Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Holy hell! They're real. Zombies are REAL!



Did you hear about what happened in Miami on Saturday?  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/28/naked-attacker-was-chewing-man-miami_n_1551108.html

Two naked dudes on the MacArthur Causeway.  One eating the other's face.
Yes,  his face.  
EATING IT! 

As if we didn't already have enough shit to worry about in the world without adding the Zombie Apocalypse to the list.



Wednesday, May 23, 2012

How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Hamburger - A Dinner Fail

Last night we had hamburgers.  I made what I thought was a Burger Extraordinaire.  (If anyone still remembers the McDLT, it was a bit like that.)  This burger looked and smelled great, but it still needed something.  I thought I'd be really clever and add cheese to this already fantastic-looking burger and increase its Fantastic Strength exponentially.   Cheese always adds power.  I think that's a gamer thing.

Sadly, pretty food isn't always delicious food.  This was one of those times.

See how incredibly yummy that looks?
If you could smell it, you wouldn't be drooling right now.

There was only one small problem.  A very pungent one.  In my cleverness, I thought Asiago cheese would be a good burger topper.

It wasn't.

Ms Smartypants' Burger Extraordinaire turned into the Burger of Unbearable Stench.  *gag*




So this happened:
*scrape*
*fling*
*thwop*

Alas, the removal of 'ze stinky cheese did not help return my burger to its previous level of Fantastic, as the damage had already been done.  Melted Essence of Asiago permeated the bacon and the entire top layer of the pattied beef, making my dinner nearly unpalatable.

I removed the bacon, and cut off the top layer of the patty, but I could still smell the smelly smell of something that smelled smelly.

Of course, being the trooper and food addict that I am, I forged ahead, hoping for just one hint of the Fantastic that this burger had started out with.  I got this far and gave up:




I sat at the counter, trying to decide if I wanted to take the time to peel an orange to supplement my crap-ass dinner, when John announced with great excitement that there was a possum in the neighbor's yard.  I rushed outside with the camera in time to snap this picture of possum butt.

He was not amused.

 
I left the remnants of Stink Burger on the counter in the excitement of the possum sighting and the dog was inside, so of course he ate it. 
.


Good riddance, Stink Burger.
You sucked.



What do you like on your burgers?














Sunday, May 20, 2012

Blech. This spinach tastes like spinach.


No, this is not a cooking blog, but I made "guilt-free spinach dip" and I like to share these minor triumphs with you.  As you know from reading my past entries, if you write interestingly enough, every appetizing dish, shopping list snippet, visit to the gynecologist and zombie dream could be good blog fodder.  Over-sharing is kind of the whole point to having a blog, after all.  Well, over-sharing, and those pesky delusions of grandeur.

The spinach dip was supposed to be seventy-three kinds of awesome, but honestly I think it fell a little short.  It tasted okay, it just wasn't terribly creamy.  I suppose creamy-smoothness is the guilt-ridden part of Spinach Dip, and given the name of the recipe, it had to be omitted.  Few things make a person experience more guilt than eating hot, creamy cheeses.  Damn them for tasting so farking good!

It was kind of pretty though, as pretty as a bunch of soggy leaves covered in Parmesan can be, so like the last dish I made from scratch, I photographed it.  




It wasn't a total fail, you know...for being "guilt free spinach dip".

It would probably help if I actually liked spinach.

What can I add to it to make it taste a little better and not so much...like spinach?



Saturday, May 19, 2012

Getting to Know...Well, YOU! Happy National Masturbation Month!

Did you know that we're over halfway through National Masturbation Month?

Well, we are.  It's true.  And it's already the 19th. I bet you've got some catching up to do.

Don't believe it?  Read this article and report back to me.  Go on, I'll wait.  I'll even link it again to show you the part I want you lazy wankers to notice.

Are you back?  You didn't read it, did you?  But you should!  It's interesting stuff!  I mean, who knew that masturbation was GOOD for you?  Both men and women reap health benefits from diddling their bits and baubles.  It improves your circulation and releases tension and, hey, you can't get pregnant from it.  Awesome, right?

