Shocking news.

Angelina Jolie has announced she's pregnant with twins. Which is weird because I'd heard she was smuggling Gary Coleman to and from his divorce hearings.

Obama-Uma, Uma-Obama

GodDAMN, I'm excited right now. Edwards has just announced he's going to support Obama, and I couldn't be happier. Mainly, because this will no doubt lead to the HOTTEST presidential ticket in the history of our country. But also because I'm beyond over this Clinton/Obama bullshit. It's almost as annoying as "Team Pitt" and "Team Aniston". Or even worse, when Letterman did his Oprah-Uma, Uma-Oprah thing.

So I'm thrilled to think this will soon be over, even though I actually like Hillary. Quite a bit, in fact. And in my personal opinion, she's got the best resume for the job out of all the three candidates. But John McCain scares the hell out of me, and the bottom line is Hillary would lose if she ran against him. And in that situation, I'd rather any Democrat win than risk John McCain. (Though truthfully, I'd feel better about a pair of Dockers running the country than McCain.)

And even though I think ol' Hill is more qualified, she and Barack share most all the same positions on the issues, so I'm more than happy to send Barack in. Plus, he's cute. And funny. And he smokes, which only endears him to me because I prefer men with vices.

So when I saw got spanked in West Virginia, I was beyond pissed. But now! NOW! There is light at the end of the tunnel. And it's shining brightly on two of the hottest guys in politics.

Back flip, toe touch, bitches.

Apparently the Rockets aren't enough.

Rare is the day that I travel through my city and don't see something telling me to "Keep Austin Weird." But I'm starting to think that slogan is more applicable to Houston. Sure, Austin has it's share of kooks - we have a town drag queen for godssake. But our kooks are funny, or at the very least amusing. Houston's got some flat-out nut jobs.

Let's start with the three teenagers that were arrested last week for...hope you're sitting down...smoking pot out of the head of a corpse. Please note, I'm not saying "skull" for a reason - specifically, because they actually DUG UP a corpse and used its head as a bong.

Do they not have apples in Houston?

And today, I was sent an article about the girl that went to prom dressed like a ho, though no more so than any given attendee of any given VMA awards in the past 10 years. That she was dressed slutty wasn't the story. That she was arrested after school officials wouldn't let her in (even after she offered to cover herself up), was the story.

Houston is the fourth largest city in the country. That means there's lots of shit to do there. In fact, I saw Chelsea Handler there just a couple of weeks ago, and she spent the entire time talking about masturbating at the age of eight, but that's another story. Anyway, you'd think people would have more to do than get high with a skull and arrest slutty teens trying to get into their proms.

Besides, I think her dress is lovely.

Seriously.

Oh my lord, do I hate Mariah Carey. Before I go any further with this, I will fully admit I have bounced around to more than one of her songs in my lifetime. In fact, was listening to "Touch My Body" just yesterday and (*gulp*) almost enjoyed it.

No, I don't mind her music, I mind her.

Remember when she was all washed up? When she was Pariah Carey, and we weren't subjected to the stories of diva antics, pictures of her in skin tight clothing, or news about her completely dumb weddings? It's like we've all jumped in a time machine and traveled back to 1993.

On second thought, I guess there are some key differences between now and then. For starters, she's a fat ass now. (Though still clearly wearing the same sized clothing she did then.) And instead of marrying giants in the record industry, she married Nick Cannon. WHO, it's worth noting, is TWELVE, and also gave Mariah the same damn ring he gave his Victoria's Secret-model-of-a-fiancee last year.

I saw her perform "Touch My Body" the other night on SNL, and I haven't seen that much lip-syncing since Ashlee Simpson performed there. And every camera shot came (this close) to showing all of America her business.

She sucks, and I'm going to stop writing about this before my eyes roll into my head and get stuck there.

But before I sign off, a HUGE thanks to "the nadmeister" for correcting me that the pair of balls showcased in my last blog are actually from http://www.yournutz.com/. Oh, and Nads (can I call you "Nads"?), congrats...you're this year's valedictorian.

Goodness, gracious, great balls of...rubber?

As we were driving to the airport from South Padre yesterday, we passed the valedictorian of Douchebag High.

In case you're curious what that is dangling from the bottom of his Jeep, yup, it's a set of nuts. Apparently painting your Jeep the color of a banana isn't douchey enough. You need to add a ball sack for maximum effect.

Please keep in mind that I was leaving South Padre at the time of this sighting. For those not in the know...South Padre is like Mecca for tools. And this still took my breath away.

For those interested, you can buy your very own set of rubber auto testicles here: http://www.bullsballs.com/

Some drama for you mamas.

Clearly I've been a slackass lately, but I also made a three-week trip to Africa in the time since my last blog, so go easy on me.

I'm sure at some point I'll think of something funny from my trip that I want to blog about, but today is not that day.

Currently, I'm in South Padre celebrating Mother's Day with my mother, grandmother, sister and her French boyfriend, JP, who I have decided must be called "Jeep". (Mainly because it's just funny calling a 6'7" Frenchman that.)

