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Monthly Archives: June 2012

Busses filled with Douche Canoes and other problems in America

When did kids turn into fucking assholes?

I think most children are born into this world as human beings that can be molded and shaped into good people, because most humans are inherently good.

I believe that children only turn evil and stupid because of their environment and their bad, bad parents.

I am certainly not the best parent and my kids are not the best kids, but I at least teach them basic MANNERS and difference between right and wrong!

For example – poking an adult’s stomach and calling her fat would be considered BAD!!!

So not only are the children in this world being tortured by bullies, but now children are bullying adults??!!!  WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?

Are the kids in this country so troubled and angry and ignorant that they don’t even know enough to not call an adult “fat?”  If you haven’t heard about how 4 middle school children tortured and bullied an older woman who was on a bus with them as a bus monitor, click here for the horrific story:

I can distinctly remember the kids in my elementary school, my neighborhood and on my bus that were jerks.  There were like 3 in my whole childhood that I can vividly remember and they were deeply troubled.  One boy I remember, Tony Bizzuto used to eat dirt on the playground and later went to jail.

Today there are so many wretched, ill-mannered children that  I find it rare and refreshing when a child is friendly and nice.


Is it because nobody yells at their kids? Is it because everyone coddles their children and lets them cry and shit their pants during their baseball games?

Is it because all the kids do is play video games and they don’t know how to interact socially with others?

Today children are just rude, obnoxious and entitled.

How many times have you seen a child behave like a complete jerk and his or her parents say or do nothing in response?

When I was young if someone started being rude and disrespectful to an adult on the bus, we would all wait in silence to watch him or her get in trouble.

We would NEVER!!!! join in!!! The thought would never cross my mind to join in whatever bad behavior Tony Bizzuto was doing!  NEVER!!!!

I can’t say I am too surprised since I see children in preschool and 1st grade who have horrific social skills, zero manners, are unruly and disobedient, and do not respond appropriately towards other children.

I can only imagine what these little assholes will be like by the time they get to middle school.

Just today, my kids were wandering the beach while I sat reading my US Weekly. (my all-time favorite activity….this is what all good mothers should do with their leisure time!)

I saw my son Michael go up to the boardwalk and started talking to two children he had never met.

Sam walked away and headed back towards me.

“Michael is talking to those 2 kids.” he said with exasperation.

“Yeah – so…what’s he talking about?” I asked, not looking up from a riveting story that Tom Cruise’s publicist put together about how much everyone loves working Tom Cruise.

“Well…Michael is talking about foxes….but the kids aren’t answering him.”

I quickly looked up at the boardwalk and saw Michael walking away from the boys with his head down. My heart broke for him.

I knew he was probably talking about the fox that shows up in my parent’s yard all the time, and I knew that these boys, like so many children these days, just ignored him.

I cannot tell you how many times my children have tried to engage or talk with other children and the kids literally will not even respond at all.

Leaving school, the bus stop, parks, anywhere where Michael and Sam might see someone they know, they are quick to throw up their hand in a wave and shout “Bye Jeffrey!” or “Hi Ethan!”

In response……blank stares and silence.

This happens ALL THE TIME!

When Michael made is way down to me, I asked, “Were those kids talking to you?”

“No.” he said quietly.

“You were telling them about the fox?”


“And they didn’t answer you?”

“Have Sam tell you….”he said quietly as he walked towards the water.

What I really wanted to do was go up to the boardwalk and beat the shit out of those 2 losers.

You two douche bags better go listen to Michael’s very interesting story about a fox right now!!!

I grabbed him and told him what I have said so many times before,

“Michael, sometimes kids have no manners, and it has nothing to do with you. Their parents have no manners either so they don’t teach their kids how to behave and they are horrible people.  You know there are lots of horrible children that you know…like Adrian and Whiney.”

“Yeah – I know, I don’t even care.” he shrugged and jumped in the water.

Thankfully – I actually think he truly doesn’t care, which is wonderful, because I don’t want him to stop being himself.  I don’t want him to feel weird or subconscious about randomly going up to a stranger and opening up a conversation about a fox. (Although – let’s face it, if he wasn’t 6 – that could be considered a little weird.)

Thankfully, I don’t particularly care for most children – so I am quick to point out when children we interact with have devil-like tendencies.

“Mom – can Tyler come over?”



“Because he goes into all my cabinets and takes food without asking and doesn’t say thank you. He is very rude and you don’t need horrible people like that in your life.” I say.

Without skipping a beat – “Hhmm, ok – how about Johnny?” they will answer.

I have drilled it into them that horrible behavior is not to be tolerated.  I have pointed out many children as being rude and disrespectful, I can only hope as they grow and truly start to pick their friends they are able to find a couple of individuals who are kind and respectful.

Does anyone know where we can find children like that?



Who let the dogs out?