This month-long celebration has generated some strange contests among the more enthusiastic supporters.  Check out these "current" (2009-10) records:

  • The winner of "Longest Time Spent Masturbating/Male" (and also the World Record Holder in this category) is Mr. Masanobu Sato, who in 2008 masturbated for 9 hours and 33 minutes. In 2009 he extended his record to 9 hours and 58 minutes.  Please note that time records indicate duration (length of time for which a participant masturbated).  Damn.
  • The winner of "Longest Time Spent Masturbating/Female" was set in 2008 by Ms. Kitty Kat, who masturbated for 7 hours and 6 minutes.
  • The winner of "Most Orgasms/Male" was set by Big Rob in 2010—at 83 climaxes, a world record.
  • The winner of "Most Orgasms/Female" is Loooo-C, who orgasmed 83 times in 2010.
Makes you tired just reading about it, doesn't it?

Now some of these names don't look real to me, so I can't attest to the validity of the records.  However, if anyone wants to take their best shot at beating these people at their own game, feel free to take matters into your own hands. Judging by those records, you might want to notify your employers before you begin.



Yes, YES, YES.  May is National Masturbation Month.






What are you going to do about it?





Friday, May 18, 2012

Disturbing Adventures in Slumbertown or "Why I killed Alex P. Keaton"


Last night I was under attack.  Zombies came after me in my sleep!

It seems that I was back in my high school days and there was an assembly in the auditorium, which we all know is probably one of the worst places to be in the event of a zombie attack. Everyone knows that when the zombie uprising occurs, you will want to avoid large social gathering places to increase your chances of survival.  True, I wasn’t trapped in the mall, but this did not bode well.

When I became aware of the looming presence of the brain-eating living dead, I realized I needed a weapon, but where to find such a one that could handle this onslaught?  The Props Closet!   I knew there would be an array of swords and sharp, pointy things left over from a recent production of Camelot, sitting ripe for the picking.  Only a Master Thespian, such as I would have remembered they had perfect zombie protection at their disposal.

I pushed aside a canvas flat and found the box I sought.  I chose my weapon quickly, but carefully, remembering that when it comes to zombies, a machete is very handy, and ended up grabbing what I felt was the closest thing.

Holed up in the props closet, armed with Big Ol’ Dream Knife, I braced myself, channeled my Inner Buffy, opened the door and in my strongest zombie-slaying voice shouted,

Bring it on!!”

Onward they came, these dream zombies made of random bits of my subconscious:
My best friend? *slash* Gone.  
The family dog? *slice* Dead.  
Alex P. Keaton (where the hell did he come from)? *swoosh* Severed.
Some guy with a head wound who may or may not have actually been zombified?  Sorry, dude. I can’t risk it. *zing* Dead.

I’ve got to give props to my weapon of choice.  Big Ol’ Dream Knife required very little upper arm strength from this particular heroine to prove effective against hordes of zombies (I’m not the strongest slayer on the block, you know).  It was amazing, slicing those nasty zombie heads clean off, like…well, like a light saber (to borrow from George’s dream).  Who wouldn’t love a knife like that?  Got a chicken you need quartered?  *slappity choppity*  Done!  Cleaning fish?  *bam* Off with their heads! 

Sadly, I learned that Big Ol’ Dream Knife had one fatal flaw.  It was selective.  Sure, it was able to cut through flesh and bone (ew ew ew ew! *shudder*) but it had noticeable trouble with fabric.  I was able to holster it in my belt loop and it didn’t cut one thread. 
The approaching turtleneck-clad zombies would be my undoing…

Aw, crap.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Did I just type that out loud?

Is there a chapter in How to Win Friends and Influence People for folks who live without a social filter?  Because I'm fairly certain I don't have one.

I mean, when you leave a comment on your husband's Facebook page that says "I watered the grass this morning. ;) "  no one could possibly look at that as innocently stating that you watered the new sod when there's an emoticon winking at the reader.  That simple semi-colon, close parenthesis smiley face, made it dirty.  I knew it and I typed it anyway.  Because I have no filter. 
  
This morning I made the mistake of buying mocha frappes for Madison and me.  I exclaimed upon the first sip "Omigod, these are better than sex" and immediately apologized to her, saying, "Jeez, Madison, I say the most inappropriate things to you, don't I? I'm so sorry, babe."
She replied with, "I don't mind. You can say them in front of my friends, too, you know. They think you're The Cool Mom."  Well of course they do!  They're teenagers!  They think the word "dingleberry" is funny.    *giggle*  Dingleberry.
Why do I say these things to my child?  If she grows up with an unhealthy attachment to coffee products, having been inadvertently corrupted by my frappe comment, I'll have Mommy Guilt.  Because I have no filter.
I'll give you another example of my filter-less existence.  Yesterday we took Madison to the orthodontist for her initial visit.  I sat filling out the forms while John read Sports Illustrated For Kids and Madison played on her iPod.  Halfway through my scribbling, this happened:

"Psst.  Hey, hon.  The question here asks "What is the reason for your visit".  I should put "Those teeth be crooked, yo."

