” as they pass her.

Serita buys eye shadow, a twin pack of deodorant and a couple bottles of lotion. She picks up a pair of jeans for her son and a shirt for herself. I’m just along for the ride so I get frozen meal, Goldfish crackers and a candy bar. I have three items so Serita insists that I check out first. I place my items on the belt and they ring up to about $6 bucks. Serita unloads then starts fishing inside her Box O Coupons, stacking them in booklets onto the register stand. I am horrified as I am sure the cashier is too. So I avoid eye contact with everyone and stare at the price monitor. Little by little her total dwindles from $30 --- .75 off, 1.50 off, 2.00 off. Her booklet of coupons seems endless and the “offs” just keep on rolling. At the end the cashier turns to her and says, “Your total is $8.36 and one of your purchases qualifies for a $5 Target gift card.” Serita pays her $8 bucks and change, smiles sweetly and says, “Thanks, I’ll use it next time.”

Oh hell to the naw?!?!? I had one lousy bag and she just bought the entire store for a sum total of $3. Someone please pour me a tall glass of hater-aid.

Over the next few weeks, I questioned Serita about her methods, her coupon websites and of course the mini mart in her garage. Graciously, she answered all my questions. She even stacked coupons for me and told me the best stores in which to use them.

So friends, I’ve been converted. I recently bought myself a zip up, three ring binder. It’s got pockets for my sales ads and a pouch for my calculator. All my coupons are in laminated sheets and stacked in category order --Hair care, baked goods, feminine wares, ect… To test out my newly clipped coupons, Serita and I drove over to Target today and I made out like a bandit.

Items Purchased:

Cascade drop ins
Pasta
Spaghetti sauce
(4) Bottles of Simply Lemonade
Candy bar

$1.39 (with tax)

Go ahead. Call me crazy but that’s a d*mn good deal.

Things That Make You Go Hmm...

Do you remember The Arsenio Hall show?

With his signature fist pump and trademark, “Let’s Get It On,” Arsenio was the first talk show host to have hip hop artist share a couch with Hollywood heavies and US Presidents. During the 1990's, Hall became iconic in a late night lineup previously ruled by Carson and Letterman.

Originally from Cleveland, OH, Hall joked that he drove each morning from Cleveland to LA to tape the show. This "alleged" drive gave birth to a segment titled, “Things that Make you Go Hmm…” It was a crowd favorite and so wildly popular that the 90s dance group C & C Music Factory wrote a song by the same title. So in honor of my favorite late night show, I’d like to give you my rendition of

Things That Make You Go Hmmm…


1. A few weeks ago, I was driving my son to daycare when I pulled behind a 1994 black Toyota Camry with 30 day tags. On the trunk of the car in gold adhesive letters was the advertisement “Steelz On Grillz… Gold grills starting at $80” You gotta be sh*ting me, right?

So of course I came home and Googled it to see if they had a website. I found this instead…

Note: This is for kids ages 4 and up.

Lawd have mercy! There are a whole lotta grandmomma's turning over in their graves knowing that their grandbabies are running around here trying to say their ABC's with a grill in their mouth. Hmmm...

2. I was on CNN.com reading an article about a 19 year old kid named Colton who escaped from a juvenile half way house. After his escape, he burglarized a dozen or so homes across several states. He was nicknamed "The Barefoot Bandit" because he preferred to rob with no shoes on. (Or maybe he suffered from bunions?) After realizing police were hot on his  trail, he stole a plane (a cute little Cessna) and flew it to the Bahamas. (Did I mention that he taught himself to fly?!)

Colton has been evading the FBI since 2008 and though dipping out on the secret service is a grueling job, he's still had time to amass 58,000 Facebook friends.

Open Memo to the FBI -- if you had befriended the kid on Facebook you may have caught him two years ago?  Hmmm…

3. On June 14, 2010, the iconic, King of Kings statue that stood in front of Solid Rock Church in Monroe, OH burned to the ground after it was struck by lightning. Reverend Darlene Bishop said at the very least they plan to return the statue to its original stature of 62 ft. But this time, they would make it fireproof. When asked why the decision to rebuild Rev. Darlene said, “It’s such a monument. It’s like people know Monroe by the statue of Jesus.”

