Tag Archives: humor
Dunkin WHAT??
My Real Life Trip to Dunkin DONUTS- OUT OF hot chocolate, munchkins and vanilla frosted DONUTS.
This isn’t the first time.
The last time they were out of DONUTS.
By DONUTS, I mean ALL DONUTS.
Not a single DONUT in Dunkin DONUTS.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess it was government run.
Everyone knows the government holds all records for least efficiently run everything.
Possible Reasons Dunkin ran out of DONUTS…
*The donut maker guy got caught up in a marathon game of Candy Crush. (Understandable)
*The employees had the munchies.
*Cheech and Chong just left the drive thru.
* The time-to-make-the-donuts guy overslept or died.
*Bigfoot got wasted with Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High and they broke in and stole all the donut mix.
*Wilford Bradley bought all of the donuts to save YOUR soul from dia-beat-us.
*A prankster broke in to DD and drew pictures of donuts on the employees glasses, so it looked like they had an excess of donuts.
*Somebody fed the police department marijuana pizza, so they needed extra donuts to keep our city safe.
*DD is run by incompetent teenagers and this is just a preview of the end of the world as we know it, and possibly a cure for dia-beat-us.
The Gazillion Concept
Sometimes anything greater than one seems like the equivalent to a gazillion.
I call it the Gazillion Concept.
Perfect Examples…
Loads of Laundry.
Times you get up at night to let the dog out.
The number of instances in one week your kids miss the damned bus.
Pounds you need to lose.
Kids at a sleepover, in the same room, in a car, at the same table or simply on the same planet.
Mosquito bites.
Calories in anything chocolate or fried.
Miles over the speed limit when you’re teaching your pedal heavy 16 year old to drive.
Drops of pee your boys leave on the toilet seat.
Dog hairs on your black pants.
Dollar profit margin Hollister is swindling you for.
Teenaged girls.
Minutes until you get home when you have to pee.
Degrees below zero in the winter.
Days left in your pregnancy.
Hairs you missed while shaving your legs.
Days until your next period when you’re waiting for it.
Hours in a sleepless night.
Drops of puke expelled by kids and pets on the carpet at 3am.
Time after the first five minutes on the treadmill.
Grains of rice when it accidentally spills.
Days until vacation, retirement or the end of a work day.
Minutes you’re forced to listen to any given Justin Beiber song.
Summary- ANYTHING greater than one = equals a gazillion under the right circumstances.
The Gazillion Concept.
Seems logical.
The Ugly Truth about Mother’s Day
Now that we’ve all had some time to recover, I think it’s time to talk about why Mother’s Day sucks rotten eggs and stinky baseball cleats.
Better yet, let’s have a “My Mother’s Day Sucked Worse than Yours” contest.
I’ll try not to win THIS one.
It’s like this…
You’re mom- The Family Goddess, Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, The Almighty Healer of EVERYTHING that goes awry.
You’re pretty much the shit.
Nobody can begin to do it quite like you do.
Men and children (yes, they belong in the same category) are dropped on this planet oblivious and many never overcome this perpetual state of cluelessness.
It’s okay because we love them dearly.
Mom’s clearly have the edge. It’s just the way it is.
The good news is, it’s UNIVERSAL and misery loves company.
(((group hug, neighbor)))
I remember having big hopes and dreams for a perfect Mother’s Day filled with rest, peace and pampering, just like the dorky Hallmark commercials.
Then Mother Nature laughed..
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!
Good one, but no. Not unless you clone yourself.
Dear Hallmark, you’re a bunch of dream shattering lying bastards and I hope you get a paper cut on your eyeball from one of your own over dramatized and sappy cards.
Let’s scratch out REST.
The Stages of Mothers Day-
When your offspring are still lovable tator tots, you may get breakfast in bed which consists of Frootloops, coffee, a hand picked daffodil and a gluey mess of a card they made in school. (thank you teachers)
I’m not really sure it ever get’s better than THIS.
Embrace this, because THIS is IT.
Then they get older.
The coveted handmade gifts and cards come to a screeching halt and they may or may not stick around for breakfast.
Boooo.
If you’re lucky, they take you out to breakfast and Big Daddy pays.
The thoughtful bucket has sprung a leak. From here on end, it’s all down hill.
Now, you’ve become grateful if they can manage to refrain from swearing and fist-fighting in your presence for one lousy day and possibly show a shred of appreciation for good measure.
You taught them better, right?
Crap. Now you’re guilty of THAT too.
They suck and it’s all YOUR fault.
It’s the full circle of always-the-moms-fault.
Which is why I’ve adopted the proactive approach to Mother’s Day.
It doesn’t feel right to unleash my brood into the world until they’re properly trained in Mother’s Day etiquette.
Their spouses will thank me some day and if they don’t, obviously it’s their mothers fault.
