the (1)It’s the most wonderful time of the year!  Actually, that’s totally not true.  The most wonderful time of the year is summer, when it’s 100 degrees and I’m sporting a glowing tan (and a margarita).

I’m not sure why people think Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, but I’ll go with it.  It’s an excuse to go to a bunch of holiday parties and stuff copious amounts of desserts from the buffet in my purse.

Don’t think I also don’t do that with liquor.  I totally do.  A flask works nicely to accomplish that task and it’s unassuming when shoved inside your coat pocket.

How did I learn this trick?  My parents.  Duh.  You recall what I found in their pantry.  If you don’t, please read about it.  I’m still chuckling.


I know you’ve been fretting about the holidays and what you should buy your favorite blogger.

Me, a-hole.  I’m talking about me.

Because I’m so selfless, I’m going to tell you all the things you should buy me.  I’m  so caring like that.

photo credit: Daniel*1977 via photopin cc

photo credit: Daniel*1977 via photopin cc

Before I give you my list, you’re probably wondering what I’m going to give you in return.

Um, this blog isn’t enough?  A few times a week I write random posts about absolutely nothing.  Isn’t that enough?

It should be.

Without further babbling, here’s a few things I’m demanding requesting for Christmas.  Note:  You don’t have to get just one thing.

Go crazy and get the whole list. The joy it will bring me will be worth it.

A book deal


Okay, so I’m IN this book, but I want a book all to myself! But seriously. You should still buy this one.

Yeah, I’m shocked I don’t have a book deal either.  It isn’t for lack of trying.  I’ve been writing sub-par content for two years now.  You’d think publishers and book agents would be knocking down my door.

If book agents and publishers are pretending to be people putting Chinese take-out menus on my door, then they’re definitely knocking down my door. Otherwise, not so much.

Pajama work pants

Why can’t I dress up yet still be comfortable?  They’ve somehow managed to do this with jeans yet I can’t get a pair of wool blend pants that don’t dig into my belly button?

Someone needs to make that happen.  That someone is you.


This is a no-brainer and I’m sure you’ve already purchased this for me.  Good work.  Now go buy another bottle for me.  You know one won’t be enough.

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups eggs

Yeah, it’s Christmas.  I know, but that’s why I want these eggs so badly.

A sweater for Jerry and his Gangsta Gnome Boyz

gangstas in the snowAs you know, I have a gang of gnomes protecting my house and running illegal activities from behind my hydrangia bushes.  It’s the middle of winter now and those thugs are cold.

Jerry, the head gangsta, told me he’d like a hand-knitted sweater for him and his boyz.  Even though they’re dealing hot merchandise, they still get cold at night.

Wow.  I just asked for something that wasn’t even for me.  I’m so thoughtful.  This is yet another reason you should get me everything I want on my list.

What are you waiting for? Get on it.

Until then, I will continue to entertain you with my antics.  Isn’t that the best gift of all?



Back CameraThis Memorial Day, my friend St. Frick (not his real name), invited us to his house for a pool party.  St. Frick is known for his ability to throw amazing parties (and his ability to shove five profane words into a sentence comprised of only three words.  It’s a talent).

We knew we would be in for a good time and we knew the only logical answer was to tell him we would be there.

We arrived at his place and discovered he and some other friends were already in the pool.  Judging by the various beer cans strewn about, they also appeared to have started the party without us (although I still contend a party doesn’t start until I arrive).

I immediately headed to the pool house to grab some libations and catch up with our friends.  I opened the refrigerator and this is what I saw:

At first I thought they were sliced lemons, which would go nicely with my Grey Goose, but upon closer inspection I realized they weren’t lemons, but Jello shots in a lemon rind.

Is that what it’s called?  A rind?

I was beside myself with joy.

Back CameraI decided to try one of them immediately.  After all, I didn’t want to be rude.  I was his guest and I was raiding his fridge to see what free stuff I could find.

