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Putting the cart before the rest of us….

Well, well, well….

Remember when I posted the following, (after I went to Disney World) and many of you blasted me with hate emails????

Well, I hate to say it, but by the size of the humans that were walking around, zipping around on motorized carts, in Disney World, …. Everywhere we went we were met with hoards of overweight people with Mickey Mouse ears on and fanny packs strapped onto their motorized carts.

This is a very common scene...tremendously large humans with Mickey Mouse ears on with huge sodas....
This is a very common scene…tremendously large humans with Mickey Mouse ears on with huge sodas….These people only left their carts so they could get a good seat for the parade.

“I’m sorry did I miss the episode of the Mickey Mouse Club when Mickey announced he loved fat people and soda?” I asked Mr. Gaga. “I don’t get it.” I said to Mr. Gaga as we were making our way through the crowds of obese people.

“Well they are fat because they drink soda and the fact that they are so fat and lazy that they can’t walk doesn’t help,” he pointed out. I looked around and realized at the moment that about half of the people in the park were driving carts and half were walking. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed, “I thought everyone was injured!” Mr. Gaga stared at me like I was an idiot.

When I looked a little closer I realized nobody even had a band-aid on, let alone anything that indicated a real injury!!
When I looked a little closer I realized nobody even had a band-aid on, let alone anything that indicated a real injury!!

After a few days in the Magic Kingdom we made our way to Epcot Center. “Hey did you notice there aren’t any motorized carts here?” Mr. Gaga pointed out. “Oh yeah…I wonder why?” I said as I looked over the map of the Epcot. “Oh!! I bet we will see them in “America!”

After enjoying music, culture and food in Japan, France, Italy and Mexico I was afraid to see what “America” had to offer.

“It’s just going to be big enormous people laying on couches everywhere eating McDonalds and drinking huge sodas.” I said to Mr. Gaga as we made our way.

“Or enormous children playing video games,” Mr. Gaga offered.

We were pleasantly surprised that neither of those features were the focus of the America showcase in Epcot.

Thank God….it would be totally embarrassing if the world found out the truth about us.

It’s best to keep this little soda problem a secret between you, me, Mickey Mouse and Mayor Bloomberg.

Well it looks like even OLD MICKEY MOUSE HIMSELF recognized that these motorized carters were imposters!!

Pretending that they can’t walk so they can zip to the front of every line!!!!!

The jig is up motorized cart people.

The jig is up.

Disney World issued a statement this week that they would modify the rules that allowed everyone who is in a motorized cart to just zip in front of the 500 people who have waited in the hot sweaty lines for 2 hours.

While it is important to allow special needs children to get in front of the line – because clearly it is a priority for them – it is NOT a priority for people who abuse the system.

Funny enough – we chose this week to go to the BIG E – which is basically a the ultimate in New England fairs.  It’s much dirtier than Disney, and much less rides and much trashier food.

Also – there’s no mouse – so they make do with whatever white trash mascot they can think of.  Here – the kids begged me to play a game where they would win – what appears to be a banana that is a Rastafarian??


Also – this fair is pretty big – but not nearly as big as Disney, so there aren’t as many motorized carts.

But I did take some time to actually observe the motorized carters when I saw them.

I noticed one couple had filled the basket in front of their cart with cigarettes, lighters and fried doughs.

The irony was not lost on me.

The main point of this fair is to eat ungodly things that no human should ever eat -

I kicked it off with fried pickles….


Remember when I blogged about Mr. Gaga’s Irish tendencies??

Well Mr. Gaga took it one step further by ordering this…..


This is called “fried shephard’s pie” …smothered with gravy….
Yes. It’s true.

So then it was time to feed the kids.

Usual requests include burgers and pizza.

“I want one of those.” Michael said pointing to a food stand.

“Are you sure? You have never had one… might not like it.”

“I want one.” he said positively.

“Ok.” I answered hesitantly.

It was my first time too and it was fucking delicious.


While we were on a roll with the white trash foods – I took a gamble and decided we should try one of the Big E specialties.

It’s called the Craz-E burger.

If you guessed that this was a bacon cheeseburger placed gently in between two glazed doughnuts, then you would be correct....

If you guessed that this was a bacon cheeseburger placed gently in between two glazed doughnuts, then you would be correct….

I have to say – it was pretty good!!

Now does anyone know where I can buy a motorized cart??



Pottery Barn Lunches

All this talk about lunches reminded me of this post from last summer about the Pottery Barn lunch catalogue…..Enjoy;)

When I was very young, my mother decided that I was quite independent and capable.

Upon discovering my love of “doing things myself,” she rearranged her kitchen cabinets and moved all of the cereal to the lowest cabinet. She taught me how to pour milk and make a sandwich for lunch. Once the basic survival skills were mastered she informed me and my brother that she would no longer be available in the mornings.

From that point on, we were responsible for getting ourselves up in the morning, getting dressed and ready for school, making breakfast and making ourselves lunch, and getting to the bus stop on time. To our credit (and hers) we managed to do this pretty much without incident. We never missed the bus and I don’t remember feeling neglected or abandoned in any way, even though the very first cereal I remember preparing for myself looked like this….

Fast forward to modern times when I have my own children and I have spent countless hours up at the crack of dawn preparing meals and snacks. Reflecting back on that time – it seems just a bit outrageous.

It’s a topic of conversation that she doesn’t enjoy, yet my brother and I bring it up constantly. It usually goes like this….

“Mom – remember when you announced that you were never waking up again – and we had to make our own lunch?”

She usually rolls her eyes…..”Oh – like you had such a bad life? I think you’re fine.”

“Yes – I’m fine – but it was little ridiculous that you weren’t up with us…”

“Oh, poor you…yes – you had it sooo bad. Did you have a good life? Did your father and I send you to college and give you a nice wedding?”

“Mom – that’s not the point – I am just saying – it was crazy to expect us to do everything by ourselves….we were like 2.”

“I was helping you to become more independent…..Like it’s so hard to pour a bowl of cereal?”

“Well it’s not – but when you are 4-years-old the gallon of milk is a little bit heavy.”

Usually it’s by this point in the conversation that she has left the room or hung up on me.

While I do think her morning routine was completely unacceptable, I am secretly envious of her 1970’s “laid back” parenting style.

Imagine just simply not waking up in the morning and sleeping in with no worries about what your children will wear, eat for breakfast or eat for lunch? How luxurious!

While I know that those days of parenting are long gone – never to return, I received full confirmation this week when I opened my Pottery Barn Kids Fall Gear 2012 Catalogue.

To start off I should have known I was in trouble when the catalogue started off with a picture of a preschooler carrying a backpack.

The “Pottery Barn people” must have really brain-stormed to come up with an image of a child that everyone could relate to.

It was only logical that they decided on a photo of a small child carrying 250 pounds of school supplies in a bag that is as big as he is, outside on the grounds of what appears to be……Harvard?

Oh yeah – and of course his name is Penn…What else would it be? And I am sure we could all agree that yellow suede loafers are the obvious choice for 4-year-old boys.

OK – so on to the lunch bag section of the catalogue. Of course modern-day parenting dictates that all snacks and lunches must be presented to children in fancy canvas totes with their names on it in bold text accompanied by an image of Darth Vader or Spider Man.

Gone are the days of the brown paper lunch bag.

Also, in the classic style of Pottery Barn, who historically since its inception seemed to make its mission as a company to make housewives and mothers feel badly about the state of things in their home……the “Pottery Barn People” have presented their impression of what a child’s lunch should look like.

Apparently their idea of a “lunch” drastically differs from mine.

