A rare rant at bunghole drivers.

In general I am not an angry driver.

In general.

Unless you pull one of these four bunghole moves while sharing a road with me.

a. Blocking an intersection. Hey derfwad, if the road on the other side of the intersection is full don’t park it in the middle of the intersection hoping you’ll get through before the light turns red. Because you won’t. And when you don’t, We’re going to be grumpy stuck on our side of the intersection with a green light because you never learned patience and common courtesy.

b. Turning left on yellow and half or full blown red. DUDE, wait a couple minutes for the thumping green arrow or the beginning of a yellow. Wherever you are going will still be there in two and a half minutes. Your fellow motorists will also not swear under their breath at you and send you noxious bubble gut juju’s.

c. Speeding through a yellow and a half or full blown red. DUDE, yellow means SLOW DOWN. Not speed up. Okay? It will really help clear up a lot of the previous complaint if you’ll get your panties out of a bunch and slow down and stop for one red light. Seriously.

d. Butting your way to the front of a merging lane. OH! How this one ticks me off. If it says “lane ends, merge left/right” THEN MERGE LEFT OR RIGHT. Don’t speed up past all the sign abiding drivers to get to the front of the line, hold the rest of us up while you aggressively butt your way in with your blinker on at the very last second, stupidhead. I learned a little something in second grade, maybe you missed it, BUTTING IS RUDE. Always has been, always will be.

Phew. Okay. I don’t complain much on this blog, I don’t like to do it. But I will have you know that I can write all these complaints in truth because I am not a yellow light speed up red light left turn stop in the middle of the intersection butt my way to the front driver. I am usually even able to let all those bunghole drivers slide past me without even a smidgen of irk.

But today?

Not so much.

If we could all drive our cars as grownups with the basic courtesy and manners we learned in kindergarten the world would be a much happier place. Okay? Okay. Thanks.

Happy Muffin Top Day.

I dare you to find a better gift for mother’s day than a big soft muffin top.

But not the muffin top made by too tight jeans. Muffin tops made by muffin top pans.

What’s a muffin top pan you ask? Only the two coolest most amazing pans in my kitchen.


Ready to bake the muffin tops.

Blueberry Muffin Tops

Lemon poppyseed muffin tops.

Oh, uhm, mmm, nom, nom, nom. What? Oh, right.

Happy Mother’s Day, yo.

love this kid.

Being a mom pretty much rocks.

Tales of the Hybrid Trouser Mouse with Optional DVD Navigation System.

I’d just like to throw out there that picking a new car with your spouse is much like trying to pick out a new pen!s.

He wants power with lots of get up and go, I want comfort and reliability. Cost is obviously a concern. But so is performance. You want it to last a long time without much maintenance but not be so flashy with the bells and whistles that it stands out in crowd. But then again you don’t want what every other Tom, Dick and Harry is driving around. It needs to be fuel efficient or you’ll never really enjoy using it in today’s economy. Size is important, you obviously don’t want some little dinghy thing doing your everyday bidness but you also don’t want something so big that it becomes in hindrance. (Parking in tight spaces, hello?) Preferably a color you both like with soft supple leather to cradle your body when on long road trips. It obviously has to be practical or people will start thinking you’re compensating for something. And don’t forget the whole used vs. new debate. Do you really want one someone else has probably clipped their toenails in and took for a ride around the village a few dozen times with who knows what riding shotgun? Think of the things that could be hiding under the hood of those with “experience.” *shiver*

At the same time his is just a few drives away from dying. Can’t take too long to decide because mama needs daddy to have a good reliable “family wagon” or her whole day is thrown off.

Don’t even get me started on the convenience of push button start, DVD navigation and dual climate control.

Can you just imagine?

Down and dirty with the back fat.

You know what body of mine? We need to talk. I know I told the people at the DMV you weigh 125 lbs. and that it’s a wee bit of a fabrication. But you know one of my New Year’s resolutions is to get down to the weight on our driver’s license if even for a day. You know how I hate to lie.

Is that why you’re so angry at me?