Now, I’m going to go ahead and profess that I cannot even begin to know the ways of God. But I don’t think it’s too farfetched to believe he might have a little bit of control over lightning… if he struck it down the first time, then maybe he’s just not a fan.

Reverend Darlene, I don’t have address numbers on my house and people still find it just fine. But if you’re just hell bent on the idea, Ohio grows a lot of corn; maybe you could build a big corn statue for a Monroe landmark instead… Hmmm.

Catholic Beef

I've got beef with Catholics. Not Tupac and Biggie Smalls beef. You can rest assured that no one will end up shot. But if Catholics and I ever found each other face to face in the streets… there would have to be a freestyle rap battle or an Ol’ Skool dance off, at least.


Catholics believe in God and I believe in God, so in essence, we're family. But unlike most familial fights, this didn't start over money or what went down at last year’s family reunion. Our misunderstanding started over Communion.

Allow me to give you some background...

My grandmother was in charge of baking the Communion bread for our church. Every Friday afternoon, I sat in the kitchen on our rickety, step stool and watched as as she whisked together flour, olive oil, salt and water for our crispy, unleavened bread. If I did not disturb her, she gave me a corner of bread fresh off the cookie sheet. There is nothing better than piping hot Body of Christ fresh from the oven. Yummo.

If I wasn't eating advanced entrees of Communion, I was playing it with my best friend, Lelia. Since she was a preacher's daughter, Lelia played the part of pastor. We sang out of decrepit hymnals where the songs only had numbers. --Hymn #162. We chose randomly so we rarely knew the melody. We sang off key, off tune and just plain off. After singing, Pastor said a quick prayer and announced that it was time for Communion. Being the sole member of the usher board, I stepped forward to serve her crunchy bread and a shot of warm Welch’s grape juice. Needless to say, me and Communion go way back.

***
A few years ago, I attended my first Catholic mass. I was raised as a Seventh Day Adventist and one of the major tenets is modesty. I had never been exposed to the opulence of a Catholic cathedral. The domed ceiling of the sanctuary was gilded in gold leaf. Jesus’ Ascension to heaven was told in picture through Gothic, stained glass windows. The pulpit was flanked by pillared candles covered in flickering images of the Virgin Mary. Earlier I made the mistake of lighting three candles and saying a few short prayers. It wasn’t until after my prayers that I noticed the offering box requesting a quarter for each candle you light. (Ooops! Does the church accept Visa debit?)

Services started when the priest began his reverent walk down the cathedral aisle. He swung his brass censer like a pendulum while plumes of earthy incense billowed down the pews. I took deep, fluid breaths of the heady mix of frankincense and myrrh. As he walked, he sang a song in Latin that sounded like slow Lamaze breathing, "ah ha hee hee ho oh." Compared to drab church services of my youth, Catholicism was magical.

Unfortunately, I don't remember anything about the sermon. I was too busy concocting ways to score church incense and figure out reasons to sit in the confessional booth. But I do remember the priest announcing the start of Communion. We were all instructed to stand and file down the aisle to accept God's sacrifice, when my neighbor asked, "Are you Catholic?"

I'm sure he already knew the answer because I had completely flubbed the whole kneel, stand, cross over your heart routine repeatedly.

"No," I answered sourly.

"Well, then you aren't allowed to take Communion here," he scoffed and darted off to join the rest of the congregation in my row.

A breathy, “oh” escaped my mouth. I looked for someone else sitting but I was the only one. I suddenly felt like I had come to church drunk on bourbon and inappropriately dressed. I watched as each member held their mouths open as if in a medical exam and the priest pressed a single, round wafer on their tongues. Then after a quick swipe around the cup with his napkin, he tipped the gold chalice towards their lips. I grabbed my keys and power walked to the exit.