What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t do a Jello shot (or three)?

They were delicious.  I decided to have a few more and bring them poolside for others to enjoy.  They were refreshing and alcohol laden, which are two of my favorite things.

I grabbed a couple more and sat on the edge of the pool.  It was like I was being healthy and eating fruit by the pool…if fruit was made of three parts gelatin and two parts vodka.  (If it was, I would eat a lot more fruit).

What kind of person comes up with this idea?  Obviously an awesome person.  I just didn’t know who would be brilliant enough to come up with this recipe.

Normally, if I’m motivated enough to make Jello, it’s done in a dirty bowl with cracks at the bottom courtesy of the time one of my dogs used it as a chew toy.

Don’t judge.  The bowl still works…just think twice about eating Jello when you come to my house…and watch for dog hair.

Back CameraDo you see these amazing Jello shots?  Look how perfectly sliced they are!

Upon closer inspection, I was amazed to discover there were no slices of skin on them, nor were there bloody lemon peels (or rinds.  Are we calling them rinds?).

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m pretty sure I would slice a finger straight off if I was going to slice up these lemon Jello shots.

Naturally, it would be my husband’s finger I sliced, and not mine.  After all, he would be the one holding the lemons while I sliced them.

After several Jello shots, a girl can’t be expected to hold the lemons steady.

Oh yeah, I may have forgotten to mention that when I make Jello shots I’m usually wasted on several of the shots by the time we get to the slicing portion of the recipe.

But everyone is like that, right?

recycleAs if these delicious gems of goodness weren’t already perfect, I realized there was another plus to them.  They are environmentally friendly!

You know my love of animals and of this beautiful planet (which is made even more beautiful by the presence of Jake Gyllenhaal and Andrew Garfield).

So with this recipe I can load up on liquor without feeling guilty about the environment.

I don’t need to be worried about filling the landfill with little Jello shots cups (mostly because when I eat these I will be too blitzed to think straight).

Actually,I’m probably helping the environment by doing Jello shots this way.  I am using biodegradable material for good use, while also supporting recycling.

I’m so considerate.

This is yet another way to give back to Mother Earth while drinking to excess.  Who knew being an environmentalist would be so fun?

The best lemon jello shotsDoes this mean I can stop shaving my arm pits?

Another bonus to these shots is that neighbors going through my trash (or just looking out their window to see me sprawled out on the lawn), won’t judge me for the large amount of plastic containers strewn about me and my body.

Rather, they will assume my drinking caught up with me and my liver finally gave out.  This makes for a peaceful afternoon nap on the front lawn…the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

What’s that you say?  Your neighbors don’t go through your trash?  Sure.

Whatever.  Keep telling yourself that, but do yourself a favor and go outside some night and see if your Us Weekly magazines are still in your trash can.

My guess is they’re not, as the nosy neighbor down the street wants to keep up with the Kardashians but can’t afford a magazine subscription (or cable…or the internet….those fricking Kardashians are everywhere).

So since I’m totally awesome and you guys are just dying to know how these Jello shots are made, I will tell you.  It’s actually fairly easy.  Here it goes:


1.  Cut several lemons in half. (You can also uses oranges, limes or watermelons)
2.  Scoop out the insides of each half lemon so it’s hollow.  (I suggest dumping the insides of the lemon into a large container of Grey Goose and water.)
3.  Make Jello as per the instructions.  (If you are making this for a party that I will be attending, please multiply the alcohol content by two.  Who am I kidding?  Multiply it by three.)
4.  Pour the liquid Jello into the halves, making sure not to overfill them.
5.  Place the lemon halves in muffin pans to hold them upright.
6.  Place the lemon halves in the refrigerator and allow the Jello to set.
7.  Once the Jello is done,  remove the lemon halves and slice the halves into smaller pieces.

Yes, it’s that easy.  I know.  Can you believe it?

And if you make this recipe, I will require you to bring over the equivalent of three whole lemons of Jello shots.