*giggle of irony*
I gave each of my four children a sort of multiple choice list of (mostly) stuff I’d like done around the house, and for my artistic girls, drawings and such that I’d enjoy.
Easy peasy. Spelled it right out.
Are you ready for my miserable report?
#3 finished vacuuming at 10 pm Mother’s Day night and only because I lost my shit.
#2 completed 50% of his offerings. He washed the dogs. I’ll take it.
And, #1 and #4 have been granted extensions because no way am I letting them off the hook.
So there you have it. The ugly truth.
My rug is clean and my dogs don’t stink. At least we’re making progress.
I guess they REALLY don’t know what to do or how to act without the Queens guidance, which is why I will always reign as Almighty Mom- Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom.
It’s a mom thing…
Welcome to the club.
How was YOUR Mother’s Day?
It’s Mother’s Day… Dammit!
As Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, I hereby proclaim that Mother’s Day be celebrated the entire weekend this year… and forever.
It’s been a rough one, that’s why.
No way is one lousy day of cleaning up your own shit and being on excellent behavior gonna cut it, girls and boys.
Not this year, my precious offspring.
Extreme mom is going completely proactive this Mother’s Day to guarantee that it doesn’t SUCK.
You have been hereby enlisted… as a GIVER.
Therefore, specific TO DO lists will be distributed to each of my brood.
We’re gonna get it right this time.
Here we go.
Mother’s Day… Take 21!!
(The number is accurate. No. Shit.)
ACTION!!!
Here’s a preview of my short list of demands:
*You will bathe the dogs with excellent smelling shampoo, then scrub the entire bathroom including the tub.
YES, this does need to be spelled out.
The powder room and pets shall smell like a fresh meadow.
*Clean my car- that was incidentally trashed by YOU.
You shall vacuum the resident floor rubble and debris that you dragged in, clean all dog slobber off the windows, dispose of dead insect carcasses from the dashboard and remove sticky goo from the cup holders.
Again, sparkly clean.
•Vacuum both sets of stairs in the house and do not attempt to make a new family member out of the pet hair.
NO, I wouldn’t mention this if history hadn’t dictated already that it’s was absolutely necessary.
Plus, we already have our limit of dependents.
Use care not to clog the vacuum. I’m tired of performing an endoscopy on the Dyson every single time I attempt to turn it on.
This is a proactive exercise, because unfortunately some things do have to be spelled out.
Remember, this is only my short list. *grin*
Had my children had the foresight to say… toast me a lousy poptart, scribble HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY on a sheet of paper or pluck me a few daffodils from my own garden, I wouldn’t have been forced to make these heinous demands.
I shall also, thereby be completely EXEMPT from partaking in any of the following on Mother’s Day weekend, which absolutely includes Friday and Saturday… from this year until the end of time.
I shall not cook or touch unprepared food.
I shall not go to the grocery store.
I shall not do laundry.
I shall be exempt from driving you anywhere.
I shall not do dishes… or even look at them.
I shall not answer questions or engage in conversations beginning with:
Will you?
Can I?
I need…
I’m hungry…
I’m borrrrrrred…
It’s not fair…
Things that YOU can do for me:
Pretend to be unmiserable.
Make me coffee
Do not complain… about anything.
Most importantly, do this shit WITHOUT being told or reminded.
Anyone breaking the rules of Mother’s Day Weekend will be exiled to the back yard and forced to live in a tent.
I know my expectations are ridiculously high this year.
A girl can dream…
NOTE- This post was from 2013 and my children failed miserably that year.
That’s entirely different post.
You’re not alone moms.
I and almost everyone who’s not your kids, do in fact appreciate the Hell out of you.
Two thumbs up, mamacita’s!!
How OLD were the Golden Girls?
Golden Girls NEWSFLASH!!
I was half watching the show last night, because the TV was on that particular station and I was too lazy to change it.
Q. How old is Betty White’s CHARACTER?
A. Answer at the end of post, because first we MUST define the term Golden when referring to age.
Yes, we do.
I always categorized the delightful ditzy trio as having a little too much pep for the nursing home, yet definitely UP there in age.
On deck to meet their maker.
Golden years = Retirement age.
No?
Sit down.
Betty White’s character is a spry 55 years old.
She’s practically a baby for fucks sake.
Has the expected lifespan of a human gone up THAT much since the 80’s??
I’m touching my 50’s with a short stick and it’s not a cane, dammit!
I’m not gonna lie, I sucked in a whole bunch of air when that little tidbit was thrown out there and I remain slightly bewildered.
I mean… my uterus hasn’t even been decommissioned yet.
Is there no respite between pregnant and dead?
I’m torn between shopping for jobs and coffins.
What to do?
Actually, I want to be cremated and dumped in the South Pacific (*Note- If i’m left in a cold body of water there WILL be a haunting) so my accommodations actually only require a ziplock bag, but coffin sounded way better than ziplock bag, so I ran with it.