So when Dan Brown made the Holy See appear greedy and obnoxious in The DaVinci Code, I considered it payback. And when local teens stole the plaster model of Jesus on the Cross from St. Michael’s and left a note saying that he’d be back on Easter Sunday, I laughed hysterically and said, “That’s what you get, nonnie, nonnie boo boo.”

But family is family right and you can’t stay beefing forever. So I’ve decided to call a truce.

To all you Catholics out there, the next time we meet up, you bring your wafers and real wine and I’ll bring my crispy bread and Welch’s and we can have Communion… together.

PS- And just in case you wondering, I went back to that church and put a whole dollar in the candle offering.

Hey You with the Pocket Protector!

Today is my 10th wedding anniversary which is a huge feat for a commitment-phobe who thought she’d never marry. So in honor of this momentous occasion, I thought I’d share how Val and I met.

When we first moved to Ohio from North Carolina, we lived with my grandmother, Elnora. In the evenings my grandmother and I lay across her bed, drank Pepsi and watched Matlock re-runs. During commercials we talked about the family, news events and her favorite subject, boys. One evening my grandmother turned to me and said,




“Oh I got this boy I'd like you to meet.”

“Who is he,” I asked.

“Well, it’s Mrs. Cooley's grandson.”

After high school graduation I visited my grandmother and we drove to see her best friend, Ms. Cooley. Grandmother told me stories of how she and Ms. Cooley used to put on their high heels and party in Cincinnati at a club called Boogaloo. But by the time I met her; she wore a double pocketed smock, cloth headband and played the numbers twice a day. No one knows when it happened but sometime during all that lottery playing, Ms. Cooley stopped using paper and started writing the numbers from floor to ceiling on the bathroom walls. There was no way I would date her grandson. I was sure he wore penny loafers, pocket protectors and had an Excel spreadsheet of past Lotto winnings. No thanks.

I dismissed my grandmother's hookup and we went on to help Matlock solve his case.

Several days later I was outside with my younger brother. There were two young men washing a car curbside. One approached me, said hello and asked if I was new in town. I answered but was too busy watching the other guy who didn't say anything. He wore a red ball cap with the brim so low I couldn’t make out his face. He completely ignored me. Honestly, I was not used to being ignored. I was a cute girl. Intriguing.

During Matlock I asked my grandmother did she know the neighbor boys, namely the one with the ball cap.

"That's Ms. Amanda's son, Ms. Cooley's daughter. That's her grandson”

“WHAT,” I shrieked.

Grandma nodded her head and with a sarcastic grin said, “but he’s got a girlfriend now.”

The next week we moved into our own home so I spent less time at grandma's house but I still returned a few evenings during the week to watch Matlock. On this particular evening I was looking through her bedroom window when I saw "the grandson," walking out to his car. I barreled out the door yelling that I was going to get a date. I walked leisurely across the street, popped the trunk of my car and started fishing through the empty space.

Truth is that I didn't have a damn thing in that trunk. I just hoped he'd say something to me.

He drove towards my car and said,

"Hi, I haven't seen you in a few weeks."

Bingo! I walked over and here is where it gets all cheesy romantic movie-like.

He was wearing his red ball cap again but backwards. The sun was to his back and when he turned to look at me I noticed that he had the most gorgeous green eyes I'd ever seen. He could wear 18 pocket protectors, high waters and a turban, he was FINE. But I was a player; I was not going to lose my cool.

He introduced himself as Valdez and offered to show me around the city that evening. I asked about the alleged girlfriend and he said they were "on the rocks." I was sure that was a crock of bologna but didn't care. I told him to call me at 5:00….not 4:59, not 5:01 but 5:00. I slipped him my number and walked away.

After the show, I bolted home, showered and laid across the bed. It was 4:52. I watched the red digital numbers of the clock blink past, 4:58, 4:59 and right as 5:00 froze on the display, the phone rang. I almost vomited. I picked up on the 3rd ring.

Val offered a ride around the city and a quick dinner. He worked 3rd shift at the hospital and was scheduled that evening. He would pick me up in an hour.