I thought it would be nice if I featured a Dad on my blog for Father’s Day. 

My brother recently mentioned he had a little pet peeve he wanted to discuss on my airwaves, so this is the perfect week for him to guest blog!

You remember my brother right?

The one who said I was a horrible mother because I don’t wake up in the night to care for my children.…and the one who says that my house is dirty….and the one who tells me I am a hypocrite for bringing my kids to CCD???

Yeah – that brother….

Here he is:

Let me start by saying that I feel that I have been wholly misrepresented in these posts.  First of all, I am not an atheist.  I just don’t care for the Catholic church, and feel that people like my sister, who literally think Jesus Drove A Car, should not call themselves Catholic. 

Secondly, in response to one other blogger who was “sick of my constant judging,” I defy you to spend one day with my sister.  I guarantee you would kill yourself. 

Her permanent scowl, angry eyebrows, and silent judging are legendary.  She can bore holes through you with one icy glare, and reduce you to tears with one comment, as she did to every single girl I ever dated. 


Lastly, in regards to last week’s post, although I did do a “crazy windmill,” my sister neglected to mention that I punched that asshole in the face at least twice.

With that out-of-the-way,  I am also a parent.  I have a daughter, Stella, who will be two in July. 

Last Sunday, my wife and I took her to the town fair.  (It’s actually called “Celebrate the Town,”  because fairs are for white trash towns, I guess.) 

Meanwhile, the whole thing is filled with rides, cotton candy, fried dough, and fat people.  So yeah, it’s a fair.  As we walked through the main entrance with our not yet two-year old, there was a commotion:  three dogs were killing each other directly in front of us.

“Oh my goodness!”  exclaimed the owner of the largest dog as she pulled him away from the two smaller ones.  The owner of the two smaller dogs appropriately ran for her life.

As the three of us made our way into the maze of tents filled with people selling things, there sat the murderous dog, licking the blood off of his fangs and paws.  The owner was a vendor! 

Apparently she thought it would be a good idea to bring a completely unhinged dog to a place full of children to help sell her homemade crafts!

Nice idea, you moron! I’m totally going to bring my daughter into your tent and buy some of your wares!

The rest of the day was a haze of fat people and dogs.  I am not kidding when I say that every third person at this event had a dog with them.  As if it’s not hard enough to maneuver a stroller through a sea of fat asses, now I have to stop and wait for fucking dogs to move out-of-the-way? 

I was already well on my way to going completely apeshit when it happened.  I looked away for two seconds, and when I turned back, a german shepherd on a leash so obscenely long that his owner was actually out of sight, was eating the hot dog right out of Stella’s hand!

“That is it! We are out of here!”  I screamed. 

As I was driving home with white knuckles and smoke billowing from my ears, a question occurred to me.   

 When did dogs and children become equals? 

I mean, I know I’ve been a bit preoccupied these past two years, but seriously, when did this happen?  I feel like the guys at the end of Planet of The Apes, for Christ’s sake!  Allow me to illustrate with a recent Facebook post from a relative of mine.

This picture was posted on Facebook with the status “Puppy Pedi time for Italia! (the dog’s name) Good little doggies get to go to Groomingdales for their birthdays!”

 I should also point out that this is the same dog that tackled a one year old Stella to the ground in order to eat the ears off of her head, and then a few weeks later bit my nephew Michael and drew blood. 

I know:  Super good dog, right?!  I mean, if any dog deserves a doggy mani at groomingdales . . .

Seriously though, why is this ok?  I mean parents have to occasionally post things about their kids, but that is only because it is expected of us! 

Nobody on earth expects a dog to get a pedicure.  I mean I just think that annoying parental traits should be reserved for people who are parents to humans.  Not dogs.  Take this classic bumper sticker as an example:

Well this is just untrue! I know that your dog seems really smart, but that is only because you are a slow adult.

 About a month ago, I found a pile of new clothes that my wife had bought for Stella.  As I was dressing Stella, my wife  came flying into the room.          

“Don’t put those on!!  I haven’t washed them yet!!”

I became annoyed.  My wife can be a bit crazy when it comes to cleaning; clothes in particular.  (Did I say a bit crazy?  I meant to say Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.)

This is what my wife wanted Stella to wear to her first day of daycare. Now we only use it if we’re going to Auntie Gaga’s house.

“It’s fine, they’re brand new” I snapped.

“I know, but they’re covered in dog hair!” She pleaded.

Wait, what?

“Why would they be covered in dog hair?”

“Because the store was filled with dogs!”

“Inside the store? Where?”

“Yes, inside the store.  At Evergreen Walk!”

“Oh, that’s weird.  Was it like a blind field trip or something?”

“What?  What are you talking about?”

“You said the whole store was filled with dogs.  I just assumed they were seeing eye dogs?”

“No, just regular dogs.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you can just bring a dog into a store that sells clothing for no good reason?”

