When grilling burgers, is one supposed to put barbeque sauce on the patties while they’re grilling so as they are to absorb the flavor of the sauce, or after they have cooked all of the way because they don’t actually absorb the sauce and all it does is make a huge mess all over the grill?
Prove me right, Internet.
Monthly Archives: June 2005
View THIS.
I have a confession.
I tivo’d The View.
If you knew how much I hate each and everyone of those women, you’d understand how badly it hurt to hit “record”. I haven’t watched them in YEARS, but last night, I saw a commercial that said Dr.Cruise was going to be on and I was like OH I HATE HIM SO I HAVE TO WATCH IT!
I just finished watching it and HOLY SHIT, it was worse than I had imagined it would be.
OH MY GOD.
Each of them kissed his ass profusely, as I expected they would, but WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THOSE WOMEN? It was “katie” this and “katie” that and “you must work out a lot because look at your body”. and “the movie was INCREDIBLE” and “GO GET KATIE WE WANT TO SEE HER BECAUSE THE WHOLE WORLD HASN’T HAD ENOUGH OF YOU BOTH YET SO GO GO OMG HERE SHE COMES EEEEEEEEEEEEE KATIE!”
I would love to “sit down” and “talk” with Mr.Cruise.
“Hey Tom, you recently made comments about Brooke Shields in which you judged her for the way she chose to treat her post partum depression. My question for you is.. When did you grow a vagina? Oh, you don’t have a vagina? Seriously? You mean, you’ve never pushed a human being with a skull and bones out of your twat? REALLY? Then why don’t you shut the fuck up about women’s issues already? Or, better yet? Why don’t you say it to my face, pretty boy? Tell me I was wrong to take medication to keep me from hurting myself YOU BIG STUD. SAY.IT.RIGHT.NOW.”
Why is the media so damn nice to that man? Why do the WOMEN continue to kiss his ass? I think he could say “I beat my wimmins and make them chew my toenails” and the women on The View would be like “You’re amazing, Tom! I’m jealous of Katie!”
Puke.
In other news, I got my hair “cut” today. Only, I chickened out because I’ve become completely attached to my long hair and only got a trim.
I love it though, it’s so fresh and light and shiny and… people? I’M IN LOVE. That’s right. I’m in love with my hair, because my hair is beautiful and compassionate, and my hair cares deeply about people.
YEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!
Glamour Shots (ha ha ha)
Now I understand why my dad used to take a ruler to my bangs and then, after I had spent HOURS getting them “just right”, take his hands and push them down while I cried “nooooo, they weren’t THAT HIGH!”
Now I understand why “grooming your eyebrows” is so important.
But THANK GOD for “clear mascara” because look how it made my eyes “pop”.
(Does the title of this post make The Internet uncomfortable? Because, it’s ok to laugh. Really, it is. Infact, it would make me feel better if you did. He’s not going anywhere, because he kissed me all over this morning and told me he loved me, but I can’t help but think he might change his mind when he’s at work because HELLO? I’m OVERLY DRAMATIC.)
Please send hate mail to imutilatecocks@becauseitmakesthempretty.com
SJ asked The World Wide Web if she should circumsize her potentially male baby.
Oh my GOD.
The Militants came out and are saying things like ““cutting off your baby’s eyelids because you think it looks better that way” and “mutilate” and “DON’T DO IT YOUR BOY WILL HATE YOU YOU PENIS MUTILATOR!!”
I made that one up, sort of.
But again… OH MY GOD.
We decided right away that we would have our boys snipped.
Yeah, that’s right, I mutilated my children. I AM A PENIS MUTILATOR! HOW CAN YOU STAND ME, INTERNET?
I understand being passionate about issues. I used to be an anti abortion advocate. I would protest, I would sit on the curb of abortion clinic driveways and pray for the babies that were going to be sucked into a sink that day. I would cry for the women who were going to be laying in a bed bleeding that night, crying for the “blob of tissue” they just had sucked out of their body. I would carry petitions to stop the murder of unborn babies and ask people to join me in the fight.
Then I grew up and I realized that it is not my place to tell other people what they should do. That people will make the decisions that they make and they have reasons for making them. I’ll never agree with abortion, you’ll never convince me it’s NOT the ending of a life, but I’ll never feel it’s my place to tell another woman what she should do with her body. It’s not my place to judge.
So, I understand people feeling so strongly about something that they feel the need to say things like “MUTILATE THE PENIS” or “WHY STOP THERE? WHY NOT CUT OF THE BABY’S EYELIDS TOO?” to make their point, but what’s with the overdramatics when it comes to FORESKIN? (yes, I know there are risks involved, but as parents, you consider the risks and you make the choice that YOU FEEL is the best one.)
It’s almost worse then the breastfeeding militants. “If you do not breastfeed your baby, your baby will BE SKINNY AND UGLY AND SICK ALL OF THE TIME AND IF YOU LOVED YOU BABY HOW COULD YOU STICK THAT BOTTLE IN THEIR MOUTH?”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a breastfeeding advocate, but I don’t get trying to SCARE women or intimidate them into doing it.