As today is Mother's Day, I've decided to write some thoughts about motherhood. For starters, I make no secret of the fact that I don't like children, nor do I want them. Despite the fact my mother thinks I should have children because the vet praised my cat's good behavior once (a rarity, I assure you), I have about as much maternal instinct as a walnut. This means I will spend the rest of my child-bearing years having self-righteous bitches openly judge me for not making the most of my reproductive organs. The only reason I don't experience more of this at my nearly 30 years of age, is that I'm not married. At this stage, I usually just get dismissed with a simple, "You'll have children. You just haven't met The One."

And because women feel they can regularly judge me for my decisions regarding procreation, I would like to do a little judging myself today. (First, a disclaimer: If you are one of my friends with a child, for the most part the following statements don't apply to you. I like most all of my friends' children, save one whose children I have quite literally seen eat carpet after drawing on a wall. There are some others whose babies are ugly, but I won't hold that against them, as I started out a gremlin as well.)

Now for the judging: In the event you decide to have a baby, you should know that outside of your family, you're lucky if even five people care to see a website documenting EVERY. SINGLE. MOMENT. of your pregnancy. We don't want to see your nast belly button. We don't want to read letters you've posted to your unborn child signed "Love, Mommy and Daddy". Put that shit in a baby book, not on the internet.

Once your kid is born, please note that not all people want to hear what types of shits your kid is having. I sat one day listening to a co-worker tell someone about what the different textures and colors of her kid's shit indicated. When I kindly asked that she please go somewhere else to discuss this, she fired back with, "Oh calm down, Liz. This is a NATURAL thing. You'll understand when you have kids someday, and I know you say you don't want them, but oh yes. You WILL have kids."

First of all, fuck you. Second of all, maybe I should tell you about MY shits just so you can experience the same auditory delight that I have listening to your discussion of mashed peas versus cereal. "Man, I just took the craziest dump ever. Like, it was kinda solid, but not really. And almost, I don't know, orange? I guess it was the beer last night. OH, but you know, now that I think about it, it wasn't as crazy as this one I took on Tuesday. That thing went around the entire circumference of the toilet bowl! Seriously!"

Additionally, if your kid is sick with colds more than once a month, I am judging you. And so is every other child-free - because it IS freedom - person around you. Particularly if you participate in that horse shit known as a "family bed". Oh, and if I'm responsible for picking up your slack at work because you're out taking care of your overly-sick kid, I will not only judge you, I will become very bitter and very bitchy. You'll no doubt blame it on my single-girl naivete and lack of understanding, but a scientist once said that babies could start each day by licking a seat on a subway and not get sick more than two times a month*.

Finally, if for some reason I do find myself knocked up one day and actually go through with it, God bless the first woman who says "I TOLD you you were going to have children," because everyone knows that ninja skills are only enhanced by heightened levels of estrogen.

*This is a true statement until someone proves me otherwise.

Facing the facts.

There's a very good chance that no one will read this blog, because it's been ages since I updated this. And that's fine with me, because the subject of this blog is something I've already received more than an earful about: Botox.

When it comes to my face, I could retire in what I've spent over the years in tonics and potions to undo the sun damage I amassed as a teen. I developed some brown spots around my eyes a few years ago, and since then I've been a woman posessed. Mind you, these areas are places only my dermatologist and I would ever notice, but nonetheless, I have made it my mission to get rid of them. I've tried bleaching creams, retinols, and I exfoliate to a point where facial muscles should be exposed. The spots have slowly faded and though they are not completely gone, I feel better about them. At some point along the way, however, my obsession extended to my forehead, and the fine lines (emphasis on the fine) upon it.

And so, after saving my pennies, I bit the bullet last month and paid someone to shoot poison into my face.

Before I go further, a quick side note: I love, love, love the Botox commercials. Whoever did those ads MEANT that shit. The blatantly obvious consumer insight? Women are afraid if they get Botox, they won't be able to make facial expressions. The solution? A montage of women making the most over-the-top facial expressions imaginable. Expressions only mimes would ever make. Seriously.

Anyway, I wish I could give these ads credit for my decision, but alas, it was good ol' fashioned vanity. But there are side effects of Botox never discussed in the ads. No, I can't make the same expressions I used to, but I have yet to find someone who doesn't think I'm pissed when I am because the area between my eyes isn't wrinkling up. When it comes to making expressions, the only thing I find annoying is not being able to make crazy expressions just because I can. I generally don't have a need to look overly surprised at something, but that I couldn't make that over-the-top expression if I wanted to, no matter how hard I will my forehead to do so, is something I find a little irritating. I'm big into doing things just because I can. (It's why I spent four hours last Saturday in pajamas eating gummi bears and playing Super Mario Bros. 3.)

The worst side effect of Botox, though, is something they don't ever tell you. Since I had my forehead paralyzed, I easily spend a collective hour each day examining the foreheads of everyone around me. Newscasters and actresses on TV, co-workers, neighbors, my friends, people in bars, etc. I don't waste my time on baristas, because let's be honest...how many Botoxed baristas could there really be. (Particularly in Austin.) But outside of my trips to the Whole Foods coffee bar, very few are spared my critical eye. I've even found myself trying to provoke people to get them to make expressions that would give them away. I just can't help myself.

And I'd frown on my own ridiculous behavior, except luckily enough, I can't make that face anymore.