Fourth funniest blog on the web

The Birthday Power Trip

Hi, dear readers. Did you have a good weekend? My birthday was Saturday, and it was lovely. We didn’t have any huge plans, mostly because I was simply drunk on power. Just the knowledge that I could make my husband, kids, and parents do whatever I wanted was enough for me.

I asked for nothing. My husband wanted me to ask for a rain jacket so I will stop stealing his extra jacket the one time every two years that we happen to be out in the rain (he holds grudges, apparently), but I didn’t ask for anything.* I could have slept late, but instead we got up early to help with a service project. I could have requested that we drive into the city to go to my favorite Thai restaurant, but instead we saw the new James Bond movie and ate pizza. I could have asked for an ice cream cake, but instead I selflessly baked my own birthday cakes (yes, plural). Ah, the supreme control spent on goodness for the family.

The power trip wore off by 4:00 p.m. when I started craving fine leather goods and lemongrass, but whatever. Then it was time for wine.

Family and friends gave me some fun and thoughtful gifts—they’re sweet! I have to share one of the gifts with you: my mom helped my 10-year-old daughter craft a beautiful box out of paint and molded clay.

Crafty birthday box

Isn’t this pretty?

I was almost choked up with tears of joy from the thoughtfulness, but there was more. My daughter insisted that I open the box.

There was a decapitated Barbie head inside the box.

Cue the sarcastic horror music and laugh track. If anyone searches “decapitated head” and finds this humor blog, I think they’ll be disappointed.

This surprise decapitated Barbie head was good for multiple laughs throughout the day, and I have a feeling she’ll show up in someone’s Christmas present.

I love humor gifts, and this one reminded me of another funny gift. I used to—and still do—keep a healthy supply of restaurant napkins in my glove compartment. One of my favorite gifts ever was when my college roomies went around to every fast food restaurant near the campus and collected napkins for my truck. Who knew Wendy’s napkins could be so thoughtful and hilarious?

Hmm. I guess you had to be there.

Well, I’m over this low maintenance birthday thing. The power trip alone no longer works because right now I have to wash the cake stands from my birthday cakes that I made. Yep, I become high maintenance starting NOW. I hereby demand ice cream cake, Thai food, and genuine leather goods for no good reason.

What’s your ideal birthday—or for those among you who are also high maintenance—your ideal regular day?

*Further explanation: My husband owns a water-repellent jacket and an official rain jacket. Once every two years, he lets me borrow his official rain jacket because it’s the smaller of the two. He’s nice about it, but it secretly drives him crazy. Both jackets are ugly, so I don’t know why he cares. I can only figure that he’s a rules guy, and it’s important to him that he is wearing Official Waterproof Fabric in the drizzle. And he’s willing to spend big money so I can have an official rain jacket of my very own. WE PRACTICALLY LIVE IN THE DESERT. But, guess what? After my birthday—after he had given me a non-waterproof present because I refused his rain jacket overtures—I found the perfect pink rain jacket at an outlet store and purchased it. My husband practically thanked me for spending money on what I consider to be a frivolous item. There’s a lesson in here somewhere, ladies. Please don’t use it for too much evil.


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Eight helpful foodie tips you haven’t heard yet

Everyone has their own opinions on what makes good food. I was reminded of that during the Romanian Food Festival last weekend. I suspect the little skinless sausages were made of some very powerful lamb, which we are not used to at all. To us it tasted like gamey Slavic sweat, and my husband said he knew why Dracula (from Romania) switched over to feeding on humans.

Between that and the helpful reader comments on Brussels sprouts and squash from my last post, I thought about all the helpful foodie hints that I’ve collected over the years, and I want to share.

  1. As of this weekend, I know that lamb + caraway seed = smells and tastes like a band of Gypsies.
  2. People who eat the grapes in fruit salad march to the beat of their own drummer. Weirdoes!
  3. Even when you are in an alcohol and snack emergency, DO NOT MIX Flavor Blasted Goldfish and red wine. This causes a flavor blasted chemical reaction that will make your whole party very ill.
    sick from wine and Flavor Blasted Goldfish

    Consuming two glasses of wine and Flavor Blasted Goldfish will chemically react to create another kind of blast that you do not want to experience. Hey, I didn’t have any other snack food at my house, okay? This is a reenactment, but in real life, I passed out in the restroom for an unknown amount of hours. My friends who partook in the Goldfish had this too. WEIRD.