Is this what my kids are supposed to see when they open their fancy lunch tote with 55 zippers and compartments?

Because that will never happen….

Please note that the sandwich has been fashioned into some sort of exotic daisy and a dipping sauce has been made available as part of Blair’s very balanced meal….If the other kindergarteners had any doubts if Blair’s mother loved her – I think it will be very clear now……

So … I am thinking I’m a great mother because I sometimes heat up Progresso soup in the morning and put it into a Batman thermos for Michael.

Once again – I am wrong. I am not mother of the year – in fact I might be the worst mother in America – according to Pottery Barn Kids.

As I kept reading – it became clear that I am, as I suspected, a very, very bad mother. I might as well just stay in bed like my mother…..because I have not once shaped sandwiches into a tic tac toe game smartly utilizing carrot shreds and pieces of grapes.

In the town where I grew up – If I ever opened up a lunch to reveal a tic tac toe game made out of sandwiches, I would get my ass kicked and my new name would be “Tic Tac” until I graduated highschool…..

Just when I was about to throw the catalogue in the garbage something caught my eye.

Wait – could this be true?

I know that good mothers are ones that send in little notes with their children’s lunch. I have been known to even send a note here or there.

But could it be possible that Pottery Barn Kids is SELLING IN THEIR CATALOGUE, something called “Lunch Box Love Notes.”

So – if you are too lazy or dumb to write out your own note to your child – no worries!! Pottery Barn has done it for you!!!

Thank you Mom for sleeping the day away and never sending me to school with a miniature sandwich with a yellow tomato ball and a queer love note on top of it.

Please notice the green note in the bottom right-hand corner.

So in case your kids is telling horrible stories at the lunch table – and the other kids are staring blankly at him – or saying something like “That story sucked,” – your note will be there to save the day!!

God forbid the 6 hour school day goes by without these children receiving some undeserving accolades from their mother!!

I actually perused the catalogue for a minute – thinking it would be nice to have the notes ready to go in the drawer in the morning. Maybe I would buy some, but I searched through the whole thing and couldn’t find any that were my kind of notes…..

Really?? It’s not enough that this lunch consists of yuca chips and cherry tomatoes? If my mother ever put a note in my lunch that said I was a “kind person” I would kill her.

I usually write things like:

“Hope you are having a nice day Michael – by the way the shirt you’re wearing is from Nordstrom – so if you rip your clothes at recess again today you are punished for a week.”


“Hi Love bug – don’t forget – if that bully bothers you again remember how Daddy told you to punch him right in the face!! Have a great day :)”


“If your friend offers to share his fruit snacks today, you are not allowed to eat them. This is why he already had a root canal when he was 4 – you will thank me later :)”

I guess I will be writing my own notes this school year…..


Back to School Anxiety

I might be the only mother in America to say this – but I do not want school to start.
As much as I complain about the kids, they aren’t that bad really.

I mean isn’t China already way ahead of us….is it really necessary to go back to school in August??

I am fairly certain that Americans aren’t going to suddenly plunge ahead in the industrialized world simply because we go back to school before Labor Day.

All that happens is that I get a little paler earlier in the season than necessary.

I actually dread the kids going back to school.

It’s so much more than them actually not being home all day.
I don’t want to wake up early and run around like a maniac signing permission slips, searching for library books and packing snacks.

I don’t want to make sure that the children are wearing matching outfits.
I don’t want to make sure that their teeth are brushed and that their hair is combed so that they don’t look like meth addicts.
I don’t want to spend my first moments every morning surrounded by adult and child assholes at the bus stop.
I don’t want to get an email from the PTO five times a day asking me for money in a variety of different ways.
I don’t want to plan playdates.
I don’t want to help the kids with their homework. By the way… why is this my problem? I am sure the Chinese mothers aren’t doing homework.

But the number one reason why I am dreading going back to school is that I do not want to pack lunches everyday.
It seems like just yesterday it was the afternoon of the last day of school. I took both kids lunch boxes and announced, “If I pack one more fucking lunch I am going to slit my throat,” and kicked them down the stairs into the basement.
Well here we are…in two weeks I will be in the basement dusting them off and bringing them back upstairs.

I know you might be thinking….what’s the big deal?
Well let me break it down for you.

First of all, gone are the days when you could just throw some bologna in between some Wonder bread, slap an apple on top of it so it’s flat and mushy by lunchtime and send the kid on his way.

I distinctly remember two things about lunch when I was in elementary school.

I remember there were 2 girls who brought liverwurst sandwiches. I did not want to sit next to them because it smelled and made me want to throw up and also I felt bad for them, because I figured their life must be pretty bad if their mother sent them to school with that shit.

I also remember when a boy named Andrew choked on a hot dog and the gym teacher had to give him the Heimlich maneuver to save his life and the hot dog came up with an ocean of vomit and chocolate milk.

I never ate a hot dog again after that for a good 20 years.

Nowadays there is quite a bit to consider.

There are a lot of issues to deal with when considering lunchtime.
There’s the whole childhood obesity issue, there’s the cavity issue, there’s the cancer problem, the high fructose corn syrup problem, and the food allergy problem.

Let’s start with food allergy problem.

My kids do not have food allergies but have been basically told everywhere from the gym to the playground since they were born that peanuts are not allowed. As a result, my children, who eat peanut butter and fluff like it’s their job during the summer – will not take peanut butter items to school.

Other kids (who also do not have a peanut allergy and are sitting at a table free of food allergies) make fun of them and won’t sit with them if they have peanut butter in their lunch!!!!

Personally I think it's a bit much but in their cafeteria this sign is actually hanging up and it says in big bold letters across it, "Fuck this guy."

Personally I think it’s a bit much but in their cafeteria this sign is actually hanging up and it says in big bold letters across it, “Fuck this guy.”

Can you believe this? So out goes what was once a major staple of American lunch for about 5000 years.

Ok so then there’s the whole matter of obesity and cavities.
Remember how children used to be allowed to eat fruit roll ups, raisins, Capri Suns and fruit snacks?
That’s not allowed.  Now that elementary school children in America are the size of sumo wrestlers, only the most horrible parents that can’t read would send such items into school.

If you go to the dentist with your children you will find that these foods will basically cause the children’s teeth to rot out of their heads.

Of course it does become confusing when the dreaded peanut is on the good side.....

Of course it does become confusing when the dreaded peanut is on the good side…..

So you think “Ok, well they can have some sort of sandwich and water.”

Well there’s the matter of the nitrates in the cold cuts. Remember when a cold cut sandwich was a healthy option? Remember when we all ate bologna sandwiches our whole life?

Yeah – that’s what would now be referred to as a “nitrate surprise.”
If it was up to Sam he would have a pepperoni sandwich every single day. I have now spent the whole summer switching up different cold cuts and mixing them in with one piece of pepperoni to cut down on the red dye and carcinogens. He will eat these sandwiches if I call them “Italian combos.”

I try to get him to take other things. Sometimes he will eat cold pizza and one time Mr. Gaga sent him with a sausage and pepper sandwich.

One time when Sam was in kindergarten I sent in a grilled cheese wrapped up in foil so it would still be warm by the time he ate it.
When he got home he said that one of his friends (whose mother basically lives at the school volunteering and involving herself in everyone’s lives) looked at his sandwich and said “What kind of mother would send in a grilled cheese sandwich?”
Can you believe this bullshit?

I said “Oh! Why don’t you tell him a mother that has very limited to time to spend making lunch because she has better things to do with her life…unlike your mother, you douchebag.”
But apparently he was only 5 and had a hard time remembering all the words in that speech even though we went over it several times. He never took a grilled cheese sandwich again.
Then there’s Michael who will not eat one cold cut ever.
He flat out refuses.
He will only eat a bagel with cream cheese or Italian wedding soup.
I loyally switch back and forth between the two lunch items ALL YEAR LONG.

