PEOPLE ARE DEPRAVED! DEPRAVED I SAY!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Uncategorized | Posted on 27-02-2013

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You know, if I can’t figure out how to make millions blogging to realize my dream of flopping in a hammock oceanside while cabana boys bring me adult beverages, damnit, at least I have the depraved search terms (we’ve talked about this before!) people Google to wind up on my blog. And! The occasional ridonkulously wrongity comment that slips through the spam filter? (Spam filter—kind of like birth control–not always 100% effective! What? Who can’t use a friendly reminder?)

This potential MUFFIN TOP PORN STAR (oh you read that right and hellz yeah I’m screaming–I had to scrub myself in Clorox after I read that search term–after I pondered ever so briefly if I could make enough dough at it for my hammock by the sea scheme…..) got a good one yesterday on an old blog post about American girl dolls:

Dating or being married to an American woman is like driving a beat-up Ford Escort. If you are only used to driving a beat-up Ford Escort, then you have no idea what it feels like when you drive a Bentley or Ferrari. You need to at least test-drive a Ferrari, so you’ll have a reference point on what a real car feels like. ,

OH HELL NO! (And yes, the author of said comment is an obvious friend to grammar, what with that needless, random comma at the end. But we’ll let that slide, because she was clearly so passionate that she didn’t notice her error!)

Then? “Inge” goes on to post a link to a site that sounds like it’s about clearing up age spots on your face.

What the farfignugen?!!! Beatch, get off mah blog and take your shitty Euro cream with you!

Oh Inge! No. Foreign women are lovely, indeed, but as a born and bred proud American woman, I will redirect you to my size 8 (formerly size 7–graci-ass pregnancy parting gift!) American shoe up your age-spotless arse.

The hell we be beat up Ford Escorts! Might I remind you of many fine American women…..Christie Brinkley, Brooke Shields, Diane (please refer to a little ditty about a well known American debutante…from the back of Jackie’s car?), Mrs. Huxtable, Mrs. Brady (boom boom!), Lindsey Vonn, the Where’s the Beef lady (hey, what ever happened to her?), Dr. Ruth, suburban cougars, chics who do CrossFit, Walmart shoppers….ME! ————->

FORD ESCORT MY MUFFIN TOP! DON'T HATE ME BECAUSE I'M BEAUTIFUL!

I will add, you have a hell of a sales pitch. You must sell lots of age spot cream. To lepers. In Fuzzschmuckastan.

To the rest of you who visit my blog and are wondering:

Where to put scout badges? On your arse? So people will notice them?

What the best undergarments are for muffin tops? Do I look like I know?

Where to get Diet Coke posters? Seriously??? I love me some Diet Coke but it hasn’t made its way into my Muffin Top DIY design scheme yet….

What’s up with my wife’s muffin top? You probably drove her to drink, buttrash. What’s up with your small….never mind. 

Granny sex face? <———–That’s a special kind of sick. 

Vintage hot daddies? Well now you have my rapt attention. Tell me more! Beav’s dad was kinda hot. Shut up. 

Adam Levine ethnicity? Oooh! I know that one! Is hotsexybeast an ethnicity?

I am not fat, but have a muffin top? Well, that sucks sister. Don’t ever play the lottery. Your odds blow.

 

Bring it, Internet. I ain’t hitting the beach with the cabana boys anytime soon!

 

YOU WANNA PIECE A’ ME, FLYING SQUIRRELS?

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Friends...you got what I ne-ed, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Uncategorized | Posted on 18-10-2012

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Here’s a fun fact:

Squirrels. They can fly.

FLY.

 

OH YEAH, I CAN FLY MOTHERCLUCKERS!!!!!!!! Photo courtesy of Photobucket.

All this time you thought they were hanging in a tree, just trying to scavenge for some nuts?

No. They’ve been flying the friendly skies. IN.MY.HOUSE. Possibly in your house, too.

3, 2, 1……and….

SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know. Let it out. It’s ok.

I’m not going to lie. I feel a little bitter. See, I used to kind of like squirrels. Even swerved my rig to avoid hitting them. Slammed my size 8 clearance rack ballet flats—DSW! I love me a sale! Wait, what were we talking about again? OH YEAH— slammed mah fun shoes, wasted valuable tire tread, to spare these creatures a most nasty fate.

And yet. YET! Who knew these little rat bastards would take up residence in my humble abode? Trespassing squatters! Squatting trespassers! You owe me a rent check you fuzzy little shits! Listen up peeps, if one night you’re minding your own biz watching the talent on The Voice (AdamLevineAdamLevineAdamLevineAdamLevinecallmeAdamLevineAdamLevineAdamLevine) and it sounds like there are 300 pound men having a drunken bar brawl in your ceiling, that’s the first clue.  It would be one thing if they were quiet about it—we could all just hug a tree and pretend that I didn’t know that they didn’t know that I know they know they are there. But no. I do know. Because you loud ass mothahtruckers woke my kids. You moron rodentia!

