Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, got what I ne-ed, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Suburban Madness, Things that make you go....awwww, Uncategorized | Posted on 10-09-2012

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Yesterday I woke up and it felt like Mickey Ward was trying to fight his way right out of my head. A migraine plus sinusy allergy fun relegated me to a heap in my bed until lunchtime. Fist bump to the hubs, because he took all three gremlins to do the weekly food shop, which is truly a fool’s errand. Taking one is easy, two, eh, not so bad, but for some reason just one more makes for menage a market madness.

Gogurts, and cookies, and candy! Oh my! 

You do what you gotta do, just to get by!

If you make it out in under one hour

Without knocking down an endcap tower,

Happy hour you do deserve

For you will be on your very last nerve!

I plodded down the stairs when I heard rattling below to find every square inch of countertop and part of the floor covered in bags. Hubs looked up sheepishly.

“I just spent $270. And I have no idea what I bought.”

Needless to say, my headache did not improve.

“I had $9 in coupons!” he beamed.

Oh good, that will pay for my second migraine pill!



Feeding a family of three boys, a grown man, and a muffin top ain’t cheap, so it wasn’t exactly ridiculous. And really, who can complain with a guy who left me to rest while he went into grocery combat with three little boys on Sunday before a Pat’s game? But I’m not gonna lie. For $270, I hoped maybe there’d be a filet or two in the bag? Some lobster?

There was no fancy protein.

Actually, there was no meat at all.

We are not vegetarians.

Oh Mickey Ward, you rat bastard! Meet me in the ring after Happy Hour you punk!

I’m sorry–I need to clarify–there was no dinner time meat. Technically, there was meat:  cold cuts, pepperoni, and two packs of turkey bacon. (Turkey bacon? That’s not even right.)

Don’t worry, the two pounds of salted butter will offset any arterial improvement from the faux bacon!

And the good news is, with four taco dinner kits, four boxes of rice pilaf, and three boxes of pasta, two loaves of bread, loaf of cinnamon bread, two bags of bagels, rolls, hot dog buns, and hamburger buns,we can carbo load for a marathon! But we won’t. Because we’re lazy. And, we’ll be in a coma after we wash it all down with our sixty beers.

He got booze! Things could be worse right?

Plus? This looks random fun.


Bad week to start a diet…..Bon Appetit!








Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Uncategorized | Posted on 13-03-2010

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**Welcome to the new muffintopmommy. Thanks for coming over to see our new digs! Feel free to comment at the end of this post. You can subscribe right over there, by email or RSS. ————–>

Is 911 on standby?

I’m going in… the gym.

You may recall, when I realized I most likely don’t suffer from hypothyroidism in January (boo!), that I decided I needed to do something, anything as I was feeling the pinch even in my fat pants.

I thought perhaps you’d like an update on my progress.

I’ve lost some weight!

Wait for it…..

Two pounds. Two freaking pounds. Well, 2.4 lbs if you want to get technical. Two pounds. Two months.

Can you stand it? I mean, I could gain two pounds at dinner. Actually, I could gain two pounds before dinner but maybe that’s the point, right?

The details of this journey are unimportant, and frankly, a bad exercise in simple arithmetic….plus 2, minus .5. Plus 1, minus 1. Minus 3, plus 1. Does your head hurt yet?

I did attempt exercise as well. A few times. I thought I’d give the Wii Fit another stab as it’s conveniently located in the privacy of my home and would require no investment.

Turns out, running in place barefoot and stabbing the air with my fists isn’t really my thing–though I’m sure, if given the chance, I could be a You Tube sensation. ( “Pants on the ground, pants on the ground!”) What? I will say, I’ve never seen my husband run so fast as the night I forgot to pull the blinds in the family room as I was stumbling up and down off the balance board. (Yes….stone cold sober!)

Here’s the thing I dread though. Have you ever noticed when you want to join a gym, it seems like a breach of national security for them to give out any price information on the phone or online? It’s like you need the secret handshake to find out how much it really costs. Even if you go in person, it’s like a timeshare presentation on ‘roids. You have to listen to the whole song and dance, look at every last piece of scary ass equipment, and every corner of some nondescript locker room, before you can find out the mystery price. And then! Then! You have to get the personal trainer spiel and all those packages, and if you’re me, it’s not like you can pretend you don’t NEED the personal trainer or any assistance, because clearly, clearly, one glance at the muffo de toppo exposes that LIE and demonstrates I’ve no work out mojo. And you best be good at doing math fast in your head if you want to calculate the most cost efficient deal. It’s nothing but an SAT flashback.