Nor do I get people trying to scare people into not clipping their potentially male baby’s penis.
I see an intervention in my future
“You’ve got so much shit in your head that you just need to get over.”
That’s what my friend told me this morning.
Or something REALLY close to that, because, I wasn’t paying attention.
That’s another thing she said.
“You don’t pay very close attention to things.”
Both statements are completely true.
The gym we recently joined has tanning beds and offer one free tan. She suggested we try it after our workout. I immediately began to freak out at the idea of getting into a tanning bed. “I’m claustrophobic.” “I’ll panic” and most importantly? “I’m not getting naked!”
You see, one of the biggest reasons I’ve never tried a tanning bed?
The whole “naked” thing. I don’t get naked anywhere but in my bathroom, and only after checking to make sure the door is locked and Tony’s not hiding behind the toilet to Sneek A Peek.
As I was standing there, trying to think of a way to get out of it, I made a decision to stop listening to all of The Shit in my head and just DO IT.
“I’m stepping WAY outside of my comfort zone. I just want that to be known!” I said to my friend as I signed the waiver form.
I did panic a little once I shut the top of the bed, but I closed my eyes and tried to think “happy thoughts” only, it didn’t really work because MAN, all I could think about was “What if my nipples burn? HOW WILL GABBY LIVE because aint NO ONE sucking on them if they burn!”
Other than worrying about my nipples, I LOVED IT. The heat felt great and I walked out of there with some color on my Germanly white legs. I now plan on doing it at least once a week.
Had I given into all of The Shit in my head, I never would have tried it and I’d not be sporting a sweet lil’ tan on my not so sweet, not so lil’ body.
I love this whole new world of mine, in which I tell the paranoid voices that live in my head to “SHUT IT” and I listen to the voices of the people who love me and promise me they are not going to let anything bad happen to me inside of the tanning bed.
Life is much better this way. Much better.
I’m sorry.
I can not tolerate people who are “stuck up” (Not to be confused with people with sticks stuck up their asses. I LOVE them kinds of peoples)
When I say “stuck up” I do not mean “confident” or “self assured”. I admire women like that and hope that someday I can be a confident person. I’m talking people who think they are better than the rest of the human race because they buy $500 handbags or because they “aren’t fat”. I’m talking about the people who NEVER SHUT THE HELL UP about how great they are and how much everyone loves them and how everyone in the world wants to be just like them. I’m talking about people who can’t shut the hell up long enough to listen to other people and realize that the WORLD DOES NOT REVOLVE AROUND THEM.
I also have a hard time tolerating the people who can not say “I’m sorry” when they’ve acted like a dick or hurt someone with their inconsiderate ways because, you know, they ARE PERFECT and NEVER DO ANYTHING WRONG.
You ram your grocery cart into me because you were being a dick and not paying attention? “I’M SORRY, I totally shouldn’t have been standing here minding my own business!”
You scream at me because YOU’VE had a bad day and you haven’t even bothered to ask me what kind of a day I’ve had? “I’m SO SO SORRY!”
You don’t like something I write here? “Oh my God! I’m SORRY!”
I really have to stop that sorry shit.
Guess what?
I’M NOT SORRY!
So, that’s what’s pissing ME off on this lovely Friday morning.
That and tom cruise NOT SHUTTING THE FUCK UP ABOUT ANTI DEPRESSANTS ALREADY. Surely, there has got to be a way to make him stop. This probably won’t work, but hey, at least people are trying.
So, like, tell me doc, exactly HOW BIG do the balls swell?
The Pokey Strike WORKED!
The first thing Pighunter did when he got home from work today was called and made an appointment to get snipped!
Of course, he has to go to a class first (which, I get to attend! Oh, the fun I will have!) That class is booked until August, and we’re on a “waiting list”. But hey, at least he made the damn phone call.
Hopefully, before the end of the year, his penis will no longer be a Weapon of Mass Fertilaztion and he can “stuff my enchilada” as many times as he wants and… NO BABIES!
When he made the call, I just sat there thinking “Wow, he really DOES want to have sessual relations with me!”
I am THIS CLOSE to being able to have sex again without saying things like “I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU IF THAT THING BREAKS”
My vagina is so happy. (Yes, Melly, she’s smiling.)
Power of The Poots.
I was this close to not going to The 30 minute Workout For Wimmins tonight.
Thiiiiis close I tell you.
Because, internet? I have to be completely honest with you.
I had Serious Gas.
I wasn’t sure how my friend would take it if I called and said “Dude, I know it’s only the second day, but HOMEY, I can NOT stop farting. And these aren’t your ‘average’ farts either, these are the kind that have the potential to cause nosebleeds and I don’t want to make the wimmins bleed.”
I decided to suck it up, or in this case, squeeze REALLY HARD and just go.