HOMIE, IT DIDN'T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY. THIS AIN'T MOTEL 6---I DID NOT LEAVE THE LIGHT ON! Photo courtesy of Photobucket.

It is ON!

So, because we are generally inept and cowardly, we made the call no one wants to make. We called the pest po-po. Who were more than happy to take care of this shitshow for us. For the low, low price of ELEVEN HUNDRED UNITED STATES DOLLARS.

What.

The.

*&^%.

I might swerve TO hit a squirrel on the road. Oh yes I might. You rat bastards are on notice. Notice! You are not safe. None of you. Go gargle with an acorn! Or an empty beer can tab I might accidentally on purpose leave on my deck steps. By accident. Take a dirt nap by my 3/4 painted shed? Be.my.unguestliest.guest.

Listen here, the Catholic Church has a just war theory.

HALLPASS! 

Muffintopmommy, 1. Rodentia, ZERO!!!!!!!!!

For ELEVEN HUNDRED US DOLLARS I now know there are a gazillion small openings at our roof line –we might as well have hung up a “Welcome Loud Ass Furry Douchewaffles” sign. (Why thank you high quality tract home builder! I do SO love my home built of popsicle sticks and Elmer’s glue. So do the mofo rodentia in my zip code!)

The better news is, the flying squirrels have some mouse buddies who’ve come to party in my casa, too.

Seriously.

More rodentia. More noise beyond the drywall. More just war.

REALLY? IT WASN'T ENOUGH YOU ROBBED ME BLIND IN FLORIDA LAST YEAR? WIPE THAT FAUX INCREDULOUS LOOK OFF YOUR FACE, OR I'LL MAKE SURE LINDSAY LOHAN COMES BACK TO HAUNT YOUR DREAMS, MOUSEY! Photo courtesy of Photobucket.

It didn’t have to be this way. I broke for squirrels–and they took advantage of my peace lovin’ nature.

So now I am sitting here. Letting the cold, hard reality marinate…..there have been multiple critters in the eaves of my attic. Scratching the walls and taunting my kids my delicate flower of a hubs. Poised to rage and ready to do damage.

Hit the road, Jackwads!

TAKE A HINT FURBALL: RODENTIA NON GRATA!

So I suppose, then, I should feel happy that Amazon.com was kind enough to email me today to suggest I might like to buy…my own book, Mommy Mixology.  (Now available on Amazon.com for the low low price of $10 and change. You can buy approximately 110 copies of my book for the SAME price of eradicating rodentia from your attic. Don’t you just LOVE a bargain?!!) A for effort Amazon for knowing your audience. You titan of industry, you. Of  course I would LOVE to buy my own book but I’m a little short this week maybe I can save up for it. Or perhaps they just sensed….I was having a bad, bad, no good, horrible, sucktasticly fracktastic $1100 day and might be in the market for a cocktail. Who knows!

Rodents happen.

You heard it here first.

And for that calamity, you can bet your ass there’s a cocktail!

(If you see me drinking a 40 in a paper bag, you’ll know the rodents won. Until then, charging ON with my high fallutin’ 12 ounce domestic beer in a can.)

Shut up. There is TOO a difference.

 

OOH LOOK! FREE ICE! YOU CAN'T BEAT ME SQUIRRELS! YOU CAN'T BEAT MEEEEEEE!!!!!

 

A FIELD TRIP, SOME NUNS, AND ADAM LEVINE. LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Mom-ness, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Uncategorized | Posted on 08-05-2012

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All right. Back to the funny bidness at muffintopmommy. That last post was cathartic but I’m ready to move on embrace being irreverent!

Oh, p.s., I did my good holy deed this week. Last night we took the kids out to dinner, and three nuns in full habits were sitting at the table across from us. Luckily, the boys brought their A-game.  No one took the lord’s name in vain even me,  although 3 year old did ask me if they were “the ice cream ladies” (I have no clue what he meant by that but I know my grandmother is in heaven clutching her rosary beads pleading, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what went wrong?”)

Hubs sneaky eavesdropper was floored to hear one of nuns say, “This is one of Adam Levine’s songs playing right now. He’s on The Voice and is really interesting!” Oh sister, muffintopmommy fistbump. He’s interesting all right. Is now a bad time to admit he’s on my Pinterest pinboard under the category of, “People I’m allowed to cheat on the hubs with”?