You didn’t think you were going to get this recipe entirely for free, did you?

Sibling day 123

Check out the Little House on the Prairie outfits. Totally appropriate here.

Apparently today is National Siblings Day.  I’ve never heard of this made-up holiday, but I’m a little upset it isn’t celebrated with cake and a day off work.

Isn’t that the best way to honor our siblings?

I learned of this day through Twitter, as it certainly wasn’t through my own sibling.  I was unaware of the holiday, as Us Weekly the respected periodicals I read made no mention of this occasion.

Thus, I have no idea what it means, although I’m sure it requires purchasing gifts for your older sibling.  That seems like the right way to celebrate.

I’m anxiously awaiting my UPS delivery.

I have one very lucky younger brother, Smohawk (not his real name).  I say he’s lucky because, I mean, duh.  He’s my younger brother.

However, I suspect he probably doesn’t see it that way, mostly because it must have been devastating growing up in the shadow of such an inspiring older sister.

pink dress photoAnd I literally mean he was in my shadow.  I made him walk behind me.

I’m not sure what the point of National Siblings Day is, but I can only assume it’s a day to reflect upon your siblings.  Thus, I will do so by telling you a story about him.

I have so many stories about him that I don’t know where to start.  Since he has a daughter who is the love of my life, I will keep the story nice, so as not to affect my visitation rights with her.  If she didn’t exist, however, it would be “game on.”

I’m two years older than my brother, which means I was the boss growing up.  Actually, I’m sure even if I was the younger sister, I’d still be the boss.

There was never a question about who the boss was in our house.

If only Tony Danza could have suffered that same fate. But when it came to growing up with me, there were no Tony Danza issues other than the age-old question of whether he made a better housekeeper than Mr. Belvedere.  (He didn’t.)

Since I was an oppressive  a thoughtful older sister, I frequently made him do things he didn’t want to do.  This shouldn’t come as a surprise, as I boss you guys around all the time.  You like it.

I suspect my brother did what I told him to because I was scary and he feared my wrath.  He was a smart kid.

So when we were younger and home for the summer, he always wanted to watch The Price is Right.

Christmas bear shirtsAlthough I love Bob Barker, he was on the same time as a show I enjoyed called Little House on the Prairie.  You may have heard of it.  It was (and still is) the authority on all things 1880.

I loved the show and didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to watch it every day.  Obviously my brother was unpatriotic since he hated learning about our nation’s history and didn’t appreciate getting nuggets of wisdom from Ma and Pa.

Despite my brother’s clear disdain for all things American, he sat and watched this show with me every day, instead of watching what he’d prefer to watch,  The Price is Right.

I realize he stayed and watched because he was scared of me, and because I sat on his feet so he couldn’t get up.  Didn’t he know I was trying to teach him about life on the prairie, dammnit?

I was basically giving him a history lesson and all he wanted to do was watch Bob Barker hold his skinny microphone.

NOTE:  “Skinny microphone” isn’t a euphemism for something else.  He literally had a slim microphone.

National Sibling DayIf Smohawk would have to go to the bathroom, I would allow him to go, but only at commercial breaks.

I didn’t have a bathroom pass to give him, but he knew by the look in my eye there would be no excuses for missing even a second of Nellie Olsen and her manipulative antics.

The way my brother tells it, I was cruel and mean.  I disagree.  I mean, sure, I was strict about the television program he viewed, but I wanted him to be prepared for life, and the numerous runaway buggies and inadvertent barn fires that can occur if one isn’t careful.

But mean?  No.  Was his breakfast contingent on whether he watched each episode and then provide a written recap?  Of course it was.  Isn’t that what all younger brothers do?

So I guess today I will celebrate my younger brother, Smohawk, who I’m sure is living a better life today because he learned how to take precautions to prevent scarlet fever and dysentery.

You’re welcome, my dear brother.  You’re welcome.