In the car, I sat barefoot and cross-legged. I rambled about North Carolina and my family. I climbed atop my soap box and fussed about how appalled I was that Ohio residents littered and didn’t have to wear seatbelts. But during the entire speech, Val never uttered a word.

Was this the crazy, Cooley coming out in him? Was that a lotto ticket bulging from glove box?

Just as I was getting to the part about non-mandatory recycling, we pulled into a place called Magic Mountain. He led me into the door, grabbed clubs for the both of us and paid the attendant. At the first hole, there were painted alligators, mini waterfalls and play sand bunkers. This would challenge my golf skills but I was sure he wouldn’t complain. Hell, he hadn’t muttered a word yet.

I placed my fluorescent pink ball on the tee, lined up the putter and swung. Mid swing Val caught the club in his palm. In shock, I let go of it entirely. He walked closer, leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Babe, you know I'm going to kick your ass, right,” He kissed me softly on the cheek, handed me the club and motioned for me to begin, again.

Now ladies, you may want a man to whisper sweet nothings or one that tells you how beautiful you are regardless of your two bellies and five rolls of back fat… but to me, the sexiest thing in the world is a man with confidence. And this guy, with only a handful of words, had nearly made me pee my pants.

Val slaughtered me in miniature golf which he reminded me a few times over dinner. And because he worked alone, I drove back to the hospital with him. We talked nonstop or maybe I did all the talking, but what really matters is that we turned a 12 hour date into a decade of marriage.

So Big ups to Grandma Elnora for her extraordinary taste in men.

Bible Study Remix

I am a Jesus freak. Yes, even with my potty mouth, my love of wine and my secret aspiration to be a stripper, I (heart) Jesus in a big way. With that said, one of my favorite books is The Bible.

Oh shut up! I can hear you groaning now.

“But Holli, who can understand the Bible with all those Thou Sayeths and Thines. And who can pronounce all those crazy names like Methuselah and Ablimech.”

My advice: Get yourself a new version!

While I have nothing against King James, it’s easier to read other interpretations. Heck, if Windows can update every two weeks: 98, 2007, ME, XP, Vista surely the Bible can handle a version update. Bible 2.0

And who cares if you mispronounce a name or two, you’re not going to call these folks on the phone and I can assure you they don’t live in your hood. So just call them Manny and Abe, it’s totally cool.

The important thing to note is that the Bible is full of words of wisdom and great stories. Of course there’s Noah and his boat. And who can forget Adam & Eve and the whole apple incident... but there are so many stories that no one talks about. So I’ve decided that every now and then I’ll offer a Bible Study here on the blog.

So congregation, today’s words of wisdom come from the Book of Deuteronomy.

Deuteronomy chapter 25, verses 11 and 12 (New International Version) states:

11 If two men are fighting and the wife of one of them comes to rescue her husband from his assailant, and she reaches out and seizes him by his private parts, 12 you shall cut off her hand.”

Stop the presses!!! Did the Bible just talk about balls? Yes, by the handful.

I know all you King James Version purist out there must think that this is a misprint. So here’s what good old King James had his admin type up.

11When men strive together one with another, and the wife of the one draweth near for to deliver her husband out of the hand of him that smiteth him, and putteth forth her hand, and taketh him by the secrets:

12Then thou shalt cut off her hand, thine eye shall not pity her.

Church, I do believe that “taketh him by the secrets” is still balls. So call them what you will... private parts, secret places or cojones its written in the Old KJV, New KJV, Standard Version and even in the Torah.

So now that we know the Bible isn’t as dry as burnt toast, let’s get the wisdom out of it, shall we?

Holli's Life Application:

If my significant other is having an issue with another man, I shouldn't butt in and try to control the show. It’s his battle, let him fight it.  In addition, hitting below the belt is a cheap, underhanded shot. Even if my man is getting the beat down, let him take the beating...That's why God invented Neosporin, right?
In short, let a man be a man.

Now as always, let’s pass around the collection plate.