I had such grand plans for starting anew after my 26th birthday. You know the whole “spring has sprung” “spring cleaning clean sweep” garbage? I was going to take really good care of us. I was going to feed us really well, take you to the gym, firm you up a little. I know, I know, I’ve been a total slacker since Florida. But you’re the one that let some virus bacteria bug of death take residence. You could have said no! Don’t come in! We don’t want to be sick! But did you? No! You invited that bugger right in to plop down in the Barca lounger that is my lymphatic system and watch the remainder of the NBA playoffs with a non alcoholic beer in one hand and massive amounts of phlegm in the other.

C’mon body, you know I hate basketball.

And don’t try to make me like you with that whole “But with all the coughing you’re doing you’re developing killer abs!” bit. I see right through it. And this whole losing our appetite and even if we get one we couldn’t use it because it hurts to swallow anything more than water and a handful of pills? Stupid. That’s right, I said stupid. Couldn’t you have picked a better time to have gotten sick? Like when Cody’s around for longer than four hours in the middle of the night or when the weather outside is sucky or when I’ve just gone to the grocery store? Even better! How about next time you get sick you plan a time when there’s ugly doctors at the hospital? Huh? Is that too much to ask?

Seriously, I thought I was going to die when Dr. Hot touched my ankle to see if my fever had gone down. Do you really need to reproduce our leg hair that quickly and in such great multitudes? I tell you, it’s completely unnecessary!

I’ll tell you what body. When we get better I am going to show you who’s boss. I am going to feed you so much broccoli and whole grains you’re not even going to have time to crave cupcakes and Skittles. I’m going to drag your flabby rear to the gym so often you’re going to be begging for mercy. Oh, don’t think I won’t do it? Oh I will. Just you watch.

What? You want a tan like all of your other body friends?


I won’t even let our skin see the light of day without a minimum of SPF 50. And that big goofy hat I wore today? You know the one everyone made fun of? The one that has its own planetary orbit? Get used to it body. Because our head is going to be wearing it all summer. Oh you’ll thank me later young lady. When all of your other body friends are big wrinkled leather bags with skin cancer you’ll be singing my praises. And the praises of my big goofy hat.

Oh yes you will, don’t give me any of that. Shape up body. We’re in this together, and if you want to go wearing that red swimsuit we just got to the pool this summer you’d better start listening to me.

Hey! Don’t turn your back on me! I’m talking to you! Hello?

8.5 Tablespoons of love.

Want to see what I can to with a pound of butter and two pounds of sugar?


Sure you do. Linoleum Dynamite has all the answers.

*hint* They’d be perfect to make for Mrs. Fussypants week long SURPRISE virtual shower going on over at Blissfully Domestic. (Though it will really only be a surprise for a few moments today.) Be sure to wish her all sorts of luck on Baby Boy #5 over at her shower page.

blissfully domestic baby shower

Want to see what I can do with my political prowess *snort*?

Sure you do. MOMocrats has a guest post by me, go read it.

It’s almost as good as my cupcakes.

Birthing future bloggers all over the place.

Once upon a time there were a bunch of girls in Chicago who wrote about their lives on the internet.

Chicky, OTJ, some Moosh

Two of them went home, got busy and got knocked up. One of them is in the above photo. And it’s not me. Or her.

And then there was this other girl who’s womb decided it had been vacant too long also.

That was approximately 37-40 weeks ago. Wow, time flies when you’re not the one having to worry about morning sickness, an ever expanding belly, back pain and weight gain.

The time has come for Her Bad Baby, Cheesy Chicken Baby and Chicky II to make their entrance into the world. Hopefully with epidurals, full time nannies and very understanding younger siblings. The ladies hosting their virtual baby shower asked the rest of us to hand out our best advice.

Wait, I though we decided advice was a bunch of baloney?

We did?


Just making sure.

Closest thing I have to advice for you ladies on numero dos? Well, let’s just say it came from Sex and the City.

One is an accessory. Two is a lifestyle.

But don’t trust me. I’m still on number one.

Best wishes to all three of you, and the other eleventybillion pregnant women, new moms and soon to be adoptive moms out there in the world. Stay close because I’ll need some better advice than my own if I ever get to number two. Want to help welcome these babies into the world too? Want the chance to win stuff while you’re at it? Here’s how to do it.