Sometimes I think about the two girls who ate liverwurst and worry for him.
“Does anyone every wonder why you are eating Italian wedding soup everyday?” I ask.
“Do you think people think you are weird?” I ask.
“I don’t care.” he answers simply.
And he really doesn’t.
Which leads me to the final point about lunches.

Children really don’t have any shame anymore.

If my mother put one toe into my cafeteria when I was young, I first would pretend I didn’t know who she was.  If that didn’t work I would throw up or faint.

Not today’s children…They beg and plead for their mother’s to join them for lunch. Upon joining the children, parents sit at the “parent and child” lunch table and enjoy special lunchtime bonding.

I only agree to this for the children’s birthdays and am shocked to find every time I show up the parents tables are bumpin.

Is this really what our world has come to?

Doesn’t anyone have stuff to do anymore??

Would any mother before the year 2000 actually stop what they were doing to come eat lunch with their kid?



Please God let these last few days of summer be sunny and wonderful and please let the transition back to school be easier than expected….

I am going to sleep now to dream of a world where children eat peanut butter and jelly and don’t want to eat lunch with their mothers……




Mayor Bloomberg would hate Disney World

I have a great reason for not blogging last week. I was collecting material for my blog, enjoying a wonderful vacation to Disney World with my family.
There’s just so much to talk about it is hard to pin it all down into one post. Today I am going to discuss our “meal plan” that was part of our vacation package. (You know I love to talk about food.)
The plan we had allowed us to each have one snack, one full service meal, and one “quick-service” meal per day.   Our first day we got off the plane and went straight to the park, arriving into Disney around 11 AM. After a couple of hours we were hungry so we decided to stop and utilize a “quick service” meal. This had been described to us as something that can be ordered at a counter, such as a hot dog or sandwich.

We found a place that looked pretty good and I ordered hot dogs for the kids and sandwiches for Mr. Gaga and myself.

I was informed by the girl taking the order that the meals would all come with fries and drinks.
“Great!” I said to the girl as she grabbed a tray and I started to swipe my card.
“Wait, what desserts would you like?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You all get desserts…we have cheesecake, chocolate mousse cake or crème brulee.”
I stared blankly.

Who the hell eats crème brulee in the middle of the day in sunny 85 degree weather?
“What?” I asked, stalling for time as a crowd formed behind me. She repeated the choices, I made a decision finally, sensing the people in the line behind me were losing patience.
Mr. Gaga had taken the tray by then and had filled everyone’s drinks. I headed back to the table with enough food to feed an army. Mr. Gaga was grabbing condiments and napkins and I looked up to see Michael heading towards me with a tray of the largest beverages I have ever seen.

The tray was leaning dangerously towards the ground. The weight of the insanely large drinks was too much for his little arms.
Before I could help him the tray tipped and a huge tidal wave of diet coke came towards me and Sam.

We screamed. “Help me Mama!” cried Sam as the soda tsunami came rushing towards him. I couldn’t save him, and before we knew it we were both drenched with soda.

The soda was so large that it exploded and one of the rides had to be shut down for the day....

The soda was so large that when it spilled one of the rides had to be shut down for the rest of the day….

We stared at Michael who stood holding the empty tray limply. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes.
“It’s ok Michael, it was an accident,” I said as I started to wipe up the table. Mr. Gaga came strolling over at this point. “It’s your father’s fault for making you carry 50 gallons of soda alone.” I said with disgust while I wrung out my shirt.
“I told him to wait for me!” Mr. Gaga protested.
“Well who the fuck drinks this much soda in the first place?” I demanded pointing to the enormous cups that had fallen off the tray.
“It’s the size that comes with the lunch!” he said defensively.
That’s the size that comes with the lunch? So every meal we order comes with a beverage filled with high fructose corn syrup as big as my house?
Call me Mayor Bloomberg but I found this highly problematic.

We all sat down and started eating.

“You talk about me getting big sodas…why did you buy 4 chocolate cakes?” Mr. Gaga asked me with disgust.

I looked at all of the food and drinks.  “They made me.” I answered helplessly.
That night we checked into the hotel and upon check in they handed us 4 huge Mickey Mouse mugs.

“What are these for?” I asked.
“Oh they are refillable! You can fill them up all day and night for free throughout your stay at the hotel!”
“How many fucking beverages does a human being need around here?” I asked Mr. Gaga as I tossed the cups into a bag in our room.

The next morning as we were in line for our shuttle we noticed everyone was drinking coffee out of their refillable mugs. That was a good idea. Later in the afternoon, I filled mine with ice coffee by the pool.

Oh and by the way - I should have known we were in trouble when this is LITERALLY what one of the pools at our hotel looked like.....

Oh and by the way – I should have known we were in trouble when this is LITERALLY what one of the pools at our hotel looked like…..

Mr. Gaga came strolling over with the kids all drinking out of their enormous mugs. The kids had root beer and he had yet another enormous diet coke.
“Why do you keep drinking so much diet coke?” I demanded. “Your committing suicide….”
He shrugged, “I don’t want to drink anything with sugar,” he said as he guzzled it down.
“You are like all the rest of these soda-guzzling Americans, do you know that there’s no sugar but there’s like battery acid and tar remover in there? You are going to die! You can’t drink any more diet coke the rest of the vacation!” I pleaded.
The next day I ordered a club soda with my meal.
“We don’t offer club soda,” the waitress answered. “You can buy a bottled water for 3 bucks.”
This is a common trend. If you don’t choose to drink an Atlantic Ocean size drink of soda, then you are penalized. I accepted my fate and paid for water.
Mind you I have told you all many times I am a fat person with baby weight that I still haven’t lost since I had my six-year-old son….however I try to make somewhat sane decisions when I am consuming food and beverages. Drinking soda morning, noon and night somehow seems like insane behavior to me.

By the end of the trip I gave up and just sat on my bed and drank soda all night like it was my job....

By the end of the trip I gave up and just sat on my bed and drank soda all night like it was my job….

I come from a town where if you don’t buy everything from Whole Foods then you are a moron. People here would lump high fructose corn syrup into the same categories they would put guns and crystal meth. To be surrounded by crowds of people who just down soda with reckless abandon is startling.
Was this an accurate picture of America. Do Americans really just guzzle soda all day by the gallon?
Well, I hate to say it, but by the size of the humans that were walking around, zipping around on motorized carts, in Disney World, then yes….yes they do.
Everywhere we went we were met with hoards of overweight people with Mickey Mouse ears on and fanny packs strapped onto their motorized carts.

This is a very common scene...tremendously large humans with Mickey Mouse ears on with huge sodas....

This is a very common scene…tremendously large humans with Mickey Mouse ears on with huge sodas….These people only left their carts so they could get a good seat for the parade.

“I’m sorry did I miss the episode of the Mickey Mouse Club when Mickey announced he loved fat people and soda?” I asked Mr. Gaga. “I don’t get it.” I said to Mr. Gaga as we were making our way through the crowds of obese people.
“Well they are fat because they drink soda and the fact that they are so fat and lazy that they can’t walk doesn’t help,” he pointed out.
I looked around and realized at the moment that about half of the people in the park were driving carts and half were walking.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, “I thought everyone was injured!”
Mr. Gaga stared at me like I was an idiot.

When I looked a little closer I realized nobody even had a band-aid on, let alone anything that indicated a real injury!!

When I looked a little closer I realized nobody even had a band-aid on, let alone anything that indicated a real injury!!