Christmas in a golf hat

Apparently my brother was Bagger-Fricking-Vance. And check out the sweet mullett I was rocking and TOTALLY pulling off.

FAT TUESDAYI’m pretty sure I didn’t have to write a blog post about this, as it’s a no brainer (as evidenced by this post’s title). Any holiday with the word “fat” right in the title is obviously going to be observed by this girl. It’s pretty much a celebration of me and my fellow chub club peeps, and what we stand for…which is butter on everything and a side of Ranch dressing.

OMG! I just made up that chub club thing just now and it’s completely brilliant! I’m going to run with it. Okay, I won’t really physically run with it.  I will walk slowly with it or take a cab.  I think I’m going to start a Chub Club for real.

I will be the “Big Cheese” in charge of the outfit, and the members will be named after different variations of my favorite dairy products. This is genius! I predict t-shirts will be made soon with the smallest size being an XL (for the tiny people in the group). This is gold!

Sorry about hijacking my MjAxMi1hOWJkZTkyMDhjOGI2YmM4own post there, but when amazing ideas come to me, which is pretty much every hour, I need to write them down so I don’t forget them.

I’ve got so many irons in the fire right now that it’s hard to keep them all straight.  And by “irons in the fire” I mean “items in the microwave.”

Anyway, I feel like this post is a pretty obvious one and probably doesn’t need to be written, but then again, I thought Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes had a love to last a lifetime, and look how that turned out.

You guys need guidance, and fortunately I’m here to serve.  However, I’m not here to serve you food; only wisdom. Scoop your own gravy, free loaders.

Perhaps the best part about Fat Tuesday is that it’s an actual holiday encouraging indulgence and gluttony.  Any other day of the year, society quietly judges you for overindulging.

Except in my case, society takes the form of my great aunt who doesn’t judge me quietly, but does so quite loudly from the seat next to me at dinner. “Wow, Lisa, you sure can eat an entire ham. Maybe you should grab some broccoli to round out your meal.”

charlie-sheen-fat-tuesday-mardi-gras-ecards-someecardsUm, maybe you should pick your teeth up off the table and shut up.

What other day of the year encourages engaging in a full day of complete gluttony? Thanksgiving is usually restricted to one meal of gorging, and the focus of the holiday isn’t simply stuffing one’s face with carbs (there’s desserts too!).

Apparently we are also supposed to remember the Indians on that day and how we killed them all with cholera blankets and STDs.  Not the happiest of holidays, although pie definitely makes it better. (Pie makes everything better. I think I should make that into a bumper sticker. It could be the slogan for my Chub Club.  I’M ON A ROLL TONIGHT!)

Unlike the short lived Thanksgiving with one big meal, Fat Tuesday encourages gluttony all day long! It’s the perfect day and it should be a national holiday. How can I be expected to work when I have a full cookie cake to eat? And that plate of nachos isn’t going to eat itself.

I can’t be expected to go to work on a day when the world is my oyster of food, and the oyster is on a cracker with Tabasco sauce.  Does my boss not want me to properly honor the holiday?  To basically flip off Fat Tuesday and all that it represents?  Apparently so.  My boss is obviously unpatriotic.

Fat Tuesday is also a great holiday because it actually celebrates being fat! All year long I’m made to feel embarrassed by my love handles and meaty thighs.


(I don’t feel bad about them, but it’s not for a lack of society’s attempts. They are relentless!)  But just this one day a year, society embraces fatness, one love handle at a time.

Wait, my husband just told me that Fat Tuesday isn’t a celebration of fat people at all. Apparently, he seems to think its a last hurrah of sorts before Lent starts and people give up stuff.  What does he know?  He’s skinny and clearly wants to bring me down on the best holiday of the year.

And if he doesn’t watch himself, he’s going to learn about giving up stuff…in this case, it will be the comfort of our memory foam mattress, as we don’t have one of those in the guest bedroom.