John laughed and said, "Jacked up teeth."  

"Yes! Ha ha!" said I...and wrote it down.  "Jacked.  Up.  Teeth." 
Super proud of having the nerve to put his thought to paper, I felt it was only right that I should share it with him.  He looked at it and said incredulously, "You PUT that?!"  Then he shook his head.
 
Well, duh! Yeah, I put that!  It's funny.

They probably get tired of seeing the same thing every day. I wanted to make a memorable first impression.  I imagined that the doctor would look at it and think Well, I don't think I've ever seen that exact answer before.  And he would be correct. 

I think they're going to like us.


Because I have no filter.  






Do you have one?

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Sunday, May 13, 2012

I don't need Hallmark to tell me you love me.

It's Mother's Day.   Sugar Daddy had already left for work, but when I came downstairs, I found this note waiting for me on the computer.  
I know this means that he probably forgot to buy me a card, but you know what?  I don't need Hallmark to tell me how special I am to him when he's got the means to link words together all pretty like that.  
I do love that man.  So as Elliot said regarding E.T., "I'm keeping him."
This was my note:
For my Wife on Mother’s Day:

No fancy card is going to convey how proud I am that you are the Mother of our children. You help raise them with their best interests in mind. You do so much for them that I could never do, or do as well, like hair, “girl-talk” make-up, etc.. Since I work a lot, it’s so nice, and comforting, to know that there is stability here at home provided by you.

We are all thankful for what you do as Queen of this castle. WEAR YOUR CROWN PROUDLY TODAY!!

Love,

Gidget


To answer the question his closing words put in your mind, yes, I call him Gidget.  He's also often referred to as Princess Stephanie.   And sometimes Sharon.
*shrug*
It amuses me.
 
 
Did you get anything meaningful this Mother's Day?

 
 

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Trial by Esthetics - The Skin of a Princess on the Body of a Troll

UGH!  They got me.  *collapses melodramatically*

I was at the mall with the spawn, heading toward the exit when a woman approached me and asked me where I was from.  I never should have made eye contact, but she wasn't standing right near her kiosk, so I was caught completely off guard by her interesting use of an ancient pick-up line.  She got me.  I answered, "I'm local."  She asked me if I had a good hair straightener (I flat ironed my hair that day, a mistake I won't be making again) and beckoned me over to her little shop of horrors.  I blame being hungry and tired on my inability to say no to this woman, for I followed her like an obedient lap dog.  You would have thought she had enticed me with a fistful of bacon.

Mmm...bacon.

She led me to her stand, where I thought I'd hear a little blurb about how great this new hair straightener is and instead I found myself with a glob of Dead Sea Salt Exfoliant on my hand. 

"Rub dat een", she said very quickly in a very thick accent whose origin I couldn't quite place.  

Holding my hand over a white plastic bowl, she played twenty questions with me, asking me my name, how old I was, if I had a husband, how long we've been married and whether or not I was gainfully employed.  Oh, she was good, this one.  She had me right where she wanted me: wet and trapped.  I knew she had a towel hidden there somewhere, but I couldn't see it and I wasn't too keen on the idea of walking off with one hand covered in Dead Sea Salt, so I remained her captive customer.  She then showed the children and me how terrific this product was as she hosed my hand off with a squirt bottle of water.  

Then it got gross.

She laughed with the children as she told them how NASTY Mommy was and how "she needs a shower", while surveying the depths of the white plastic bowl which was now full of my dead skin.  

Um...ick...and WHAT?!  Did she just say that, really? 
I think we were all a little taken aback that she actually said those words in her sales pitch.  "Nasty" and "needs a shower".  Yup.  Well, that'll sell a bundle of this shit, right?  Absolutely.  Give me 100 units!

I was offered a few backhanded compliments for my trouble: "Your oily skin is a gift from God."   My what is a huh??    Lady, are you kidding me with this? 


Mesmerized by this woman and her accent, I stayed planted on the spot to listen to what else she found hideous about my apparently troll-like skin and greasy, gunk-filled pores, while my children stood by and helplessly watched the drama unfold, their eyes big as saucers.



Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.  I had accepted her free presentation with good humor and didn't bloody her lip when she basically told me I was too grotesque to be walking around with normal people.  It was time to end this before one of us got hurt.  