After a few days in the Magic Kingdom we made our way to Epcot Center.
“Hey did you notice there aren’t any motorized carts here?” Mr. Gaga pointed out.
“Oh yeah…I wonder why?” I said as I looked over the map of the Epcot. “Oh!! I bet we will see them in “America!”

After enjoying music, culture and food in Japan, France, Italy and Mexico I was afraid to see what “America” had to offer.

“It’s just going to be big enormous people laying on couches everywhere eating McDonalds and drinking huge sodas.” I said to Mr. Gaga as we made our way.

“Or enormous children playing video games,” Mr. Gaga offered.

We were pleasantly surprised that neither of those features were the focus of the America showcase in Epcot.

Thank God….it would be totally embarrassing if the world found out the truth about us.

It’s best to keep this little soda problem a secret between you, me, Mickey Mouse and Mayor Bloomberg.

There’s plenty more to discuss about Disney World and America….stay tuned in my next post when I discuss more disturbing human behaviors that I witnessed on my trip!







May the force be with me….

Mr. Gaga is responsible for taking care of the kids most Saturdays.

I am not at the spa.

I am not getting a pedicure or lunching with friends.

I am working most Saturdays.

Mr. Gaga will have everyone thinking that he has it very rough.  He will tell random people that he runs into at games, birthday parties, and the store that he’s a “single dad.”

When interacting with other parents of children we barely know he will find a way to steer the conversation to some point where he can announce, “Well, I do everything  because I am a single dad.”

He finds this hilarious.

Last Saturday was the first basketball games of the season for both kids.

When we all got home I asked how it went.

“Good, Sam’s coach seems nice and I saw Todd’s mom and we were talking about the Star Wars party she’s having for him next weekend.”

(Todd is Sam’s friend – we have gone out socially with his parents one time.)

“She said that we were invited to stay during the party and hang out and eat…”

“Hmm, hmm,” I said distractedly as I read my email.

“So I told her that we would bring Star Wars cookies.” he threw in nonchalantly.

Imagine this making a huge screeching noise....

Imagine this making a huge screeching noise….

“And what did she say???” I asked, hoping that this mother responded with something like “Oh no – that’s not necessary!”

“She said “Great!,” he answered.

“What??!! Why??!!!” I asked in shock.

“Well we have those cookie cutters…” he answered nonchalantly…”What’s the big deal?”

When a kind aunt that always gives my kids really cool stuff was nice enough to give us these fancy Star Wars cookie cutters from Williams Sonoma, I did what any level-headed woman would do.  I hid the box in a closet.

Sorry Aunt Sue, but this box hasn't seen the light of day since you gave it to us....

Sorry Aunt Sue, but this box hasn’t seen the light of day since you gave it to us….

Apparently Williams Sonoma thinks it’s just every mother’s dream to sit around making baked goods into the shapes of Star Wars characters.

Also – if that’s not enough activity to kill all of your time and your will to live you can also make Star Wars pancakes.

Screw you Williams are an asshole...and your pancakes are assholes too.

Screw you Williams Sonoma……

And if you have completely lost your marbles…for the bargain-price of $15 you can actually flip this Darth Vader-shaped breakfast with this:


Needless to say Thursday afternoon came, and I had to get to work on the cookies. First I went to the store to purchase the 47 types of frosting I would need to create these cinematic masterpieces.

 I made the sugar cookie dough.  I hosted a playdate for Sam’s friend and then two other kids came over for dinner, while their parents were at a wake.  I baked 5 dozen sugar cookies while the kids played.

When I cleaned up from dinner and had the kids had settled at around 8 PM, it was time to start frosting the cookies.

“OK, I’m going to head up and take a shower and go to bed.” Mr. Gaga said coolly as he started up the stairs.

“Oh no you aren’t.” I said threateningly.  “You better take this black frosting and start with some Darth Vaders.”

He huffed and puffed but attempted to help while I was working diligently on my Storm Troopers.

He looked over with disgust…”What the hell is that?? That’s not a Storm Trooper…it’s a sad dog with a headband on!!!”

He had a point....

He had a point….


I had green and black frosting everywhere, the kitchen was trashed and I was delirious.

“I hope you are happy…from now on when you go to games or birthday parties keep your mouth shut!” I said with disgust.

By 9 o’clock he had completely abandoned ship.

I spent the entire night cursing him and George Lucas.

I was seeing double and exhausted when I finally finished all of the cookies.

But then they looked absolutely horrible…nothing like the box.  Nothing like Williams Sonoma told me they would look like…

I made Mr. Gaga come look at the cookies.

“I can’t see straight…my back and eyeballs are killing me….but does this just look like an entire rack of Saddam Hussein cookies?? That’s all I see.”


I ate the cookie on the bottom left because it looked like some sort of Arab dictator with sunglasses on….and I didn’t think that would be appropriate for a kids’ party.

“No they look fine!” he said wearily. “Just go to bed!”

“I can’t go to bed now!! I still have to do Boba Fett’s black trim and the red dots in the Yoda eyes!!”

In the end – they came out decent enough…..

4 cookies

This is not exactly what the ass-hats at Williams Sonoma had in mind…but it will have to do.

I think that the people who come up with these crafty little ideas at the Williams Sonoma corporation should be held accountable for the hours of torture they inflict on people…..

But in the meantime, in case you were wondering …I am the best mother ever.





The truth will set us free!!

Everyone is just spilling every bean they own lately.

First Al Roker decided to bust the news, years after the fact, that he pooped his pants at the White House during a press conference.

I am sorry – but why are you telling us this Al?  This little bout with telling the truth – falls into the category of TMI for me.

In a cruel twist of fate, Al also shit in this gingerbread man costume and was found out by this dog....

In a cruel twist of fate, Al also took a huge dump in this gingerbread man costume and was found out by a dog….

Sometimes it is good to tell the truth. Sometimes one lie leads to another which leads to another and before you know it your life and other people’s lives are  destroyed.

I guess Lance Armstrong missed the episode when Oprah single-handedly annihilated James Frey’s career.  She basically verbally castrated him for lying about his book “A Million Little Pieces,” being a memoir; because she was horrified that someone had LIED to her on her show!!  (P.S. – Thanks Oprah for that – now we are stuck with publishing gems like 50 Shades of Gray.)

Because he probably hadn’t seen much of the Oprah Show, and wasn’t familiar with her smug questioning and holier than thou attitude towards LIARS, he was surely uncomfortable once this little interview began.

Lance made the ill-fated decision to spread out the words “I cheated” into 2 hours of action-packed questioning from Oprah Winfrey.


Now who benefits from this besides Oprah?  Probably nobody – but Al and Lance just needed to get something off their chests.

It just feels better when you come clean.

I am a big fan of being honest…..maybe TOO honest for some people’s tastes…

What on earth is the point of lying all the time?

You know who lies way more than Lance Armstrong?


For some reason, mothers feel compelled to tell other mothers lies.

Constant, constant lies.

We need to stop the nonsense.

Do we want to end up getting caught up in a web of lies and land ourselves on national television talking about how we shit ourselves?


Then it needs to stop.


1-“Oh my God, I am running late because I was trying to finish up a project and lost track of time!”

Stay at home moms are notorious for pretending they are doing lots of all-important stuff when in fact they are watching television, blogging and taking a nap.  We all have days where we take it easy.  Own it.  Don’t come running to the bus stop late talking about what a busy day you’ve had….I can see the sheet lines on your cheek.

2 - “I eat so much! The weight just came off because I breastfed!”