“Wait, do I want to do $149 down but $29.99 per month or do I want to do $99 down but $39.99 a let’s see, $30 bucks a month x 12 months plus $149/12 months equals….wait…um…wait, let me start over…do you have a pen…oh! Oh! But if I take my *free* training session with Lars (a $65 value!) I can do just $44.99 per month and get one more session *free*.” (Plus the cost of a half dozen more sessions because come on, Lars is good, but he ain’t whipping no muffin top into shape in only two sessions, and if he did, it would be costing more than $65 a session because in that case, he can probably also turn water into wine! Oh shit. What do to. What to do.)

“Oh, and this deal is only good today? I see. Tomorrow the joining fee is $199 and $34.99 per month?” I would seriously rather troll the automile looking for a car deal. Where the ha-ell do they get these guys?

“NO! I will not put myself through this!” I exclaim, sweating. (See, the mere thought of joining a gym and I’m working up a good sweat. It’s working already!) I decide I’m narrowing it down to two and they WILL tell me the prices on the phone and then I will go to one, with my (FUN! NEW!) workout outfit on, give them some money, and they can show me to the treadmill–any treadmill– and then they can just run along with the other muscle people. I don’t want to see the smoothie bar or the showers. Ba bye.

The first place I call, the guy really tries to be nice and helpful. So nice, that I almost feel badly for snarking in my head.

“Well, when can I invite you in for a tour? You have to see our facility. It’s brand new and we have state of the art equipment.” Like I’d know? Or care.“It is sooo clean, you could even eat off the floor!”

I can’t help it. I laugh. Loudly.

“Seriously? It’s cleaner than my house then! Can I come over and lie down and take a nap on your floor?!”

“Ha ha ha. Good one!” Um…Did he think I was kidding?

“I’m sure it’s lovely. But as my current exercise routine  includes running up and down stairs with laundry and leaping out of my seat during “Idol” screaming, “He got robbed, Simon!”, any old treadmill will do. The good news is, I rarely drop my beer when I blast out of my seat so I think my balance is pretty good. Let me put it to you this way. I have three kids five and under, and I’ve not seen the inside of a gym since around the time George Bush won his second term. If you have a treadmill and an elliptical, I’m good.”

“Heh. Oh. Okay. Well, working out is more than just cardio. I mean, it’s a good start but if you want to really burn fat and calories, the way to go is really incorporating some weight training and we have a wonderful staff of trainers here to help!”  WHOA, WHOA, WHOA. Back the hell up, Biff. Who do you think you’re dealing with here? I wanna come in, put my ipod on, maybe sing Michael Buble innapropriately loud and then correct myself, move around as fast as I can without going into cardiac arrest, and then leave. No need to be a showoff with some beefcake trainer, ‘kay? Half the reason I even want to come is for a mental break from my life. I don’t wanna be yapping to no trainer about whole grains and acting like I wanna get all bikini ready. There is no bikini.There will be no bikini. There never was a bikini. I’m striving  for mediocrity here. We’re talking, let’s try ”L” instead of “XL”, and then see how far Chubs can go from there. Oy.

“Do you have health insurance?”

“Yeah?” OMG, he’s afraid Fattio will hurt herself and wants to make sure I’m insured so I can’t go after the club!

“Oh, good, because then you get a discount.” Ohhh, I like discounts!

“So, how old are you?”

Oh, this is just going from bad to worse. I swear to God I’m gonna bust over there and punch him in the face if he calls me ma’am.

“I’m thirty*&^%, ” I sigh.

“Well, that’s not that old yet. You want to get in great shape so you can be there for your kids and you still have time.” ZAP. Wrong answer. I want to get in shape so I can be rocking in my capris because spring is knocking on my door. I want to finally do something for ME, Biff, ME. Because everyone gets a piece of me but me.  Clearly you are a childless man, BIFF.  But yeah, fine, yes, let’s do it for the children. Let’s do everything for the children! The children are the reason why I drink and eat too much in the first place! The children hanging on my legs like monkeys at the zoo, watching me pee, and not letting me finish a sentence, is what is actually driving me to go off the deep end and join a gym for a mental break. The children not finishing their mac and cheese, which sings to me from their plates, “Finish me, mama. There are starving children in China. Do it for the children!” fuels the problem. But you’re right. Capris be damned. Let’s get that LDL in order, too! And good to know at thiry&^%, I don’t have one foot in the senior center or the grave yet. Hallelujah, there is hope yet for Fatty McFatty. Pha-yew.