How old did YOU assume these ladies were??
Dammit Wonderwoman, You’re Late Again
This mornings chaos kind of cancelled itself out.
I love when that happens.
Bittersweet beginnings.
Bad news – Diva #13 missed the bus because I lost her track uniform, which was actually in the bottom of HER closet and took me under 60 seconds to find.
Note to self- stop hiding her shit.
Good news – It was the first time EVER, we were early enough to join the drop-off parade where you get to be part of the curvy long line of parents delivering their chicks to school.
Awesome.
My favorite part is where you get to wave and shout out the window to the other ugly parents.
The expression on Diva’s face was priceless and worth every ounce of overpriced gas.
Also, and just in case God is listening, I’d like extra credit for not running down the Vice Principal who was in charge of the parade.
At least I think he was, except he didn’t have a baton or fancy hat.
I had a perfect shot too.
He and I have a complicated love ♥ affair on account of him suspending my son (Big Kahuna’s #16) for breathing wrong… or possibly something more serious like… showing up for finals wearing Shannon’s pink bra.
Don’t get me wrong, I can totally understand how this sort of tomfoolery can be very distracting to the other students, but it doesn’t mean the perp should be marked with a SUSPEND ME bullseye for the rest of junior high.
Or maybe it does.
It did, and it became another thorn in my side.
More Fun Facts-
The school has the right to invite you back to detention during summer vacation if you pull any shenanigans the last week of classes.
You should probably LEARN from this and not do it two three years in a row.
Now that it’s time to wrap up this post, I’m at a loss because it escaped in so many directions.
That happens to me a lot.
Look a squirrel!
Closing FUN fact- the track uniform (that I lost) is a teeny little number- blue shorts and a red tank.
When the girls are all clumped together on the field they look like a herd of mini- Wonder Women.
It’s pretty awesome.
See??
Have a WONDERFUL day.
PMS; Prepare to Meet Satan…
Signs that you may have PMS.
* You can toast marshmallows with your breath.
*Your default response to EVERYTHING is… fuckoff and die.
*Your secret chocolate stash looks like it was ransacked by Bigfoot, except it was actually you.
*Everyone in the house including the dog are wearing crucifix’s.
*The snowman is reduced to a puddle when you walk by.
*Your only emotion is RageSobLaugh simultaneously.
*You roll Prozac in chocolate, because you’re desperate.
*You consider slitting a biker dudes neck with your hang nail because he’s in your way, but you spare him when you remember there’s no chocolate in the Big House.
(To be continued… in 28ish days.)
Kiss my Butt, Orville!!!
Screw you Orville.
When I see this sitting on the kitchen counter my hair stands straight up, like Marge Simpson, except on FIRE.
I’m not a neat freak by any stretch of the imagination, but this demonic popcorn canon has clearly pushed me beyond my limits.
Pow! Pow! Pow!
Floor, countertop, sink…
Two points for the cat dish.. RAWRR!!
The crowd goes wild.
Dammit.
HURRY… must find SOMETHING to melt the butter in!
How about mom’s special crystal Princess House coffee mug?
Score.
Nuke butter until it boils over onto microwave tray creating an slippery puddle… check.
Leave it … check.
Munch on popcorn in front of TV, making sure the carpet critters get their fair share.
Yummmm….
Put GINORMOUS popcorn bowl (that barely fits in sink) …in sink, making sure the kernels float in the dish foam.
Toss butter melting cup into cold dish water for extra slick dishes.
This adventure now requires a broom, vacuum cleaner, extra load of dishes and a shot of Tequila.
I vote for microwave popcorn every. single. time, but NOOOO!!!
It’s a kid thing, that they learned from the man-child.
Popcorn sucks.
The End.
The Witch Doctor is in
The question is… can a sinus infection be cured with cayenne pepper?
I read this on the interwebs, swear. to. God.
The jury’s deliberating.
What exactly drove this chronic sinus sufferer to research homeopathic alternatives, you ask?
I’ve freaking had it. Up to here! Pointing to the tippy top of the mucous mans top hat, that’s what.
After a solid week of rest, fluids, pain relievers, decongestants, diligent sinus irrigation, warm compresses and steam.
I. give. up.
And… NO, I’d rather not visit my primary care physician to be put on antibiotics.
Just no.
I’m a nurse for fucks sake. Nurses cure themselves. Plus, they tend to use a smarter more practical approach.
I dove into the interwebs and researched homeopathic sinus remedies, with great hopes of putting this current green monster to rest.
RIP Mucous Man!
In a nut shell, the three top homeopathic choices were apple cider vinegar, cayenne pepper and hydrogen peroxide.
Here are the suggested dosages and methods if you’re interested.
