The Phrench

Despite this Joo's rather intimate association with the Phrench, they never cease to amaze me. Although prior to the present visit, I vaguely recalled that the Phrench enjoy a scented toilet paper, I had forgotten this little factoid. The dirty foreigner and his family seemed to have risen above the hint of "lack of indoor plumbing"ness of that particular affinity, and appeared to choose only plain, unscented (albeit always pink) toilet paper. Until now.

Who knew. Who knew that anyone, and I mean anyone, would ever want their ladybits (or gentbits as the case may be) to smell like a peach candle? Hmm? And when this Joo went out on the interwebs to find illustrations for this particular entry, she found that toilet paper in France is available in a dizzying array of disgusting scents, including without limitation mandarin orange, strawberry, lilac, ad nauseum. And, for those who "want to give themselves a little inspiration" (which must be French for "when you want to rub one out in the bathroom"), French toilet paper is also available imprinted with illustrations from the (I am not making this up) Kama Sutra. Because buying separate porn is such a hassle.

So, cheers to the French. And happy belated birthday to Good Joo. This Joo will be back from la la Francy in a week or so to shower her with gifts. In the meantime, gypsies, tramps, and thieves, my house is attended, so don't even think about it.

Love,

Bad Joo

Five

Happy anniversary to my mail order husband, best friend, and fellow disdainer of so, so many. Je t'aime.

It is BJ's fault

Other than the fact that C has a penis (confirmed via ultrasound yesterday), everything is BJ's fault.

BJ did take off for la la france-in-your-pants for an extended stay, leaving GJ and co. without much to do.

BJ did also fail to remember to bring her camera back from Surrenderland, thereby finding herself without any photos to post on this here blog,

which would've been okay, except that BJ also somehow entrusted the ultrasound photo disc to THE DIRTY FOREIGNER, who may or may not have burned some counterfeit war game on it, and there are therefore no photos of the penis-ridden fetus hereon.

So, Bad Joo has jack shit. And she can't tile. Nor can she sew. Not even w/ curse words and twenty hours of pipsqueakless house. Good Joo, you are the epitome of woman. Hear you motherfecking roar. Post some more photos of that adorable fambly of yours.

7 Days Same As Cash

Bad Joo here. Really. In the fleshish.

One of the Stupid Joo Tricks that has been keeping this Joo from her Internettes as of late is the arrival of the Son of Sam, scratch that, Son of Dirty Foreigner. A few times a year, Bad Joo and her Dirty Husband bus his spawn out of the land of stinky cheese and surrender pups and into the land of Freedom and water boarding. These visits give Bad Joo a magical mystery taste of parenthood, without the worry of losing a security deposit on a real child. Since Bad Joo has been working-like-a-purposefully-bred-hybrid-of-two-beasts-of-burden-but-she's-too-tired-to-come-up-with-a-hilarious-combination-of-any-two-such-beasts, she decided to take a few days off to entertain the tadpole.

Bad Joo would like to be one of you. Really she would. She would like to be adept at keeping house, teaching thoughtful lessons about life, and preparing well-balanced, organic, locally grown meals, but the truth of the matter is, she sucks limp donkey kong. It's true. This Joo is always excited to see the stinky tadpole, but ultimately realizes at the end of each sejour that there is a reason she has dogs instead of kids. She is inept.

The tadpole is at an age at which he from time to time collapses in a pool of tears for no apparent reason. Or, if there is a reason, the pool of tears is disproportionately deep in relation to the cause for its creation. This Joo believes you Internettes refer to this as the "tween years." This Joo refers to it as "What the fuck?" So, the other day, the tadpole found to his great dismay that his portable gaming device had erased his saved games. Disaster. Armageddon sans Rapture. Hell.

Bad Joo understands this sort of thing, for she played Below the Root (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Below_the_Root) like a junkie in the basement of the Bad Joo childhood home. She played it for so long, she ended up sitting in her own urine for DAYS (a la The Secretary, but minus the wedding gown and BDSM), she tells you, DAYS whilst the epic played on. It was fantastic. And so, this Joo attempted to console the tadpole upon learning of the devastating news by saying something comforting.

What Bad Joo Attempted to Say (and keep in mind, we're consoling in French here, team): It's okay, tadpole. I know it hurts now, and you want to drown your hurt in Morrissey, clove cigarettes, and black, black coffee, but you will remember the fun you had playing those games, and you will create and save new games, and it will be fanfuckingtastic.
What Bad Joo Actually Said: It's okay, tadpole. It' s just a game. You can play more.

In response to this fat fecking turd of a consolation, the tadpole just looked at This Joo as if to say, "How could my father ever put it in someone so callous?"

This Joo is inept, m'dears.

And so, this Joo recalls a recent conversation with a new friend in which she said something along the lines of, "I think I might want to have a BAYBEE some day." Friend, I take that back. Please call CPS prophylactically.

Alphabet Tower

Bad Joo, also known as Aunt Joo, has been silent as of late due to the international travel (unforseen hazard of being married to a dirty foreigner, more on this later). During her Bad Joo travels, BJ had the following conversation with A who, let us not forget, is three years old.

BJ: Hello?
A: Hi, Aunt Joo.
BJ: Hi, A.
A: Aunt Joo, are you in the country of France?
BJ: Yes, A. I am. With Unc.
A: Aunt Joo, and the Alphabet Tower?
BJ: Yes, A. Do you want me to take a picture of the Alphabet Tower for you?
A: *giggle giggle, snort, blending to all Shirley Temple-esque: Oh, yes, Aunt Joo.

So, here you go, A.

Love,

Aunt Joo

P.S. Aunt Joo also took a movie the Alphabet Tower blinking, but the dirty foreigner is going to have to take a look-see at that little number, because the Alphabet Tower is lying on its side blinking, like a dying droid or something, if dying droids also have giant rotating light erections.

Happy Birthday, Dirty Foreigner

The foreigner tries to blend in. This was long before his present, astonishingly old age.