  4. We get spoiled to Halloween bounty very quickly. Look at me complaining about the Butterfingers and Snickers polluting our candy bucket.
  5. There is no wrong time to add a pepper of some kind to your food, but too much Cinnamon Trident will permanently burn your tongue.
  6. Do not enter a roach eating contest, no matter how tasty they look. A man in Florida recently died from eating 50 live roaches to win a competition. The prize was a python, but he never even got to enjoy his new snake because he was dead.
  7. Nobody knows what the blue Gatorade is called, but it probably includes the word blast. And what’s the clear flavor called? How are we supposed to speak intelligently about drinks that don’t have fruit names to match the color?
  8. You can eat this candy and consider it a health food because of the ginger. Just like I do with those delicious Ricola cough drops! They’re medicine.

No matter what, eat your veggies and have a lovely day!


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Eat Some Cake!

Dear readers,

This month is our one-year blog anniversary! Even if you and I got in touch well after last fall, we can backdate it in our minds because I’m not sure that anyone cares. Eat some cake anyway! I choose a big piece of butter cake with chocolate frosting and lots of vanilla ice cream. What about you?

Unfortunately I’m gonna have to eat imaginary cake because I’m kind of on a diet, and I’ve already had my daily allotment of peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chip cookie dough. I’m on a food plan that was customized for me, by me. It’s not really working all that well.

Our first blogiversary. Can you believe it?

A lot of things have happened over the past year:

  • My husband and I have had lots of good laughs over your funny comments and blogs.
  • Dried organic goji berries. Try ‘em.
  • I’ve taken a really awesome editing job at Movable Media (in spite of this blog, not because of it).
  • I finally painted my kitchen table. Sewing bedroom curtains?  Eh, that’s another story.
  • Bangs.
  • The Twitter. (Over 1,100 followers, and most speak English!)
  • I went from hating Brussels sprouts to roasting large quantities with sea salt every week. My children are least happy about this change.

Don’t be jealous of my thrilling activities and barely mediocre success over the past year. My kids still think I’m embarrassing.

Thank you for all your support and love through comments, Facebook likes, Twitter follows, and shoutouts in person. I’ve also met lots of cool bloggers online who I fully intend on latching onto like a toddler on the leg if we ever end up at a blogging conference together. I stalk a few additional bloggers because they make me laugh, and, although they do not know I exist or chose to ignore me, I’ll add ‘em to my shout out list anyway.

These friends and stalking victims include but are not limited to:

Robin at Hollow Tree Ventures (I wish we were related and she were forced to spend holidays with me.)
My aunt Jeanie, President of the TCB fan club (She IS forced to spend holidays with me.)
Nicole at Ninja Mom Blog
Jamie at Six Oak Street
The Possum Posse music and blog
Alistair at Scaryduck (He does not acknowledge my existence, but I stalk him.)
Roo at Nice Girl Notes
DJ at Thoughts from Paris
Kim at One Classy Motha
Paige at There’s More Where That Came From
Perry at Nouveau Old
Amanda at Parenting by Dummies
Jen at Jeneral Insanity
Leslie at The Bearded Iris (The ellipsis article changed my professional life.)
Susan at Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva
Ramsay at Trinity Pest Management (Don’t ask.)
Jenny at TheBloggess (Thanks for the tear-producing laughs and for taking my money each month.)

What would you like to see this blog do over the next year? Step it up to moderate success instead of mediocre? Would you at least like the Brussels sprouts recipe?

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Our youth are totally making a scene. Should we be embarrassed?

This young generation of singing and dancing pre-Madonnas was really cute until NOW. It’s gone too far. They really don’t even know who Madonna is. I’m starting to be embarrassed for them.

American Idol is coming up on its 11th season. The X FactorDancing with the StarsThe VoiceAmerica’s Got TalentGleeNashvilleSmash, and So You Think You Can Dance dominate our tv stations. High School Musical will be etched into my substance forever, especially that part where Vanessa Hudgens sings TROYYYYYY to the top of her lungs during Zac Efron’s basketball game. I was like, You’re making a scene!

Even all the talk show hosts have goofy dance-offs at the beginning of every show. YouTube stars can achieve celebrity status overnight. My kids’ favorite show is iCarly, which is about teens who run a successful internet show. The digitally connected have a 24-hour voice on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and blogs. Everyone’s a star!

I write this as I sit at guitar and voice lessons for one kid, and the other is probably playing with his green screen, camera, and video editing software. I was onboard with this singing and dancing entertainment culture; it’s cheerful and optimistic. It’s all anyone under 15 years old even knows. Half of my kids’ friends are starring in theatrical performances every weekend; the other half is in show choir. These children have not heard of grunge; they know not its understated and melancholy ways. But I was okay with that—even happy about it—until now.