Look, Heidi Klum, (you know…the Victoria’s Secret runway model) said that she starved herself to be able to go back to modeling shortly after giving birth.  She said it was extremely difficult and that she literally felt like she was going to die.  Please don’t tell me that you eat all the time when in fact you drink hot water with lemon for dinner and juice for breakfast and lunch….it’s insulting.

3 -“I love babies!”

What? What do you love about them? Their smell, ok, their soft skin, ok, their cute little fingers and toes, ok….Then what?

Do you love their puke and their runny poops? So, do you love when the runny poop goes up their back and you have to peel poop clothes off of them and wash more laundry and give the baby a bath?

Do you love their blood-curdling screams waking you up in the night?

I’m not buying any of this.

4 – “I am so blessed.”

You “blessed” people drive me nuts.  We are all blessed in some way.  I just find it very rare that someone makes that statement in an appropriate fashion.  It’s beyond absurd that you would feel it necessary to announce such a thing.   Don’t say it…just think it in your head…trust me…nobody cares.

5 -“We don’t have cable, and I don’t miss it at all!”

Stop being stupid.  This is something mothers like to announce so that we know what great parenting they are doing.  They want us to know how they spend their evenings reading literature and playing Scrabble with their children instead of watching TV.

Of course you miss it.  I’m sorry, are you Steve Jobs or Thomas Edison? Are you so intelligent that you are above good quality television programming? Stop it.

6 – “I don’t even put moisturizer on my face…I don’t have time!!”

This whole pretending to be low-maintenance thing is quite common among mothers.  They pretend that they don’t care about their skin and wrinkles.

They pretend that they weren’t staring at their pores all morning in their magnifying mirror.

You don’t care about aging? That’s funny…how come your entire forehead is frozen solid? Weird….

7 – “Oh how I love to cook!”

Since the Food Network became popular as well as programs like Top Chef, everyone loves to pretend they are the Barefoot Contessa.  EVERYONE eats only  fresh and organic foods straight from Whole Foods Market!!   And all good mothers feel compelled to pretend that they are whipping up gourmet meals for their families.

These women think it’s cool to pretend that they are Martha Stewart.  Too bad their kids are all too quick to tell me that they had a waffle for dinner last night and a pop tart for breakfast.  Nice try ladies….nice try.

8 – “I don’t have to work…it’s just that I just love my job!!”

I hate when people say “I don’t have to work.”  First of all it’s rude.  You are implying with that statement that we are all lowly peasants that have to work so we can pay our bills, but you are above that.  You just looooovvvee to work!!!

You are magically the only living American person that is working for pure fun!!

Everyone HAS to work in some capacity.  Even Madonna and Mark Zuckerberg have to work… stop saying that…you are only fooling yourself.

9 – -“I love breastfeeding!”

Now these are some sadistic motherfuckers that make this statement.

I’m sorry – I don’t see how one could find it enjoyable to feed a baby all day on call like a piece of cattle.

I didn’t really enjoy having to stop what I was doing every hour and find a spot where I could safely just whip out my boob and feed a baby for 45 minutes.  I also wasn’t thrilled with the huge engorged breasts that would start leaking milk if I god forbid chose to take some time for myself at somewhere luxurious like the grocery store or the mall.

My favorite part though was the bloody nipples that would be raw and oozing….I could see how someone could really love that.

10 – “I love being pregnant!”

So what is it exactly that you love? Is it that you love weighing 200 pounds?

You love a human being kicking the shit out of your organs and making you sick and constipated? You love not being able to bend down and tie your shoes?

Maybe it’s that when you get a cold you can’t even take medicine.  Or could it be the pretty maternity clothes and huge underwears that you find yourself wearing?

Is it that you love not being able to sleep at night or is it that you can’t have any alcohol or eat a turkey sandwich?  Do you love not having energy and being utterly exhausted all day?

Do you love being hormonal and crying at everything? Is it that you love going to the gynocologist constantly?  Maybe you like to drink that sugary syrup for the diabetes test….

What is it exactly about being pregnant that you love??  I need to know.

Wouldn’t life be great if we could all be a little more HONEST with ourselves and each other!!!!




A Run, a Casserole and some other dramatics….

A couple of years ago when we signed up Michael for a running program, we quickly realized that our 3-year-old would likely become the next Michael Johnson.

At the end of this program when he was participating in the local 5k road race, we realized as we walked towards the starting line-up that one of us would have to actually run with the kid.

We couldn’t very well let a small child run through the streets by himself.

We stared at each other with our cigarettes hanging out of our mouths and like any intelligent, forward-thinking adults, we played “Rock, paper, scissors” to see who would run with him.

I lost and I could barely jog a mile.  After that – I realized that we needed to put out the cigarettes and at least be able to run a mile for god sakes.

The following Thanksgiving I ran the Manchester Road Race which is 4.7 miles in 49 minutes.   I had come a long way.  This race is very fun, but it is a huge endeavor with 15,000 runners and 35000 spectators!!

Last year, I just didn’t feel like the headache of all of that.  I couldn’t deal with the waking up at 6:30 am and finding somewhere to park, standing in the freezing cold waiting to start and then after the race, heading back to your car and sitting in traffic for hours.

I decided to just do a 5k on my own in my neighborhood, so I could feel good about exercising but not waste too much time.  I casually mentioned this to a few people and it snowballed.

This was the group of 43 runners at my house at 9 am this Thanksgiving.

I had to organize maps, and registration forms and serve bagels, fruits and snacks, drinks and coffee for everyone, as well as be sure to have medals and trophies ready….

Mr. Gaga’s sister helped me tremendously with all of the little crafty details. The night before we realized we had nothing to give the runners-up or the children that were participating.  She ran to the store and created the most amazing gold medals ever!!!!  Pin that you Pinteresters…..

From what I understand in my extremely Jewish neighborhood – these chocolates wrapped in gold foil are called “Gelt.” But in my household we call it “5K bling.”

I gave strict instructions to my sister-in-law and Mr. Gaga about registration, times, waivers, playing Rocky music and Chariots of Fire….etc. and it was a great success!!

By 11 am I had to wrap it up and completely switch gears.  I had to be ready for 26 people to arrive at 12:30 for Thanksgiving dinner.

So as soon as I got inside I started running around like a maniac, throwing kids into showers, basting turkeys, lighting candles, etc.

I am capable of getting a lot done, but two things have to happen in order for me to do what needs to be done.

#1 – I need to delegate.

#2  – I need to yell at everyone.

There’s usually a lot of dramatics leading up to any big event.

I am not being mean, I just yell.  I am dramatic. This is how I grew up.

We raise our voices.

We swear.

My brother and I would walk into my house and call “MA!!” as loud as we could until she answered. We all yell at each other all the time and think nothing of it.

My in-laws aren’t like this.  They are very even-keeled and quiet people.  There’s no yelling.  There’s actually no voice inflection at all.  They don’t rush. They don’t show emotion.  To give you an idea, while I was running around like a maniac my father-in-law actually sat at the kitchen table playing some sort of “Vegas slots” game on the Ipad.

I just continued doing what I had to do, yelling at the kids to get dressed, and yelling at Mr. Gaga to get in the shower.

Then I yelled at my Dad because he forgot the gravy boats that I told him I wanted to borrow, and then he yelled back at me “You know what….your mother was saying something about that, but I wasn’t listening…. I have too much going on to find goddamned gravy boats…I’ll just go buy some %&#$ing gravy boats if you need them so badly.”  (See –  this is how we talk.)

Where are the $#%ing gravy boats you   mother$%#ers????

Then later I took a minute to take a picture of the kids for Thanksgiving to capture all of the love and thankfulness and they wouldn’t sit still. Obviously, in order to get a good picture of this important day, I told them I would “beat them senseless and lock them in their room for the rest of the day if they didn’t smile.”