And really the best advice I could give is that if you don’t already read all three of these ladies you need to start. I was blogstalking them waaay before I knew what a feedreader was and at a time when I thought Technorati was a kind of dance. And with the promise of stitches and sore boobs in the very near future they’re going to need all the support they can get. And I’m not talking nursing bras, people.

moosh on vicodin.

Do you ever put off going to the doctor because you’re just sure that as soon as you get there your symptoms will be gone and you’ll be looked at like a crazy lady over-exaggerator?

Yeah, me too.

That’s why I was so pleased last night when I went to the ER with my throat nearly swollen shut and a temperature of 103.4. Call me bonkers but you’d have to be a real pro to fake that. Right Ferris?



And as fate would have it, the doctor that came in to treat me was hot. Hot, hot, hot. I’m pretty sure Cody even thought he was a little hot. Doctor Hot looked me over, made me convince him I wasn’t pregnant, stuck his face in my swamp mouth, had me pee in a cup and told me I had nice teeth *swoon*. Then Doctor Hot had me gargle some thick solution known as viscous lidocaine. Or what I like to call “the solution to make me stop calling you Doctor Hot and not want you near me ever, ever again thankyouverymuch.” The stuff was so nasty that as soon as it hit the back of my tongue I gagged and involuntarily hurtled forward so fast I knocked the glasses off my face with the faucet. Gag. Ick. Cody’s exact words were “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t gargle it.”

Suck it viscous lidocaine. I’d rather not be able to swallow.

I was given a good old fashioned acetaminophen/ibuprofen cocktail, a diagnosis for some sickness I can’t pronounce but starts with a P and ends with an X and a prescription for an antibiotic, Vicodin, and what? Viscous lidocaine. I lost the last one somewhere between here and the pharmacy, whoops! (Okay, kidding, the pharmacy actually didn’t have any so they had to order it, blah, blah. But I still may “forget” to go pick it up.)

I’ve taken my first Vicodin. I’m waiting for something dramatic to happen. Like, you know, feel better. But in the mean time I have to thank all of my neighbors (K, N, A and A) who have heeded my squeaky hoarse plea to entertain the moosh while I sleep, drink and pee this thing out of me.

I’m now going to go grumble and limp around my house doing my best House impression sporting a pink umbrella as my flame tipped cane.

And now, for a fever induced fairytale.

I am not blind to the fact that God made other men almost as handsome as He made Cody. It’s nature to look once, it’s unladylike to look twice.

So after I got my one and only look at the tall handsome soccer player type man with his dad at the Wal-Mart pharmacy I concocted a little story in my head and it goes something like this:

Him: Why hello. Those are lovely flip flops you have on there.

Me: Why thank you, and might I say that Stainmaster Carpet jacket you’re wearing really sets off your eyes wonderfully.

Him: And thank you, you sound like hell a bit under the weather, your lips are a little blue and your nearly shaking uncontrollably, is that what brings you to this lovely pharmacy this day?

Me: Why no actually that’s just some sickness and fever that started in the middle of the night. Thats sweet of you to notice. I’m actually here to pick up the pills that keep me from spiraling into the very depths of depression. You?

Him: Well, my dad has a history of violent outrages at pharmacies so I’m here to keep him under control. I figured since it was time I had my Herpes medication filled it was a quick easy stop on my lunch break.

Me: Mmm, lunch. Oh, well I forgot, my throat is nearly swollen shut with red blistery tonsils. Darn. Looks like it’s water for me!

Him: Well that doesn’t sound fun. Hey, I’m all done here, did you need any help with the rest of your shopping? You’re looking a tad bit faint.

Me: Well, actually I am feeling rather woozy. If you could go grab me some super period pads and tampons, some heavy duty cough drops that taste and smell like death and some of that prescription strength deodorant since I could easily sweat you under the table, I’d appreciate it.

I can’t decide if this is a better PSA for how awesome marriage is or for not allowing guys to pick you up at the pharmacy. Well, maybe guys picking you up at Wal-Mart in general? Or maybe I really should take a nap instead of post with a fever.