I’m not letting my husband’s nay saying bring me down on the best day of the year. I will relegate him to the guest bedroom so he can think about what he’s done, and so I can enjoy my last stash of Twinkies in peace without judgment. I will also be launching a Chub Club, as this is clearly one of my better ideas. It’s right up there with the Snuggie dress, which is a genius idea if I could just get some funding.

So enjoy Fat Tuesday, my friends. Celebrate your inner and outer fat kid, and if you come across nay sayers like my husband, feel free to throw a pie in their face and tell them they need to get in the holiday spirit.  But don’t waste a good pie.   That would be a tragedy.

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Bloodshed and Cheddar BallsI know, I know.  I’m behind on blogs.  Pipe down.  Doesn’t absence make the heart grow fonder?  Actually, I don’t think that’s true.  In the case of my roommate, freshman year of college, absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder with her boyfriend, but it did make her grow genital warts.  True story.

I realize that it’s almost February and I’m writing a post about Thanksgiving, but doesn’t everyone love the holidays, no matter what time of year?  And Thanksgiving is the best holiday of all because it celebrates food, and freedom, and comradery, and killing Indians with cholera.

Well, maybe we don’t so much celebrate that last part, but it’s worth noting and shaming ourselves for…which is personally why I drink on that holiday.  I guess that means I’m a good American.

I really do have a lot of stories to tell you from when I was gone from the blog, but there’s only so much I can tell at once.   So bear with me, as some of these stories may not be timely. (Much like my college roommate’s “special visitor” one particular month which led to a pregnancy scare.  Another true story.)

But don’t get mad about it.  I’ve been backed up!  I feel like since I just had my gallbladder removed, I should make a joke about poo, but I won’t.  I’m better than that…and I also can’t think of anything clever to do with that joke.

On to Thanksgiving and the story.  This year we went to my brother’s wife’s parents’ house for Thanksgiving.  Isn’t that where most people go for the holidays?  I would like to think it’s because my brother’s wife’s parents think we are awesome and want to spend the holidays with me and Matt, but somehow I think pity plays a big role in our invitation.  Whatever, they had good wine.

As soon as we arrived, we felt like ass-hats because we didn’t make anything.  Don’t get me wrong, we brought something.  (We aren’t horrible people!)  That something just didn’t happen to be ours.  Rather, we snagged a bag of pies from my parents as they were loading the car.  We didn’t want to look like ass-hats…but we were fine being them.  (Side note:  “Bag of Pies” would make a great band name.)


Since I have an amazing moral compass, I knew I needed to pull my weight, so I immediately began helping in the kitchen.  This may have been partly because I wanted to help, and partly because I wanted to make the cheese balls. I wanted to ensure I would have complete control over how much cheese was used for said balls. (Hee hee…balls…)

The recipe called for finely chopped nuts.  (I know, these balls and nuts jokes are getting to be too easy….much like my college roommate.)  Once I realized the “fine” description in the recipe wasn’t telling me that I needed to do a good job, I looked around for a food processor.  But for the record, had I chopped the nuts myself, I would have done a fine job.  Just FYI.

The processor was packed neatly in a box, instead of thrown in a random cabinet like it is at my house.  I immediately began trying to put the food processor together.  I wanted to earn my keep, and I was also seriously craving cheddar.

My brother’s mother in law, Hallmark (not her real name), and I decided to tackle this project together, because two heads are better than one, but also because she is a fan of the cheddar balls too.  (I’m resisting yet another ball joke.  I’m so mature.)

Unfortunately, Hallmark and I together may actually have been collectively more clueless than we were separately when it came to putting together the food processor.  Fortunately, we are both adorable and amazingly awesome, so it made up for our inability to follow written directions.  Since I was the guest, and wanted to show it wasn’t a complete mistake allowing us to crash Thanksgiving, I took the processor by the blade and took action.  Sadly, the blade retaliated against me by taking a chunk off the tip of my finger.  He was clearly not in the holiday spirit.