Apparently that was the last straw.  When I looked at my in-laws, they were aghast.

“Why don’t you have some wine?” my sister-in-law suggested with horror.

“What? How else do you get children to sit still and smile??” I asked.

My in-laws think that I should just host 43 people in the morning and 26 people for dinner and not raise my voice once??

Ok, I think I can just pour the gravy straight from my pockets and that should work, Mr. Gaga. Oh and have I told you how handsome you are today, Mr. Gaga?? And how much I enjoy watching your father play on his Ipad while I make 45 turkeys? I am so thankful.

SIDENOTE: I have to give them props because even though they are horrified by me and think I am crazy, they were extremely helpful with cleaning, setting up, entertaining the children all while searching for the best “Black Friday” deals on their ipads.

Everyone was responsible for bringing a side or a dessert which was life-saving.

Last year – I had leftovers at my aunt’s house and tasted the most amazing green bean casserole in the world, so I hunted her down for the recipe and asked my cousin Emily to make it this year.

Now let me be clear on a few things.  Just so you can know how important it is for you all to make this recipe next year.

A – Growing up we never had green bean casserole.

B – I think all casseroles are vile and disgusting as a rule.

C – I don’t really like green beans all that much.

D – I think green bean casserole actually looks utterly repulsive.


I don’t know what genius came up with this but they deserve an award…

Oh hello, heaven in a dish…..

This dish is AMAZING.

It is made WITHOUT cans of weird condensed “soups.”




So imagine what happened when my phone rang at 11:45 from my aunt (WHO LIVES ONE HOUR AWAY) saying that “Emily is missing and she didn’t make the green bean casserole, but send us the recipe and we will try to make it.” (Did I mention arrival time was 12:30?)

“Um…I don’t think you will have time to make it….and where is she?” I answered.

“We don’t know…she’s not answering her phone, she went out last night and now she’s not communicating with us.  There’s a guy that she’s been hanging out with and maybe that’s why…we are just so upset…..” my aunt said, almost in tears, “Maybe she ran away with him….I just don’t know.”

Meanwhile, smoke was coming out of my ears.

“Oh yes – it’s just so sad that your daughter drank too much last night and is sleeping it off somewhere and won’t answer her phone….but more importantly WHO IS MAKING THE GODDAMNED GREEN BEAN CASSEROLE????”

“I am hosting 70 people today, and these $#@ers can’t even cook one @#@%$ing $##@ing casserole one day a year??!! THEY ARE DISINVITED FROM NOW ON!! THANKSGIVING IS RUINED!!!” I screamed to anyone who came through the kitchen as I chopped and cleaned and organized with my dreams of a glorious green bean casserole up in smoke.

At one point my calm, cool and collected sister-in-law said quietly, “Is there anything I can do?” and I stared at her and said “No- I just have to send death threats to my cousin and pour water in the water glasses,” and she didn’t even bat an eyelash.

I sent this:

It worked.

Thank God – they all arrived with tons of green bean casserole!!

At 2 PM.

There was no new boyfriend or scheme to elope….Emily’s car and phone had died simultaneously…so she was running late.

 We hugged and laughed when they arrived.

All was well.

Dramatics run in the family.



There’s no place like home

When I was growing up, my two favorite movies were Weekend at Bernie’s and Overboard.  They are similar in that they both take place in the summer….one on a yacht and one in a huge mansion on the beach. I know every word to those movies, and it seemed perfectly logical to me that one day I too would party in a huge beach house (preferably not with a dead guy) and would some day ask my servant, “Are you going to get my lemonade or am I going to have to squeeze it from my hat?”

While these fantasies were not realistic to begin with – they were officially down the drain when I decided to have children.  The hope of one day hopping off a jet ski in a bikini and heading up to party at Bernie’s officially died after I had my first child.

What I hadn’t anticipated was that my life would take such a turn for the worse that I would actually end up attending a “family resort” in the Poconos on a lake……with my in-laws.  Mr. Gaga and his family and friends visited this “resort” every year while he was growing up, and it’s all they talk about it since I met him.

Because I am a great wife and mother – when Mr. Gaga’s sister planned a reunion of sorts at this facility I agreed to go.

If I thought they talked about it a lot before – they really wouldn’t shut up about it now. I would usually just zone out completely when they told the same stories over and over again about the delicious food and the fun nights at karaoke.

I believe it was Thanksgiving when I was hosting dinner for 30 people who my mother-in-law started talking about all of  the “delicious homemade food” that we would be eating at Central House in July.

“Well – like what?” I asked, not fully engaged in the conversation, as I frantically made gravy and stirred mashed potatoes.

“Oh – like for lunch they will serve Swedish meatballs and potatoes…” she said with joy and excitement.

I stopped stirring and stared at her closely to see if she was kidding.

She wasn’t.

I am sure everyone in America except Mr. Gaga’s relatives realizes that “Swedish Meatballs” isn’t a meal at all….let alone one that should be served during July in a “resort.” In fact are they even FDA approved?  I thought they were just something weird that they served at Ikea as a snack, but there’s no talking to these people.

“But – what will I do?  I can’t eat that!! I will starve to death!”  I answered my mother-in-law.

She laughed hysterically…”Oh, I’m sure they have salad or something.”

As we inched past November I kind of forgot about the Swedish meatball resort.  As the school year was winding down and summer was fast-approaching I realized that I was really going to Kellerman’s and I started to worry.

A couple of weeks before we went I told my best friend about it.  When I was finished describing the facility there was complete silence on the other end.

“Hello?” I spoke into the phone.

“I don’t know what to say……You will have to just pretend you are on Survivor.” she answered.

“I know, I am pretending I am going to rehab for exhaustion like Lindsay Lohan, and I am just going to read a lot.”

So that was the plan.

Because this is an anonymous blog, and you don’t all really know me, I worry sometimes that you don’t necessarily have a clear image of who I really am.  I gave you glimpse when I told you that people always compare me to Carrie from King of Queens, and at the very least if you are a regular reader you know that I am Italian and that I take food VERY seriously.  Let me now add to those details – that I am NOT a lover of nature and live in constant fear of bacterial infections and Legionnaire’s Disease, so lakes are not my friend.

So just for a quick recap – I went to an old motel in the woods resort on a lake that served old-fashioned comfort food 3 meals a day that was prepared by a man named Fred.

You do see how this could be problematic?

I decided that only way to survive was to completely go with the flow.  When Mr. Gaga demanded that we be there on Saturday in time for lunch, I agreed.  I figured I would be entering into a scene straight out of Dirty Dancing, and I was mentally prepared for it.

I’m gonna have fun and you’re gonna have fun. We’re all gonna have so much fucking fun we’ll need plastic surgery to remove our goddamn smiles. You’ll be whistling ‘Zip-A-Dee Doo-Dah’ out of your assholes!

So imagine my shock and horror when upon arrival we drove in and saw my mother-in-law waving in front of the “North Lodge” where we would be residing for the next 4 days.

I have never stayed in a motel before, but now I had the distinct pleasure of staying in one in the middle of the wilderness in an adjoining room with my in-laws!!

Who needs a yacht or a dead guy’s mansion when you can live like this?!

While I stared at the building and tried to process what happened to my life.  I heard bells ringing in the background.  I shuffled along with the crowd to the “dining hall” as the bells were to alert us that it was lunchtime.

Upon entering the dining hall I was met with this sign:

I mean – I can’t even make this stuff up. What should a human think when they read a board like this? I thought “roast beef” was a sandwich that I hate – I didn’t know it could be a dinner….and what the fuck is a “Bird of Prey?”