I wasn’t going to let the possiblity of being SEVERELY HUMILIATED stop me.
I totally ripped a few, once in front of the GINORMOUS FAN and I’ll admit it, I got nervous for the lady across the room from me.
(That’s right, Trish, I farted on the equipment you sat on!)
I got through the workout without having to fess up to ripping ’em and without making anyone’s nose bleed.
I also got through the workout with very little booblash. I bought a new sports bra at target and I doubled it up with my old one. The result? Superb boob holdage. Jumping up and down is now really great fun!
I was so pumped up after the workout. On the way home, I ACTUALLY had this conversation in my head…”If I can workout whilst trying to clench the cheeks together to keep the gas in and save people from bleeding, NOTHING CAN STOP ME!!”
I’ll take inspiration any way I can get it,people.
Because 2 gym memberships, Billy Blanks boot camp, Walk Away the Pounds, THE GRIND WITH THE ‘NIES, 1 Body Blade isn’t enough
Yesterday, I decided to join yet ANOTHER gym.
It’s what I like to call a “Generic Curves.”
It’s called “Slim and Tone” or, like the big, red letters that light up says “30 minute workout for wimmims”.
You see, my friend “won” a “30 day free membership” in a “random drawing.” Which is SO FUNNY and totally NOT a coincidence that I had “won” a “30 day” “free” “membership” a month earlier. I didn’t “cash in” on my “prize” because I’m a “flake.”
It’s a total scam, because, you have to make an appointment with a “trainer” for your first visit, and after they teach you how everything works, some chick sits down to tell you about the program and then BAM! Out of nowhere, they’re all “Normally, we charge THIS amount, but if you join RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE we’ll only charge you THIS much!”
Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a “free” anything, but more like “HAHAH SUCKAAAAAAAAHHHHS, WE GOT YOU BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU LOVED IT AND WANT TO JOIN NOW.”
Lucky for them, I’m really fat and desperate. My friend, however, is not at all fat, but she wants to tone up. If I wasn’t fat and desperate, I would have stood up and shouted “You’re all a bunch of scheming LIAAAARRSSSSS” instead of running to the car to get my checkbook and think of a way to tell Tony “Hey, guess what? I joined ANOTHER gym!” without him revoking my “get out of the house free before cooking dinner, woman” card.
Tonight we went and did our first official workout.
The first 5 minutes was all fun and games to me.
“hahaha my boobs are bouncing!”
“hahahaha MY THIGHS!”
“hahaha It’s the chicken dance song!”
“hahahhaa I’m taking my pulse!”
But DAMN. It stopped being funny real quick. I became painfully aware of the fact that “OH MY GOD, I’M GOING TO HAVE TO DO THIS FOR, LIKE, MONTHS BEFORE THERE ARE ANY RESULTS!”
I also became aware of the fact that bouncing boobs start hurting after a few trips to the face and back and? Having to HOLD THEM DOWN with your hands whilst jumping up and down is slightly humiliating.
I say “slightly” because the truth is I have no dignity. I’ve dry humped a roll of carpet in front of a group of people to get a laugh, people. Flapping tits isn’t really that big of a deal.
We’ll see how this goes, but hopefully with the support of a friend who I know will NOT LET ME FLAKE AND MAKE UP STUPID EXCUSES that I will lose this freaking weight and these excess inches. (Because HOLY SHIZNIT, they took my measurements and, well, how can I put this. Um, ok… My waist is bigger than Tony’s. I won’t tell you the number, but I’ll give you a hint. It rhymes with “shorty”.)
Women with flaws UNITE!
Yesterday I spent the day at Knotts with my entire family (minus my youngest brother, who got stuck at work) for Ethan’s birthday.
It was an incredibly fun day. We don’t get to see my brother often, being that he left us to move to Texas, (or, as Melly calls it, ASS. HAHA My brother lives in ASS!) so my boys loved every minute of the day. Well, maybe not the minute where we were 2046094 feet in the air waiting for the ride to drop and my brother was telling Andrew “You just made the biggest mistake of your life!”, but every other minute was pure awesomeness.
This morning I was able to read through the comments on my last post and I am reminded WHY I love having this blog. I almost shut comments down on that post because it was so deeply personal, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to hear what anyone had to say on the matter. Like “No! You’re stretch marks are AWESOME!” Or “You’re right. You’re disgusting! How DOES your husband keep from puking all over you when he looks at you?” You never know what people are going to say. I’m glad that I kept them open. It’s comforting to know that there are other women out there, who have stretch marks on their belly’s and have the insecurities and hatred that come along with them. Not that I wish any other woman to feel the way I do, or LOOK the way I do, but it’s empowering to be able to talk openly and honestly about the fact that we ALL struggle with body issues and that we can find strength in each other’s experiences.
CHEESE ALERT. CHEEEEEESE ALERT.
Seriously though, thank you to all of you who have been so honest in your replies. It means more to me than you know.