Immediately blood began gushing out of my finger, and dripped all over the nuts.  (Seriously, people.  Get your dirty minds out of the gutter.  I’m referring to the peanuts.)  I looked around helplessly and locked eyes with the one person I didn’t want to know about my mishap; my husband.  His reaction was exactly what I expected from him, although I can’t say it was out of line.

He shook his head as said in an exasperated tone, “Two minutes, babe.  You’ve been here two minutes.”

I want to say that he was exaggerating on the time.  I want to say that so badly.  But I can’t, because he was right, and I’m also fairly certain he rounded up.  At that point, the blood was gushing everywhere and judging by the look in his eye, I knew Matt wouldn’t be the first to volunteer blood for my inevitable transfusion.  Fortunately, Hallmark came to my rescue and helped me bandage my wound.  (Didn’t I tell you she was awesome?)

Matt gently sat me down on the couch and said we should “just sit here for a while.” Again, I wanted to be irritated with him, but I figured it would be more efficient to only drip blood on one spot of the carpet instead of all over the house.  I was a considerate house guest.

We waited for dinner to be served, all the while ensuring my finger remained over my head to stop the bleeding.  Finally, the food was ready and we proceeded to the dining room to eat.  I hoped the cheese balls were amazing, and fortunately, they were.  But then again, of course they were.  They had a little piece of me in every bite.

I’m also confident we will not be invited back next year, so Matt and I are now accepting invitations for Thanksgiving!


couples on new yearsIt’s a new year and I’m back!  I apologize for my absence, as I’m sure you all found it difficult to go on without my daily updates.  I know I would.

But have no fear, I am back to the world of blogging, and to the world of paying for my own food.  One of those things is a good thing.

I have so much to catch you up on, but I will start with the recent holiday…and no, I’m not talking about Christmas.

I’m talking about New Year’s Eve….the one night a year where it is completely acceptable to get wasted on cheap champagne and wait for the ball to drop.

Actually, this description sounds a lot like every night of my college existence, only the balls we usually saw were those of the homeless man who liked to go through the dumpster behind our sorority house.  We named him Dan.

This year, my husband and I decided to lay low and do something low key for New Year’s Eve.  I suggested getting into our pajamas at 7:00 and watching a marathon of The Big Bang theory.

Who doesn’t love a few nerds on a Saturday night?

Oh, and the characters on the show are funny too.  (Yes, I realize that joke was pathetic, but give me a break…I haven’t written in a week.  I’m rusty and my pants are a bit tighter which adds to my irritability).

champagne glassesMy husband reminded me that watching reruns wouldn’t really differ from any other night, so we decided to do something else. I’m pretty sure that’s a sad reflection of our social calendar, but I’m cool with it because this activity allows me to wear sweatpants.

I would be agreeable to doing nearly anything if allowed to wear sweatpants and a hoodie…I would even watch a bad Adam Sandler movie, which is saying something, as he hasn’t made a funny movie since Happy Gilmore.

Seriously, that guy needs to say goodbye to his acting career…and his hairline.

Fortunately, a few of our favorite couples saved us from a pathetic night on the couch, and they invited us to dinner and then to dessert at one of their houses.  Since I can’t say no when food is involved, we agreed to go.

I realized this would require putting on a bra for the evening (and pants), but my friends were worth it, and so was the chicken Parmesan.

Naturally, I donned my Pajama Jeans for this event.  Nothing rings in the new year quite like drawstring pants with a fake zipper.

Fancy chihuahuaI was ready to party!  I even put in my contacts and threw on some lip gloss…you know…to be fancy.

After running a brush through my hair and throwing a Tide stain removal pen in my purse, Matt and I headed out the door to meet our friends.

We arrived at the restaurant and waited for our reservation all the while rolling our eyes at the uptight hostess who looked like she’d spent too much time with the eyeliner and not enough time with the dental floss.