I decided to go with the cayenne pepper. Mostly, because I like it HOT HOT HOT!!
Apple cider vinegar via inhalation- 1 tsp/cup of steaming water or 1/4 cup/vaporizer (average size) tank. Breathe it in.
Taken orally (drinking <–clarified, because you never know) the reccomended dose is 1 tsp/1 cup of steaming water. *Honey may be added to make this more palatable.
*Unfortunate note- I almost barfed after a few sips.
This may work out better, if perhaps you took a shot of Jack Daniels first. You already feel like total shit or you wouldn’t be considering drinking ACV in the first place, so it certainly couldn’t hurt.
The hydrogen peroxide option is for irrigation only. (via Neti pot or other system. I use the Sinugator by NeilMed. The Sinugator kicks ass. Plus, I like the cool name. Sinugator… RAWR!) Approx. 3ml/50ml distilled or sterile water. I keep approximating, because in witch doctory everything is approximated or ‘ish’, I assume.
I just made that up, because this is obviously not an exact science. Plus, I’m the boss of this post.
The cayenne pepper option can be snorted (the word snort makes me giggle madly) or taken orally. Oral- 1 tsp/cup of hot water- ingested 3 times per day. To snort, (giggle) put a TEENY (I can’t possibly stress this enough) pinch between your fingers and sniff it up.
Did I mention this is NOT for wimps? That part gets very very important here, as some people may find themselves running to the ER.
If you’re one of them, do not try this. Go directly to your physican and get a wussy antibiotic, you whiny baby. In fact, I think I hear your mommy calling you.
You’ve been warned.
Here’s a little blurb I wrote while conducting the CP experiment. For authenticity’s sake.
OoooooEmmmfuckinGeeeee!!!!
Lawd Jesus, it’s a FIRE…. in my nose!
Someone grab a cold pop. I’m ready to stick a Popsicle in each nostril.
This is NOT for wimps.
Things that have gone numb… nostrils, lips, tongue and most of my nose.
Possibly my eyes, but who could tell through the tears.
Do not try this at home.
The Internet experts swore this wasn’t unbearable and would only burn for a few minutes.
The Internet people are fucking liars liars… my nose is on FIRE!!!
I should’ve YouTubed this stunt, because then maybe I could get an endorsement from the cayenne pepper people instead of continuing to seek a normal boring day job.
Normal day jobs suck.
Yes, I’d absofuckinglutely be willing to turn myself into an inferno for cash.
Cha ching$$
Fifteen minutes and counting.
My glasses are fogging up for real and that has me LMAO and crying all at the same time.
Look… I’m a dragon!!
Bahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!
If this works I may never have to go to the doctors ever again.
The burn is starting to subside.
Breeeeeeeeathe.
Official study results- It’s been approximately 24 hours and I’m elated to say that I’ve seen a considerable improvement. The symptoms aren’t 100% gone, but I believe I’ve won the battle.
The Battle of FIRE!!!
Facebook Security… NOT
I’m re-posting this little spoof on Fb SECURITY with a catchy picture to trick you guys into reading it.
I have something to say about the latest Fb chain letter thing-a-ma-bullshit that says, “I want to stay PRIVATELY connected with you, blah blah blah, hover-over-my-name-and-recite-The-Declaration-of-Independence-backwards-3times-while-standing-on-your-head-shaking-a-tambourine bullshit.
No.
Adjust your own stinkin privacy settings.
This forum is called the Internet and it’s bigger than the Milky Way (not the creamy delicious candy bar, the galaxy… as in stars and shit)
If you post a photo of your cat, chances are Hitler’s great grandson’s cross dressing lesbian cousin may see it… and even like it.
She may even copy it and use it for her screen saver.
Shit happens. Especially, if it’s a cute cat.
Plus, you guys this is the INTERNET, it’s not an Amish Farm house isolated from society all quaint and private, it’s the Inter-freaking-NET.
By the Inter-freaking-NET, I mean you’re fb status is as private as a flashing billboard on Route 66.
Example: You can meticulously tweak your privacy settings to be as secure as Fort Knox, covered in barbed wire, guarded by rabid flying monkey’s, but there’s no guarantee that a Fb friend won’t share, copy or paste your posts elsewhere.
If you post it, expect it to be displayed in it’s full glory, neon lights flashing in the giant Internet showcase, right next to the Milky Way’s, M & M’s and Twix bars on Route 66… or the Great Wall of China.
I think the best privacy setting is common sense.
Which probably explains a lot.
If you must delete me, I’m totally cool with it.
You will probably miss my very fun posts though, so don’t forget to follow my blog, Extreme Mom, which happens to be a very open-ish format where you even get to follow me to doctor appointments, the dressing room at Macy’s and on occasion, even routine traffic stops by the po-lice.
I’m totally hip like that.
Would you like a side of charcoal with that?
Extreme Mom 
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