“Apparently.  I’m going to go wash these.”

 Really, Evergreen Walk? 


Do you know what I would do if I wanted my daughter to be covered with dog hair and smell like feces?  I WOULD BUY A FUCKING DOG!  I mean what’s next?  “Customer with Dog” parking at the Big Y?

This looks like a great place to pick up some produce. Don’t forget your tape roller!

 There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding going on with dog owners.  Apparently at some point during the last two years, someone told them that dogs are just like children, and can be brought to all the same places.  Not true.

 We have to take our kids and babies everywhere! 

We don’t have the luxury of leaving them home! 

You think that if I could just pour some water in a bowl and open a can of Alpo for Stella I wouldn’t peel wheels out of the house? 

My sister actually has done that! 

But really, we shouldn’t leave our kids alone.  Our only choice is to hire a babysitter, which doubles the cost of any outing!  That is why our kids are always with us!  Not because its fun, or cute, or we think that we should subject other people to them!

In closing, I would like to say that I actually do like dogs.  My sister and I had two Golden retrievers when we were younger, and we absolutely adored them!  But, when we left the house, they stayed home.  Because that is what dogs do.   They don’t go to fairs,  they don’t go shopping for clothes or groceries, and they absolutely do not go into establishments that serve food!!! 

                Finally I would like to say to all of the fathers, (Of Human Children!)


Ode to Mr. Gaga

I am doing an extra post this week – in honor of Mr. Gaga in response to Mama Kat’s writing prompt. 

The writing prompt is as follows: Share something you’ve learned from your husband about parenting. What makes him good at what he does?

Needless to say after last week’s baseball debacle, I crucified Mr. Gaga.

“How could you put up with that shit?” I implored him as he looked through his mail and ignored me.

“You should bench them if they take shits…..That should be a rule. If you shit your pants….you’re benched.”

He shrugged.

“Heeelllooo???? Are you listening??? You are coaching these kids into little monsters!! Do you think Derek Jeter’s dad would put up with this?”

“They are just little kids and their own parents don’t care – so what can I do?”  he said tossing the mail onto the counter.

“Well – I would never put up with it.”

“Well – I have a lot more patience than you do,” he said on his way out the door to unnecessarily mow the lawn.

*I assume that it was unnecessary because “mowing the lawn” is Mr. Gaga’s go-to move to escape from me for at least an hour and create a situation where he “can’t hear me.”

Anyways – he’s right.  He’s more patient than me – by like ….a hundred gazillion percent.

While I can be found frantically chasing the kids around counting to three and threatening to beat them, he will get much better results by just calmly telling them what to do.

Of course this laid-back attitude can have some downsides, as in giving the kids donuts twice a day for snack when I am at work, starting 5 different LEGO projects and leaving the pieces all over the house, choosing to grab a Quizno’s sandwich for someone who clearly ordered an Italian combo, and so on.

But for the most part – he is a great Dad and husband, and not only has patience for the kids – but is incredibly patient with me.  Nothing I say or do really fazes him (although I think this is often as a result of blatantly ignoring me.)

I can be pretty bitchy – and he deflects like no other.  The other day I was in a little bit of a snippy mood while we were about to get ready for bed.

In case you need a visual – this is pretty much us. A week doesn’t go by when people don’t tell us that we are “Carrie and Doug.”  Although, I am not that skinny and Mr. Gaga is not that fat.

Mr. Gaga took off his shirt and was inspecting himself in the bathroom mirror.  Normally not very hairy – I have noticed in his old age – he has grown some more hair. It’s not much – but let’s just say this is what Mr. Gaga looked like when I met him:

And this is what he looks like now:

I plopped onto bed and picked up my US Weekly and started flipping through, and said casually, “You know – you will probably have to start doing some  “man-scaping” – because I didn’t sign up to be with a hairy man….”

Without missing a beat – he looked at me and said,

“Yeah – well…neither did I and how did that work out?”

What could I do but laugh hysterically?

The trick is – he doesn’t take life too seriously and  I definitely do.

His patience coupled with his ability to be calm and content – inevitably allows him to enjoy life.

Oh – how I wish I could do that. 

How great life would be with no worries.

Being content and stress-free is a quality that I continually strive for to no avail.

Last year – as I was running around the house trying to get ready for work one Saturday, I missed the bottom couple of steps and fell and snapped my ankle. 

I screamed and Mr. Gaga came running down the stairs to rescue me.

I just lay at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Mr. Gaga. I knew he would save me. (And this is what I wear to work…obvi.)

When he picked me up from the heap I was in and realized that I was fine,

he just looked at me and said, “Lady, you have to SLOW down.”

He’s right. 

I am trying.

Happy Father’s Day to Mr. Gaga and to my dad and to any adoring Dad fans that might be reading this….