As we waited we looked around at the other people waiting for their tables and were a bit shocked with what we saw.

Instead of Pajama Jeans and cardigans we saw short skirts and tube tops, and a lot more boobs than I would have liked, although I didn’t hear Matt complain.

Why were these people so dressed up for a night out at Bravo?  I mean, I love lasagna as much as the next girl, okay…a lot more than the next girl, but I don’t find it necessary to dress up for the delicious pasta dish.

Quite the contrary.  I find it best to stuff myself with pasta wearing expandable pants and a long sweater to cover the pasta baby that emerges after my meal.

Seriously, what kind of girl wears a short skirt and a tube top out in public? Everyone knows you can wear one or the other, but not both together.  Geez.  Someone needs to brush up on their Us Weekly magazines.

girl dressed upI realize I could stop that question right there and not go any further, but considering we live in the Midwest where it is literally freezing on New Year’s Eve, this question is even more perplexing.

Did ringing in the new year require slutty clothes and frost bite?

The snotty hostess led us to our table where our friends were already seated.  We sat down and immediately noticed a group of college girls at the table next to us.

They clearly got the memo about the slutty clothes, as they were collectively wearing the equivalent of one yard of fabric…between five of them.

Not only were their outfits tiny, although one of them was anything but tiny, they were also sparkly.  Seriously.

These girls were covered in sequins.  I hadn’t seen that many sequins since my dance recital when I was 7 years old.

Come to think of it, I was pretty sure the clothes these girls were wearing were about the same size as my costume that year, and that was when I was skinny.

They had sequins everywhere…or at least on the few parts of their body where clothing was located.  Their outfits were actually a bit blinding, as were their white thighs.

Srock stareriously.  If you’re going to go out half naked in the dead of winter, do us all a favor and hit up the tanning bed first.

Matt and I asked our friends whether the New Year’s Eve holiday dictated such fancy attire.

They agreed with us that New Year’s Eve isn’t all that fancy, especially when you’re at a restaurant that’s located in the parking lot of a shopping mall.

We spent the remainder of the evening looking at the various “fancy”outfits, and rating them by degree of slutiness.

It wasn’t how we anticipated spending our holiday, but it made for great entertainment, and it kept my mind off the fact that I actually had to pay for my liquor.

We left the restaurant, all of us in our normal clothes, and headed to my friend Sally Albright’s house for dessert.  Not her real name.

We agreed that as long as we celebrated New Year’s Eve together, there would be no pressure to dress up in sparkles and sequins.

In fact, we agreed that next year we will arrive at the restaurant in pajamas and slippers.  Maybe that will even things out.

If not, at least it will make for a comfortable evening.



It’s Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year! What other holiday focuses completely on over-eating, drinking heavily, and then repeating the process?

Okay, maybe I just described a normal Tuesday night at my house, but whatever. On Thanksgiving I don’t have to hide the fact that I ate an entire box of 100 calorie Hostess packs.

I love Thanksgiving, not only because it encourages us to stuff our faces and then nap, but also because it reminds us to be thankful for things in our lives. So I decided to make a list of some of the things I’m thankful for.

Isn’t that what this holiday is about? Well, that, and drinking heavily to to numb the pain of listening to Aunt Edna talk about her colonoscopy for the 5th time, but you get the point.

I also wanted to make a list of things I’m thankful for to counter-balance the recent posts I’ve made complaining about things.  I shall hold off on Occupy my Couch Round 3 for today.

Starbucks has a drive thru

coffee and donutDuh. This is a no-brainer. I am addicted to Starbucks. That’s no secret. One look at the inside of my car, with empty venti cups strewn about will tell you I can’t get enough of that place.

There may or may not also be random Fiber One bar wrappers in my car as well, but don’t judge. I like to be regular.

I hit up this joyous place nearly every day, and they take a significant portion of my salary each and every year. That’s okay, as long as they make with the pumpkin spice latte.