In an effort to bring about the end of my Trial by Esthetics, I asked, "How much?"

I don't know how they train these people for this stuff, but they do have a knack for it. We got the rundown of a professional salesclerk and were told that the skin of a princess could be all mine for the "low price" of $250.  Jeez, for THAT, I could buy actual princess skin and make myself a princess suit!  

She sensed my apprehension and suddenly, as if by magic, the Discount Gnome came along and bippity-boppidy-booped the entire line of skin care down to $125.  I don't know how she did it!  Amazing!

Still too pricey for my blood, I declined to purchase her wares.  Maybe her brother needed a new kidney or maybe it was costing her too much to keep fuzzy Uggs on her little feetsies this winter, because she was not giving up.  She was so intent on making the sale, that she whipped out that magical Discount Gnome again and this time the price poofed from $125 to a mere $39.99 for two of the four miracle working products with the additional promise that I could come back tomorrow and get the other two for $15 off the price. 

Wait, what?  Was that $15 off the original price or off the discounted price? 

Ah, forget it.  Doesn't matter anyway.  Somehow I managed to peel myself from her evil clutches and escape with my children, my one soft arm and what was left of my dignity.  

While I was at the store, I bought a jar of really good-smelling dead sea salt exfoliant and a bottle of super-hydrating princess skin lotion (probably made with real princess skin). 




Price?  Twelve dollah. 

Eff you, Kiosk Sniper.


(I should have punched her in the throat, right?
What would you have done if it was you?)

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Substitute Ejection Seat.

Funny story. My daughter Lily was telling me that their guest teacher fell out of Ms. K's chair last week.  She went to sit down and the chair tipped her forward somehow and set her down on the floor...hard.

Thankfully, nothing was hurt but her pride.

Great icebreaker, that.  Nothing captures the hearts of 5th graders quite like embarrassment.  Those kids now think she's a laugh riot because of the way she handled herself after being so brutally rebuffed by the chair.

I thought that was the end of the story, until recently when Lily noticed something interesting.
She said, "Hey, Ms. K has the same chair that we do!  But, Mom, how do you get it to tip backward and not forward?"  I asked what she meant and she said, "Well, ours tilts backwards when you lean back in it.  Ms. K's is supposed to do that, too, but hers tips forward instead."
"Oh!  Thereby dumping unsuspecting guest teachers on their heinies?" I asked.

"Haha! Yeah!"

After a bit of discussion, and a few more giggles, we deduced that Ms. K had put the seat on backwards when she assembled it and accidentally booby-trapped her chair in the process, creating a sort of ejection seat.

If you're a prankster, you might want to write that one down.  It's sure to be a classic.


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Sunday, May 6, 2012

Pondering jingles.


Alternately titled: Post-Consumer Waste and Impressionable Young Minds

Yes, I was thinking of commercials and slogans and my brain wandered as it tends to do and it ended up here. I know you like to get a ringside seat to the craziness, so I decided to share.

I’ve been stuck on Band-Aids ever since I was a Toys-R-Us kid eating hot dogs, Armor Hot Dogs. I drank Pepsi before and after it became the Choice of a New Generation. I’ve celebrated moments of my life with International Instant Coffees. I filled it to the rim with Brim (of course I would’ve rather had Taster’s Choice, especially if Rupert Giles was likely to show up at my door).

My bologna had a first name. I made things last a little longer with Big Red. I soaked in it because Madge told me to. When I spilled a drink, I reached for the quicker picker upper. A sprinkle a day helped keep odor away! I had it my way at Burger King.

Now I’m tired and rambling. I digress…but WAIT!

Do you ever wonder what marketing executives were thinking when they approved the Juicy Fruit song?

“...Take a sniff, pull it out. The taste is gonna move ya when you POP it in your mouth..."
(That’s pure pervy genius, right there.)

When I think of how simple some of those little song snippets were, I’m certain I have what it takes to be in advertising. After all, it’s probably so easy a caveman could do it.

Saturday, May 5, 2012

The Writing on the Wall…




I’m writing this in the event that I am discovered by another of my kind.

I must warn you now: Flee. Do everything in your power to leave now. I fear you will be finding my dried up remains on the windowsill. I have tried to escape repeatedly, but there seems to be no opening. After many attempts to penetrate the transparent barricade I have finally given up. My entire body hurts.