“So listen, how much does this cost? I’m either going to join your place or superbigass chain gym down the street. What’s it gonna be?” Seriously. I don’t care which one I join. The other gym is closer to my house, score for them. I don’t need any more obstacles. Plus, this place is next to a bar. Need I say more? I think we all know I am not above drinking in my Cherokee workout pants.  ”Bye honey, I’ll be back from the gym in three hours! Don’t wait up!”  Oh, that is just way too tempting. Bad, mummy, bad!

I call the other gym. The baby is crying in the background. I tell the woman I want  to join a gym– tomorrow, and I wanna know how much it costs.

“Well, I hear you have a little one. Are you interested in the day care?”

“NO!” I say, a little too shrilly. “I’m joining the gym to get away from my kids. I’m coming at night!” After I say it, I feel a pang of guilt. It came out wrong. I just want an hour, one hour, a few hours a week. Is that so wrong? I’m about to tell her, I’m not a bad person, I love my kids to death, but the muffin top is taking over and beer is no longer my friend. Black is white and white is black. I need to get my gym on. NOW.

“Okay, um, it’s $19.99 a month plus $49 down and you can come on in whenever you want,” she blurts out.

OMG, either this chick has kids and totally gets it, or I scared the gym lady into cutting to the chase. SOLD! (And maybe I am a bad mummy, but I’m helluva negotiater.) Boo yah! See ya tomorrow, sister.



Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Things that make you go....awwww, TMI? Says who!, Yo! It's a girl thing! | Posted on 11-02-2010

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Okay, so listen, before we jump into my super romantic poem, if there are ANY fellas in the muffintopmommy house today (Be not afraid! You are totally welcome along with women with flat tummies. I’m a lover, not a hater. We are the world.)…what I say in the poem reflects only the opinions of ONE sassy woman who may be prone to eschew certain societal romantic overtures. (Unless done randomly and without prompting!) What? I am not a pain in the ass! Whatever, it ain’t worth getting into here. Just know, not every woman shares my opinion on roses and gifts for Valentine’s Day. It is up to YOU to figure out what makes your woman tick—so, good luck with that! These are just the romantic ramblings (!) of one random, red rose hating, woman. So, unless your name rhymes with trick or pick or thick, take the poem with a grain of salt and in the spirit in which it was intended! Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! (Just wanted to publish a few days early in the hopes my sweets has time to meet my demands. I mean, polite requests. I mean, unsolicited, loving overtures. I mean. Um. Never mind.)

NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOOOOO. Just, NO!!!!!!

Roses are red.
Violets are not.
Bringing me flowers on V Day
Just ain’t that hot.
Lemme sleep in,
Take the kids at witching hour.
Bring me some gin.
But keep yo damn flower!
A sweater, a scarf, even a purse I can do.
Of course, you know me likie shoes, too.
And don’t spend 8 grand on some huge sappy card,
Just say I love you–don’t make it that hard.
Save your cashola to feed the muffin top.
Some seafood or steak?
But please , no lamb chops. (BAA!)
If you show with even one stinking rose,
I swear to God I’m gonna break your nose.
Oy, do you know the mark up on V Day?
And seriously, could it be any more cliche?
If you really want me to swoon?
Bring me a 12 pack some random day in June!
The only “Buds” I wanna see from my man?
Come in a lovely glass bottle or can.
Oh, don’t be afraid–I’m not starting a fight.
You always *mostly* get it just right.
And if you can’t find that perfect gift for me?
I know of one that is perfectly free!
You can *for once* just replace the TP!                                                
It’s already bought and wrapped in clear plastic!
It’s so super soft and perfectly round.
Under the sink is where it is found.
And when you need it, it sure is fantastic.
What? I’m not even being sarcastic!  
I love you, dear.
I love you so much.
You’ve nothing to fear.
Your gifts, always clutch.
If my demands seem mean or even nasty,
You knew when we married
I’d be bringing some sassy!
I must confesss now, I don’t care what you do         
As long as you read this and still love me, too!
 *Props to the very funny for teaching me how to make that bitchin’ heart! Check out her site!
Well, ladies? What say you?