I think the song and dance culture is affecting this generation in ways we can’t even comprehend yet. The ramifications are severe. Flannel shirts are at risk of extinction. Guitar music is losing out in favor of trumpets; some pop songs even include the whole brass section. Kenny G. is almost cool again. Mine eyes have been burned by the lights reflecting off the sequins.

This all hit me like a theatrical slap to the face when I read an article about gangs. Cops are now tracking gangs on Facebook because even criminals want their moment in the limelight. Gang members post status updates on their latest heists. But get this: The name of one of the most feared gangs in Brooklyn is Rockstarz. Yes, Rockstarz. What do they steal—glitter? iTunes gift cards? Hair styling cream and extensions? Lacey gloves? They probably even bully people online. (Can you believe that’s a real thing?)

I just want to laugh at them. I bet they even wear skinny jeans. Does that hamper their ability to get away? How do they jump a fence while wearing low, tight jeans, in a Euro color like red?

I’m so embarrassed for them. Our youth have gone soft. Their young, fleshy, unscarred organic muffin tops spill out over their bamboo fabric skinny jeans, and they are no help to us, unless we need somebody to write a jingle or act in a play. And then the play would probably be about actors and producers and YouTube stars. Or Rockstarz.

They pander for our attention.

But me, I would never do that. Just kidding, I totally would. Also please sign up for our new gang, the Hooliganz. An online sign up sheet will be going out soon (cc’ing the cops on that) and everyone needs to learn our song and hand jive dance number before we go jack some people up.

TROYYYYYYY!    Facebook   Twitter   Pinterest


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Feel Like a Rich Girl: It’s the Little Space-Age Things that Matter

I’m not sure where I currently rank on the official class warfare scale that somebody seems to keep track of, although I’m holding out hope that the $1.27 I earn per month from Google Ads will pick up pace. As a kid, I usually felt rich enough because I was happy. My family had everything we needed and more; we had lots of fun, and I’ve never been hungry.

Fact: Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies expand in your stomach to coat every corner with trans fats, so I was always full.

***Disclaimer: My mother is a fantastic cook, and she’ll be ticked if I make it sound like we only ate Little Debbies. I just like to make fun of how much I used to love them. Carry on***

There were times when I thought we were absolutely loaded. If my mom bought me a new outfit or two, AND we went to Funland with friends, AND we hit the Chinese buffet with the family…oh my gosh. We were RICH!

And there were times I felt poor. It didn’t happen often, but I specifically remember the disappointment when my mom refused to buy ACT Fluoride Rinse with the super cool self-measuring dispenser. She bought it once and then never again. I don’t know why she wouldn’t get it—maybe I splashed it everywhere and it was a real pain—but I must have thought that she wouldn’t buy it because it was too expensive. Maybe she said I didn’t need it; it was an extra. Poor little me. All the rich kids like on tv shows probably had ACT, but not me.

I’m sure there are things that I do or don’t do that make my kids feel poor. Someday in the future they’ll probably complain about how I would never spring for individually packaged snack crackers.

Pure drudgery: my daughter putting pretzels in individual bags.

My underprivileged children have to bag their own pretzels. Such drudgery, and these containers barely fit in her Vera Bradley backpack.

So, now that I’m grown up, you know what one of the highlights of my day is? Every morning and night, after I’ve been a good girl and brushed my teeth properly, I get to squeeze that space-age bottle of ACT, listen to the slurp as the excess mouthwash automatically goes back in, turn the whole bottle upside down while only the pre-measured amount comes out (thrills me every time!), and swish that sweet liquid around my mouth. Sometimes I swirl it around in there for 5 or 10 minutes while I put laundry away or something. Just like Scrooge McDuck swims in his gold coins, my teeth soak in the top-shelf fluoride.

I always keep two bottles on hand at home. I’ve also got one at my parents’ house and one at my in-laws’ so I can enjoy ACT in all its self-measuring glory with minimal travel interruptions.

ACT fluoride rinse is a miracle of modern engineering.

Scientists are still studying this miracle of modern engineering.

So you can imagine my dismay today when my local store did not have it in a self-measuring dispenser. They only had ACT in a normal bottle, which is no fun at all. I immediately emailed the company with a note to “Please respond ASAP!” Within one hour they assured me that they are still manufacturing it in the self-measuring dispenser. (It’s from their email that I know it’s called a self-measuring dispenser; otherwise I’d be referring to it as that thingamabob on top.)

Thank goodness I can continue to buy my fluoride treat with the Mr. Gadget top and feel like a rich girl! I meanI don’t even look at the price before I put it in my basket. If they didn’t have ACT the way I like it, I might have been forced to do something more drastic, like buying individually wrapped snacks, opening them all, and mixing them in a bowl together. And then maybe I would swim in those snack crackers.

I’m glad we can share feelings like this.

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