In the short time I’ve been trapped here I’ve seen and heard such disturbing things:

The Tall Man sits in the next room howling at the flashing rectangular box and then walks by every fifteen minutes and says things to the Woman that make absolutely no sense. Why, just moments ago he passed by her and said, “Smells like teen spirit!”
What does that even mean?!

The Tall Man and the Woman have three pupae developing here as well. I believe the humans refer to their offspring as “kids”. These Kids run through the house as if they were being pursued by one of their very large animals. They tear screaming past me and then stop suddenly to listen to the Tall Man’s bellowing. As soon as Tall Man leaves to redirect his yelling toward that bright rectangular thing in the living room, the Kids take their game (“tag”, they called it) upstairs, where they cause the walls to shake and the chandelier in this room to flicker. Good heavens.

Even the Woman, who has a decent voice, is a bit on the odd side. She has not left the smaller rectangular screen in the “office” in simply AGES. I hear her humming and singing little ditties to herself. The songs are beautiful, really, but strange…something about a “love boat”. Now what on earth do you suppose that is?

The smallest Pupa has just run into the “office” to yell information at the Woman. “If you go to sleep for NINE YEARS then Santa Claus will climb up a chimney and leave toys in your socks!”
That settles it. The humans who live here are insane. Authorities should really be notified. After I rest a while, I will make another go of my escape.

_____________________________________________________________________

I’m feeling a bit better now. I might be able to find a point closer to the window just in case the force field has been lifted. I really must get back to the outside world.

____________________________________________________________________

It’s me again. The Large Feline spotted me and gave chase. I somehow managed to escape, but my left wing was damaged in the process. Large Feline knocked over a plant in her attempt to devour me and now it will not stop looking at me. That blasted Feline gives me the heebie-jeebies.

And what’s this? It seems that the Woman is searching for something. Ah, a newspaper circular. Perhaps she will use it to thwart the Large Feline’s next attempt to murder me.

I fear that Large Feline has given away my location to the Woman. She is approaching with the newspaper held above her head. What can I do?! I no longer have the strength to fly. Perhaps if I sit very still, she will not see me. Alas, I am overwhelmed by this sense of impending doom. I don’t think the Woman is very nice after all. I think she – hey, what’s that say? “Now thru Thursday, Milk $2.69 per ga-

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Pay It Forward and Be Awesome.


If you are reading this, you must be awesome.   Do you know what awesome people do?  They show other people how awesome they are.  Know how?  By taking that awesome and paying it forward.

Now, stay with me for a second, I'm not asking for anything for me.  I don't need a new kidney or boobs or anything like that.  This is for a good cause, I promise!   (Disclaimer:  I do not mean to imply that kidney donation and/or breast augmentation are not worthy efforts.)  

You see, my friend, Lori, who lives in Virginia, has these really clever boys, Colin and Quinn.  They took part in Destination Imagination this year with classmates Mitchell and Benjamin.  Their team, called The Brotherhood, has worked really hard.  They won the regional competition and placed second in the statewide competition.  (I'm telling you, these boys are smart!)  Having placed so well in their previous competitions, they now have the opportunity to compete in the global competition in Knoxville, TN at the end of May.

Awesome, right?  *nodding*  Totally!  It makes a mother proud!  And it's kind of neat to be able to put "I breed super geniuses" on your bumper, resumé, tattooed on your forehead, etc.

But there's bad news.

Money.











The fee for participating in the Destination Imagination global competition is $4500!  Forty-five HUNDRED.  DOLLARS.  That doesn't include money for gas, eats and the hotel stay for four boys and chaperone(s).

So their fantastic mom, has set out in the hope of making this trip possible by trying to raise the funds any way she can.  Well, almost any way.  She's not turning tricks...yet.  But she's only one person and it's a lot of money to raise. 

So I'm asking you, my beloved readers to get the word out.  Would you consider donating to the boys' cause?  Any donation will help, even $1.  If you have a dollar to donate, send it to their Paypal account by pressing the button below. (Why it's way down there, I don't know.  I'm not that computer savvy, but it doesn't look that way in my draft.)












If you have more than a dollar and want to have a little more than just pride to show for your donation, LOOK! They're also doing a pasta fundraiser!  Mmm...pasta!  In fun shapes!  Who wouldn't love that?!  Are you a sports fan?  They've got collegiate shaped pasta.  (I'm totally getting this one.)


So, if you want to spread your awesome and help cultivate the super genius, please help!