 

THAT'S RIGHT, SISTER. HE WAS SENT FROM GOD---EVEN IF HE'S PROBABLY NOT CATHOLIC.

 

So what if he weighs less than I do—many have faced greater challenges. Like infidelity. Which I would potentially totally commit with Adam Levine. But it would be infidelity with an asterisk after. Infidelity*: Hubs telling me to go for it is roughly akin to the time I was 8, huffed to my parents I was running away, packed my pleather rainbow suitcase (We are the world!) full of Ramona Quimby books and stuffed animals….and, they patted me on the head and wished me bon voyage.

Buzz.Kill.

They knew I was rolling in my pleated coolots straight toward THE LAND OF MAKE BELIEVE and would circle right back even though they dressed me in questionable attire with even more questionable travel accessories. I blame Fred Rogers. Lady Elaine ain’t real! (And neither is my quest for faux adultery. Don’t call the priest! Don’t.call.the.priest!)

Anyway, back to the good sisters. One of them forgot her leftovers so I ran out to the parking lot to give them to her. (Who knew when their next yummy meal would be? You know the padres probably get all the good eats. Grr.) The three were walking with their backs to me so I yelled, “Excuse me, sister?” and naturally they all turned around. “I had a feeling you’d all turn around!” I bellowed. (Badum dum dum…I just couldn’t help myself. Kind servants of God, they laughed at my lamo joke. Plus, they could see I had their chicken parmesan. And had been drinking.)

Me, 1. Kindly Nuns with kickass musical taste, 0.

Anyway, I do good deeds. I was practically in a coma, forced to drink draft beer with my dinner on a Monday night in front of the good sisters, because I had chaperoned a field trip to the wilderness. After riding on a plush, pimping yellow bus full of screaming first graders for half an hour, we got to look at frog skeletons, stuffed birds, catch bugs, and troll for creatures in a pond with nets and buckets. The woman who guided our tour is a howl and busted my chops for screeching, “Eeew! Yucky bug!” and guffawing at two bugs mating. Worst chaperone ever.

(Sidenote? Today I woke up with a migraine. Coincidence? Don’t ever, ever, ever, ever complain about teachers having their summers off. They need them to recuperate!)

I tried. But I am clumsy in nature. My idea of being outdoorsy is reading People mag at the beach or playing recreational cookout sports. Wiffleball while balancing a beer? Yes, please! Teetering with a bucket in swampophilia? Um, no!

Another mom and I were chatting with the teacher about camping. She asked if I ever camped and I said, not really, because…. hubs and I are afraid of the woods. And don’t like bugs (who I now know thanks to the field trip are vital to our survival…but sorry, still not a fan!). And , we would scream like a 5 year old girl if we saw a wild animal. Yes! Squirrels are too scary! I would be all about camping if I were with someone who knew what they were doing— provided I had a campfire, running water, a shower, warm bed, smores, cocktails, and faux camped on the perimeter of the woods close to vital amenities like Target and the liquor store. Is that too much to ask?

I have no survival skills. None. I would rather be dumped onto a random city street at 2 AM with just my wits about me than be alone in the woods. Truth. At least you can negotiate with people in the city. You’re bound to find someone to help you. In the woods? Bugs? Would bite me. Food? No one delivers. Animals? Would totally eat me for dinner. They’d be all, “Look at that tasty muffin top!” And it would be game over.

Dumped in the city? No prob. Kind of like the time two of my colleagues and I wandered away on a business trip after hitting some bars in a strange city and found ourselves foraging for food at 2 AM. (Unrelated: none of us became CEO. Or CFO. Or anything with a capital “O” at the end.) Did I panic when we walked into the Domino’s Pizza and it had bullet proof glass? No. I just took it to mean Domino’s was the best damn pizza that city had to offer and that people would of course kill for it (It was the midwest. Sorry midwest. I luvs you long time and you rule at BBQ. But pizza should not be made west of NYC.). So, I gave the kid at the window $10 to sell me the very next pizza that came out of the oven. (You haven’t lived ’til you’ve played pizza roulette….was I getting Pepperoni? Was I getting ham and pineapple? Pepper and Onion? Who knew! I still don’t know! It was Domino’s!)

We had mystery topping pizza in hand within seconds and lived to do lots of corporate learnin’/detoxing the next day. ROI! Actionable! Market Driven! Blood alcohol content!

If we were in the woods, I would have kicked it first. No question. If a ginormous animal didn’t make me his Scooby snack, I’d have expired from Diet Coke DT’s or Target withdrawal. Survival of the fittest–I lose!

What about you? Would you rather be plunked in the city or the woods?