We sat at our assigned table and our waitress introduced herself and informed us that she would also be teaching Zumba in the mornings and wearing a poodle skirt and teaching hula hoop lessons on 50’s night.  I accepted this completely because I knew that the staff at Kellerman’s in Dirty Dancing served drinks and food when they weren’t dancing.  I ate my lunch and then made my way with the kids to the pool and hot tub.  It wasn’t fancy but the kids loved it and I figured I could lounge by the pool all week and it would be ok.  As I got settled on my lounge chair I started to read my magazines.  After I read the same page over and over again, I realized something wasn’t quite right about the hot tub.

There was a group of mothers and children in the “hot tub.”

They were all loud.

They were all fat and ugly.

They were splashing and getting water on my US Weekly.

But wait….I looked a little closer….I sat up and pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head so I could really stare at these disgusting people….could it be?

Could they be actually eating ice cream and cupcakes in a hot tub??

What kind of animals am I living in this motel with?

Disgusted, I was saved by the dinner bell.   After eating a nice dinner roll and salad it was time to go watch the “Birds of Prey”show which was basically an insane old man talking about and showing his bird collection.

The next morning, exhausted from the day before I was happily sleeping when I heard bells clanging.

It was 7:30 am.

Oh – did I not mention that there is a daily 7:30 a.m. wake-up bell on this “VACATION?”

So off we go back to the dining hell… see this:

Don’t come to the Swedish Meatball Resort if you plan on eating anything healthy or not straight out of the 1950’s. Please note the time span in between meals – you have exactly 4 hours to digest Thanksgiving dinner before you are eating again…..

After another morning at the pool in the blazing 95 degree heat, before we knew it the fucking bells were ringing again, and off we went in our bathing suits from the steamy heat of summer into the dining room to be met with turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes and stuffing.

That’s normal and appropriate right?

I will tell you right now – If I ever am lucky enough to live in my dead boss’ beach house, I am going to have fresh fruits and salads for lunch….maybe an occasional piece of grilled chicken.

NEVER will I have a full-fledged THANKSGIVING DINNER in the middle of the fucking day in the middle of a heat-wave!!

So off we waddled back to the pool and much to my chagrin – the cupcake eaters were back in the hot tub.

Apparently these people were not participating in the meal plan in the dining facility.

When I looked at them this time -I couldn’t believe my eyes.

They were eating BEEF KABOBS in the HOT TUB.

The “vacation” progressed this way the entire time.  By the last day I was ready to leave for sure.   We left at 5:30 am on the 4th of July to be sure we were back for the bike parade at the beach.

I was so happy to have survived.

The next day my sister-in-law texted me to tell me I missed the best day.

Swedish meatballs for lunch and prime rib for dinner.

As Melissa Gorga would say, “Thank you Jesus.”

It’s not a dead guy’s mansion or a freshly squeezed glass of lemonade from the servant on my yacht….but sometimes it’s the little things in life……

Linking to Only Parent Chronicles


It’s a Wrap

After a week that included 3 separate birthday celebrations for Sam, 3 different cakes, and lots of pizza and wine, I believe it’s time to start buckling down in the diet department.

Apparently it’s summer, and my New Year’s resolution to look as skinny as Kelly Ripa didn’t pan out.

The plan was to eat only one Tic Tac a day and lots of water…..

Instead I continued down my path of self-destruction by consuming food, including my favorite food (which is ice cream.) Now, instead of looking like Kelly Ripa as bathing suit season approaches…..I look like the “fat Betty Draper.”

On Wednesday, we went to the fair at the kids’ school run by the PTO.  At the fair the choice of food for dinner was hot dogs, pizza or wraps.  Since I had been eating so much junk I figured I would be good and order a wrap.

“Where did you guys get the wraps from?” I asked the woman working at the food booth. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged.

I got the kids settled with some pizza and went back up to the food booth to a different worker.

“Hi, how much are the wraps?” I asked.

“3 dollars.” the woman replied.

“Where are they from?” I asked again.

“I don’t know.” she answered looking back at me expectantly. This nonchalance and indifference to my question caught me off guard. 

This is indicative of this town that I live in that has a population of 63,000 PEOPLE and guess how many sandwich shops or delis?

Are you ready for this?

1…..that sucks.

The people around here don’t care about sandwiches, or “grinders” as they are called here in Connecticut.

I mean if that was the PTO in the town where I grew up there would be a plethora of grinder shops to choose from, one better than the next. 

People would fight over where to get the best grinder. 

In my family, a grinder is a staple food item.   Just today, I  literally was in the midst of writing this blog post and called my parents to ask them something.  This is how the conversation went.

“Hi Dad can you please get the radio that I left in the garage and bring it with you tomorrow?”


“What are you guys doing?”

“Oh- I am just eating a chicken sang-wich with your mother.”


I digress.

So, this concept of just randomly handing out wraps at a fair that came from some mysterious place……


And does this sandwich ignorance mean that I am the only one at the fair that asked for a little background information on the wraps?


I mean I am not obsessed with sandwiches, but I would just like to know what I am about to eat, because a sandwich or wrap could be dry and tasteless or possibly sensational.

My college roommate and I once woke up early on Sunday of “Spring Weekend” to watch my boyfriend(soon to be known as Mr. Gaga) play baseball at 10 am, because a local deli in the Bronx, provided free pieces of hero.

Nobody else cared.  The bleachers were empty.  All over campus, college students slept off their alcohol induced comas. 

We were the only 2 people enticed enough by a sandwich to get up early.

We were so excited about those sandwiches.  During a time when funding for frivolous meals was quite limited, a free sandwich was like gold to us.

It was a gorgeous morning, the sun was shining and we had the bleachers all to ourselves. We spread out our multiple plates of sandwich pieces. 

I remember being very happy, basking in the sun and eating a chicken cutlet hero.

We were watching the future Mr. Gaga play for about a half an hour and I was just about to dig into my second piece of hero when an outfielder came up to the fence and called up to me.

“Hey the future Mr. Gaga isn’t here you know….” he yelled.

“Oh….where is he? ” I said nonchalantly, like I always wake up early and eat sandwiches in the bleachers for no reason.  I mean I have never really been good at actually “watching” the game per se, but this was pretty bad.  I should at least notice his clear absence from the field.

“He got hurt, and had to be taken in the ambulance to the hospital.” he said and then he had to run back to the game.

I was concerned and also mortified that I was eating 50 sandwiches instead of caring for my very injured boyfriend. 

But while I was thinking about what to do next, I figured there was no sense letting a perfectly delicious sandwich go to waste.  So I went to track down the future Mr. Gaga…..

after I ate that piece of hero.


He was totally fine.

What?? I know he’s not here….it’s just that I am really hungry right now……I am totally going to go visit him in the hospital when I am done with this…..

When I was pregnant for the first time I found that not eating cold cuts proved more difficult for me than abstaining from alcohol.

After being 10 days late, getting induced and waiting close to 48 hours for the baby to be born, by the time the umbilical cord was being cut I already had requested that Mr. Gaga go get me an Italian combo.

In a move that some would say was a clear indicator of what little regard anyone would have for my whims ever again, Mr. Gaga returned with a turkey melt from Quiznos.

I was inconsolable.

When Mr. Gaga went home to shower, I called my mother and in between sobs relayed to her the severity of the situation.

“It’s fine, he was probably just tired and he doesn’t know the difference.” my mother consoled me.

“How could he not know?!” I cried. “I don’t think he loves me anymore!” I sobbed hysterically.

Needless to say my father had to leave work and deliver me a proper grinder.