So I’m thankful they’ve finally decided to start putting drive thrus in the Starbucks locations.

Whew! I can’t be expected to actually get out of my car and walk inside to order my 500 calorie drink, heavy on the whip.

That’s ridiculous! And since I’m very important, I don’t have time to park, get out of my car, and walk into the store only to be exposed to blaring tunes of Michael Buble.

I can just sit in my car and rock out to him. That doesn’t require any physical activity.

So I’m thankful that Starbucks continues to not only contribute to my broke bank account, it also continues to contribute to my expanding waist line and my dedication to a lack of exercise. Cheers!

The house next door to us is vacant

house for saleNo, I don’t want to use the neighboring house to have a party with my friends where we play spin the bottle and chug from a bottle of Apple Pucker, although that does sound like a delightful night.

Rather, I’m thankful the next door house is vacant because I don’t like to get fully clothed to let the dogs in and out for their potty breaks.

That’s a lot of work, and as you discovered from the segment above, I’m extremely lazy.

When there was someone living in the house next door, I would have to throw on a robe (or pants) when I let the dogs out.

Now that it’s vacant, I don’t have to be bothered with fully clothing myself just to let my dogs do their business on the oak tree.

I hope that house always remains vacant, because I can’t be bothered to fully clothe myself whenever my dogs need to pee, but I also don’t want to be arrested for indecent exposure (again).

Someone invented DVR

remote and tvI’m far too important to be bothered with commercials. Don’t the networks know I have better things to do than watch Wilford Brimley warn of the dangers of diabetes?

I always find it humorous that I watch these commercials with some sort of sugary treat in hand.

When I sit down to a good episode of Gossip Girl or America’s Next Top Model, I can’t be bothered with commercials reminding me I need to clean my house or call my mother.

I want to know why Chuck Bass is acting strange. Get on with it!

Fortunately, DVR allows me to fast forward these annoying interruptions so I can get back to making fun of Tyra Banks and her over-dramatic diatribes and her over-active behind.

Dog bones

dog with bone on noseWith three dogs in the house, it can get a little hectic.

But sometimes I just want to sit down and relax, and not be bothered by barking dogs and a nagging husband.

The bones fix one of those two problems.

I realize that giving my dogs bones to stop them from being assholes may not be the best way to handle the situation, but it’s the easiest way, and it keeps me from having to do any real work, so I support it.

That way I can get back to eating my brownie and watching reruns of Roseanne without any judgment from the dogs.

And believe me, I get my punishment from giving the dogs bones, as the gas the bones gives our dogs will peel the paint right off your walls, or at least burn your nose hair.

It’s a vicious cycle, but at least this lazy solution ensures my husband will never have nose hair sticking out. It’s a win-win.

Citi Card knows my spending habits

hands and credit cardI received a text this morning that Citi Card detected unusual activity on my account. I immediately called back, ready to get to the bottom of who was fraudulently using my card.

The nice recorded voice asked me to verify some charges, as they didn’t seem like the charges I would regularly make.

I listened in anticipation, ready to mount my revenge on the thugs who obviously stole my number.

She began listing the charges, all of which were my husband’s. However, I appreciate they know that I wouldn’t spend only $14.00 at a pizza joint. They know me better than that.

A girl needs some bread sticks with her pizza! I’m glad Citi Card knows I prefer to charge things at the grocery store, the gas station and the liquor store down the street (usually after 10:00 p.m.)

Obviously a charge to Whole Foods at 8:00 a.m. would draw suspicion.

In all seriousness, I am so thankful for so many amazing people in my life, and I’m also thankful for those of you who read this blog and encourage me to keep writing.

It’s an outlet I truly enjoy and I couldn’t do it if I knew no one was reading it.

So open another can of cranberry sauce, loosen your pants, and enjoy this day. I know I have so many things to be thankful for, and I’m sure you do too! Happy Thanksgiving!