Tag Archives: ice cream

More Snow? Screw TP! We Need Booze!

You’ve probably heard about the crazy cold weather we’ve been experiencing this winter.

Because expected snowfall maps in inches have been done to death, this is the new snow map:

I live in the “15 cases” region. Since I’m pregnant, this map makes me a little sad. I haven’t found a hot chocolate equivalent map.

But we have ice cream and Girl Scout cookies, so we’ll be fine.

Up until this point, the snow we’ve gotten has been manageable. Sure, the kids haven’t had a full week of school since Thanksgiving, but inchwise, we haven’t gotten more than 6-8 inches of snow with each storm.

All of that changes today. I can no longer see the tires on Kiefer’s car. That’s how much we have right now, and it’s still coming down. How tall are Honda Accord tires?

What does that mean exactly?

It means bread, milk, and TP will be worth more than gold for the next few days.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Have you considered dressing like that for the remainder of the pregnancy?”—Omawarisan

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Not on Apple Dumpling Day

Dear Baby,

It’s fall. You know what that means?  It’s overstuff-yourself-with-yummy-dessert season.* This season begins on Halloween and runs until the last Christmas cookie is dipped in hot chocolate and devoured.

*Pumpkin pie is not included in this season in our house. In fact, even uttering the word “pumpkin” will get you a mouth full of soap.

Up until this point, I’ve tolerated your fruity cravings and indulged you with popsicles instead of ice cream. But now…now we need to talk.

While I appreciate that you’re no longer squishing my bladder, I’m asking you to occasionally stop squishing my stomach. If that means returning to bladder bouncing, so be it.

The other day work was selling warm, homemade apple dumplings. Warm. Homemade. As if that wasn’t enough, a scoop of vanilla ice cream graced the top and meltily trickled down the sides.

And I couldn’t finish it.

Lucky for you, no one saw the leftover goodness in my trashcan.

Thanksgiving is just over a week away. Step up your game. We have a reputation to uphold.

Sincerely,

Your Mama

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “My favorite response from IT is ‘I realize you’re young and tech savy, but my boss remembers when the technology of calculators could run the space missions; and I’m being recorded, so as much as I hate it, I need you to unplug the computer and plug it back in.’”—The Jessence


BreakDown #1 of 162

I had my first pregnancy meltdown. Up until then, I had lured Kiefer into a false sense of security: 17 weeks sans emotional breakdowns.

We were headed out to Kiefer’s soccer game, and I could not find any clothes that fit. I went through at least 5 outfits. Pants, dresses—everything was too tight. And I broke a bra strap.

Finally, I put on a pair of shorts (fastened with a rubberband) and one of Kiefer’s t-shirts.

Kiefer: Ready to go?

Me: ::lower lip quivering::

Kiefer: ::puzzled look::

Me: ::explosion of tears::

Kiefer: ::look of terror:: What’s wrong?

Me: My clothes don’t fit!

Kiefer: It’s ok. ::hugging:: You’re pregnant.

Me: But clothes that fit last week don’t fit this week!

Kiefer: Because you’re pregnant.

Let this be a lesson to you all: Logic does not calm down a pregnant woman whose pants won’t button. The only thing that does is Netflix and Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream.

Kiefer, look on the bright side, there’s only approximately 162 days of pregnancy left.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I don’t trust those bastards at Eggo, either. In an unrelated note, you could become a born-again virgin if you eat enough Cherry Pop Tarts. I looked it up.”—Bluzdude


Let’s Make a Pact: No Psychos in the House

When I was little, I always thought it would be cool to have a house with hidden rooms and secret passages.

Now, as a semi-adult, I realize that would be an awful idea. What if I got stuck in a hidden room? No one would be able to find me. Or, even worse…what if there was a secret room that I didn’t know about, and a psychokiller lived in that room?

The Pact is a perfect example of why secret rooms are a bad idea.

Why buy a Ouija board when you can draw your own?

Why buy a Ouija board when you can draw your own?

Here’s what I learned from the movie:

  • Always pee with the door open. Even when other people are in the house.
  • If you run outside after a ghost attack, don’t get too comfortable. You have to go back inside to get the child you forgot.
  • If someone turns down ice cream, she’s definitely been attacked by a ghost.
  • When at a motel, it’s totally safe to walk outside to the vending machine in only your tanktop and undies.
  • It’s also totally safe to ride your motorcycle in the same outfit…as long as you put on a helmet.

Most importantly, I learned that just because a movie is called “The Pact” doesn’t mean there’s a pact mentioned in the movie…ever.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Norma Jean definitely loves me. She was meowing constantly at about midnight last night so I got up to see what her problem was because sometimes she talks to the ceiling. She found a bug. And she killed it. That’s true love.”—SugarDishMe


It Feels Good to be a Gangsta

Whenever I see other bloggers, we tend to exchange gifts. Usually people give me Pop-Tarts, and I give…booze.

And I don’t do the classy thing and give a nice bottle of wine, I give flavored liquor…in tiny bottles…to carry in your purse and whip out in an emergency.

Why? Because you never know when you’ll need a shot of vodka…to sterilize a zombie bite. Obviously.

Are you following my logic here? Probably not. Just know that on this blog, everything comes down to 3 5 things:

  • Zombies
  • Pop-Tarts
  • Dessert
  • Key Lime Pie Martinis
  • Gifts for Me

Anyways…last weekend was all about Pop-Tarts and Gifts for Me.

pop-tarts

Misty made me homemade Fig and Bacon Pop-Tarts.

I was so impressed with the homemadeness I blocked out the bacon part. You see…

Confession #1: I don’t really like bacon.

GASP! There are only 2 exceptions.

  1. The first is the bacon that’s crumbled up on salads that’s covered in so much brown-sugary-maple goodness that all you taste is sugar.
  2. The second is this:

bacon1

Hesitant Bite #1

bacon2

Need-a-Bigger-Mouth Bite #2

That’s right, Misty. Your Pop-Tart was yummy. I mean that in a undirty, uncreepy way.

But wait…that’s not all. I got even more Pop-Tarts! Some from Misty and more from The Hipster. (Note: I did not give The Hipster booze. I gave her cookies.)

pop-tart1

The Hipster and I also had the 3 Cs this weekend: crab, chocolate, and ice cream. Life is good.

Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta Pop-Tartsta.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Honestly, if you’re being attacked by a shark, you’re pretty screwed no matter how many heads it has. (Except zero. If a zero headed shark attacks you, you’ll probably be OK.)”—The Cutter Rambles