When I put the Quiznos sandwich on a stick, turned it into a fire bomb and threw it out the window, the nurses thought I just had post-partum……so they didn’t get too mad.

Hmmmm, now that I think of all these stories…..

Maybe I am obsessed with sandwiches.


that sure does explain why I look like “Fat Betty.”

But still!!! 

Back to the PTO wrap!

Anyways – this blatant disregard for the origins of the wrap took me off guard and I almost went for the pizza as a result. 

But then I remembered that I was “Fat Betty” and that I had to start wearing a bathing suit regularly, so I ordered the wrap.

Oh gee, I don’t know where these came from!!! It’s called you assholes made these little pieces of shit wraps yourself and wrapped them up in saran wrap and now you are pretending that you didn’t remember where they came from!

Could you imagine?

I really shkeeve homemade foods by strangers.

But since I was hungry and trying not to be a wasteful elitist “Fat Betty” – I ate the dang thing.

Friday night I came home from work and felt so sick.  I never get sick really, but I had a sore throat and felt so tired, I had to go to bed.

Please understand that I NEVER go to bed unless I am dying.

I laid in bed sweaty and delirious, trying to think how I could possibly be sick.

Mr. Gaga was downstairs running around from TV to TV, loving life with me in bed before him – which only happens once every 5 years.

I rolled around in the bed trying to get comfortable, while keeping my bloody knees elevated.

Suddenly – I sat straight up and called down to Mr. Gaga.

“What?” he asked with a concerned look as he came in the bedroom.

“I just realized why I am sick,” I said with horror.

“Why?” he asked.

“From that filthy sandwich….” I answered with wide eyes. “I can’t believe it.  Why did I eat it?” Those women probably didn’t wear gloves and made those filthy sandwiches, and I ate one!! WHY?? WHY GOD? WHY???” I cried – laying back down.

I wanted Mr. Gaga to assure me that it was not a filthy sandwich that made me sick. 

Instead he looked at me and said “Yeah – why did you eat that??” with disgust.

“I don’t know!! Because I am trying to not be FAT!!!!! Every time I try to not be fat I get punished!!!!!” I cried.

Ok – this week is a new week.

I will run. (not with my murderous children)

I will not eat filthy sandwiches or pizza.

But it is my birthday this week….so maybe just one more piece of cake will be ok………and then I will totally start on that Tic Tac diet…..


Where a Kid can be a Kid

Birthday party season has begun. 

I have had some interesting experiences with birthday parties with a crazy Martha Stewart wanna-be mom here and a crazy opposite of Martha Stewart wanna-be mom here.

As painful as some of these birthday parties have been – we have managed to avoid one place.

Anytime my children see the commercials for Chuck E.
Cheese they beg and plead for me to bring them to this magical place.  I have been telling them for years – that (even though there are blatantly children their age in the ads) only teenagers can go there.

A couple of weeks ago, we got an invitation for both kids to go to a birthday party.  Sometimes I throw invitations I don’t like into the garbage and hope for the best – but there was no way that I would get away with that for a party that they were both invited to.  I would not be able to beat the system….


“Wait – Michael has soccer practice on Friday nights! Oh well….can’t go.” I said as my husband ( I will just call him Mr. Gaga) and I were standing at our kitchen island going through the mail.

“They are going to the party,” he said without even looking up from something he was reading.

So let me digress and give a little background on this situation.  Mr. Gaga played football his whole life, like it was his job.  Year-round, all weekend, every weekend, all summer. 

He never had a real summer job, he never went to summer camp that wasn’t sports-related, AND (this is apparently the big one) – he never really made it to a lot of birthday parties.

Guess what his prize was for all of his hard work?

Was he getting fat eating Smurf cake or getting bruised knees from all of the falling down at the roller-rink like the rest of us? (it was the 80’s)


He got to go to college for free!!

Not even just a “here are some free classes and a free room scholarship” – The full ride I am talking about is the kind where you don’t even buy a french fry or a pencil.

Stone-cold free college at a Division 1 School.

Oh – that was a totally horrible thing that happened right??

Boo- hoo.

You can see why he would still be harboring weird resentments regarding Chuck E. Cheese – right?

“What the eff are you talking about? He doesn’t have to go to the party.” I said.

“Just let him be a kid and have fun – he’s 5 years old – he can miss a practice.” he replied with exasperation.

“OoooKaaayyy, they can go to the party,” I said slowly,”But don’t you think it would be good to teach him about practicing and what it means to commit to a team, and so forth?”

He looked at me like I was an idiot – “Come on – it’s first grade soccer – It’s not a big deal.”

“Ok – well good thing Tiger Wood’s father didn’t think like that……or Lynne Spears.”  – (Damn it – those were the only people I could think of that started their careers as children -but I knew I just shot myself in the foot.)

He couldn’t wait to reply – “Oh yeah – how did that turn out?”

I shrugged – “Ok – then maybe you’re right.  When I go to the party I am going to ask to speak to someone about what kind of scholarship program they offer at Chuck E. Cheese.  Or maybe they could go to Chuck E. Cheese University.”

He smirked – “Good one.”

“Or maybe by the time they go to school there will be some sort of competitive inflatable bounce house teams or they could get sponsored by like a corporate face painting company…..”

So the new plan is instead of hockey and baseball - I am just going to make the kids bounce in this bad-boy everyday.......fingers crossed!!!

The dreaded day came on Friday.  I kind of secretly was looking forward to checking it out.  I remember going for my brother’s birthday when I was like 8 and thinking it was the best place in the world.  I was looking forward to seeing the joy in my kids’ eyes.  I mean how bad could it be?

Um – bad.

Let’s just say that if they were going to make Chuck E. Cheese University they would have to change the tagline to be “Where a kid could be an asshole while his parents gnaw on chicken bones and watch.”

My four-year-old learned real quick when he put his FULL bucket of tokens down on his seat for 30 seconds and it got stolen. 

Then they were playing “Skee Ball” and their tickets came out and some little girl came and ripped them all off and RAN AWAY!!

When I saw her ripping off all of our tickets, I said:

“Did you just rip off their tickets?” thinking that clearly calling her out would shame her into returning them.

“Nope.” she said while she counted her tickets. 

Shocked I looked to see if her parents were watching – they were.  They didn’t care.

Once I saw her parents - I realized I was fighting an uphill battle and just let the girl keep the tickets...

What? You didn’t know you could get wings at Chuck E. Cheese University?

After all of the fun and games it was dinner time!

And you know how I feel about food? You know how I feel about pizza that is not really pizza? I thought maybe there was hope when I saw this very detailed ad in the paper.

See how it maps out all the areas that have been improved? 

Lady goo goo gaga fell for the old “zesty sauce” trick….

What? They zoomed in on a wooden spoon stirring it!!! 

I also fell for the old “variety of quality toppings” trick with a zoomed in picture of green peppers and cauliflower? to prove it. 

False advertising Chuck.  Not improved – it is still really bad. 

But the kids didn’t care- and I could have actually given them their rainboots with some sauce and cheese on it and they would have probably not noticed.

So off to the ticket-muncher we went to redeem our tickets (what was left after we got car-jacked at the Mario Kart game and had to give all of our tickets away to the carjacker.)   Then the kids got to pick out really fancy toys that have pictures of Chuck all over them.

Then we escaped. 

My kids passed out cold when they went to bed probably dreaming of all of the fun and laughs they had.  I had nightmares about cardboard pizza and these creepy weirdos.

Till the next birthday party!

Please click on the banner below to give me a vote for funniest mom blog!!  I am going to need some cheering up….when my husband finds out I called him Mr. Gaga – he is going to kill me………



And F.U. Friday


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