If you can't help, but still want to be awesome, go to their Facebook page and share the hell out of it with your friends.  I know you have some friends you want to send this to.  You know, the ones who can never think of anything good to get you for your birthday, so they end up having a tree planted in your name?  Hit them up!  Tell them they can forget the tree this year and help send these boys to their competition.  Tell them there's a button.  People like buttons.

Go ahead.  Do it.
Be awesome.  You'll be glad you were.


Thanks,

Chicken Pot Pie. I makes it. You reads about it.

I made dinner.  It was pretty.  It was so pretty, in fact, that I took a few pictures of it to show it off to you all.  I figured this culinary masterpiece would either impress the hell out of you or completely disgust you.  Actually, doing both would be quite a trick, wouldn't it?  I'll make that my goal.  Let's see if I have what it takes.

I made a Chicken Pot Pie.  It's this recipe, pretty much, except that I make my own "bisquick" and I used the meat from a rotisserie chicken and canned vegetables instead of frozen so the color doesn't pop as much as I'd like.  BUT!  Sugar Daddy will eat the shit out of it because of those colorless canned veggies. (If there's anything I've learned from Jenny Lawson it's that you have to pick your battles, right?) 

Here it is just after it came out of the oven all good-smelling and bubbly and yummy-looking.  It really was, but the picture didn't capture the good-smelling, bubbly-yumminess because this camera sucks.
Please imagine the good-smelling, bubbly-yumminess
that would have been captured by a better camera. 

A close-up of the inside of the pie for Mister DeMille:

Om nom nommiful!



Here it is as I served it with a Caesar Salad and called it a night.  Voila!
Bon appétit!












And here it is after it was masticated, digested and sent back out into the world:













Just kidding!  It's only Potsie.


You were disappointed, weren't you?  Nasty pervs. 







Wednesday, May 2, 2012

I water-board my plants

Do you remember this post about the beautiful springtime and gardening...and my monstrous acts of herbicide?

Well, those seeds I mentioned?  They're planted.  They're growing.  Shut up.  They're really growing.  They are outside with Mother Nature, who gives them nice drinks now and then.  (Small drinks are what small plants need, right?)  Well, I think it's lulled them into a false sense of security.

Sure, they'll do well for now, reaching their adorable little leaves up to the sky and taking in that nice drink naturally, but when the dry spell hits (and it will) I will probably forget about them for days or weeks.  It will eventually dawn on me while I sit in the air conditioning with a tall glass of lemonade in my hand, that I've got plants dying outside.  Of course, then I'll try to make up for this neglect by pummeling them with copious amounts of water, thereby drowning them. 

Annuals fear me.  Soon they will learn to accept their fate.

And that's okay!  Death comes to us all.  It just comes to my plants sooner.








Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Where in the world is Allie Brosh?


One of my favorite humor blogs is Hyperbole and a Half, written by a lovely (albeit slightly demented) woman named Allie Brosh.  I fell in love with Allie's craziness when she wrote this post about common grammatical errors found in the vast reaches of cyberspace, specifically the words "a lot" written as one word (link these words, Erika, you doof, before you publish this or you'll look like a complete fruitcake).

I've been hooked on her since I read it.    But her last entry, while still uproariously funny, was about depression and self loathing...and now I can't find her.  I need to read more of the funneh!

She posted an entry quite a while ago that she would have a book coming out, and I know her fans are all hoping that that's what she's been busy with, but we're needy and impatient children of the internet.  We want more Allie and we want her now.   She promised to update us periodically while she worked on her book, but she LIED TO US!   She can't be found anywhere!  Google+ hasn't seen her, Twitter has nothing new. Facebook has a disturbing note from her that says that she's kind of lost her mojo and I'm running out of places to stalk her.

So dear, sweet, badass Allie, hurry up and find your muse, kick her ass and get your blogging mojo back. 

Please and thanks, dollface.

Sincerely,
Erika and the Children of the Internet

P.S.  If you've been led here through your own personal search for Allie, please stick around and let me entertain you with my own particular brand of humor.  Stay awhile.  Laugh, cringe, shake your head.
If you love it, share it with your friends.  If you hate it, share it with your enemies.


P.P.S.  Thank you to all who have notified me when they found anything from Allie.  Most recently, THIS was tweeted about by Allie.  I'm happy to have her back with us and hopeful that her blacker days will turn to a lighter shade of gray at the very least. 

If you're still into me and mine, check out today's post: Oversharing. That'll fix ya right up. 





Some Other Stuff I Wrote