Also – please click below to vote for this blog before you have to spend the rest of your weekend kissing your husband’s butt…..

XO,  Lady Goo Goo Gaga

Tom Hanks was wrong…

There is crying in baseball. 

A lot of crying.

There is also playdate crying, LEGO crying, swim crying, bike riding crying….it’s endless.

That’s all these whinge-bag boys do around here is cry.

Growing up I remember once playing with the kids on my street, and my brother was getting pushed around by one of the older boys (today we would say he was “being bullied.”) One day, my brother couldn’t take it anymore and he started crying while doing a crazy windmill like motion with his arms towards the bully.

I don’t remember how it ended, but the only thing I remember is the crazy windmill move (it was weird and kind of funny) and the crying (it was rare.)

Today little boys cry with reckless abandon.  They don’t gives two shits.  They just cry and cry. 

They don’t care who sees them.  

They don’t care if people think they are cry-babies or sissies.

I think little boys should cry if they have a valid reason, as they are young children and clearly shouldn’t have to hide their emotions because they are boys.

Valid reasons include: injuries, legitimate fears or concerns, hurt feelings by a friend, etc.

Invalid reasons would be I don’t know……not liking swimming lessons or getting a strike at baseball.

We started a new swim school a couple of weeks ago.  My thinking was last time I spent $400.00 and Sam cried every single day, and perhaps if we tried a more low-key program for half the price we would have better results (emotionally, anyways – I have pretty much given up on the swimming part.)

The kids were in separate classes so upon arrival, Michael headed off to the deeper end of the pool and Sam stayed in the shallow end with a younger group. 

Michael is a much better swimmer than Sam, with 18 months and an extra year of swimming lessons on him, so I was most concerned with Sam’s abilities on the first day. 

I breathed a sigh of relief when Sam waved at me with a huge smile and jumped into the pool.  I sat down to relax a bit in front of the viewing window.

But wait, why was Michael being escorted by his teen swimming coach towards the viewing window in tears?

I stood up to greet him and the college girl at the door.

“What’s the problem Michael?”

“I’m sinking!!! I am going to sink!” he cried in hysterics.

I looked at the teacher expectantly – who was frankly doing nothing to help the situation.

“Is he sinking?” I asked.

“No – he just needs to calm down…..” she said hesitantly.

“He can swim, he must just be nervous.” I assured her.  I looked down at Michael and spoke in my famous “fake nice mommy voice.”

“You can swim, your teacher won’t let you sink – you are just rusty, now go to your lesson.”

5 minutes later they were back.

“What now?” I asked impatiently as I whipped open the door.

“He has to use the bathroom.” the teacher explained.

“No you don’t – now stop it and finish your lesson,” I said to Michael between gritted teeth.

“Yes – I really have to go!” he said wiggling around.

I grabbed his arm so hard it almost came out of the socket and dragged him to the door to the boys bathroom.

“Get inside and go to the bathroom and hurry up.  You better be out here in one minute.” I yelled at him.

I stood waiting outside the door with smoke pouring out of my ears.

Tick. Tock.

A couple of minutes went by.  I opened the door and called inside, “Michael what is the hold-up?” 

No answer.

“Michael – so help me God – you better hurry up and get out here or you will be punished for a month.” I screamed like a lunatic with no regard for young men walking by me and witnessing my insanity.

No answer.

“MICHAEL!!!” I screeched.

“What????” he answered.

“Hurry up!!!!!”

“I’m pooping.” he called back.

I actually looked around for something I could smash into a million pieces, but couldn’t find anything, so had to resort to more inappropriate screaming.

“Michael – you better hurry up – this is not an appropriate time to poop!!!!” I screamed.

He finally moseyed out in tears again about sinking.

I dragged him by the arm over to the teacher. She was in for it too.

“Oookaaayyy, he is no longer allowed to speak to me during swimming lessons.”

“Well if he says he needs to use the bathroom we are obligated to bring him.” she answered curtly.

“Well he just took a huge shit for twenty minutes so he’s good.  Do you think he can like learn to swim or something?” I answered shortly and turned on my heel.

Needless to say his pooping and crying landed him in Sam’s class.  He got demoted.

At least he doesn’t cry anymore.

And at least I have straight vodka to drink when I get home from these little activities.

And thank you Jesus for giving me a job that requires me to work a lot on weekends.  Because of this I have missed a lot of Michael’s baseball season.

I was recently able to catch a full game.

Let’s just say it is very lucky that it is MR. and not MRS. Gaga that is the coach of this team of fat and lazy children.

Many of these losers can be frequently found laying down or “looking for mushrooms” in the outfield actually during the game!!!!

You are probably asking “what do their parents say?”


Their parents say nothing!!

Their parents are very busy on the sidelines on their Blackberries and Iphones playing “Words with Friends” and updating their Facebook status to read “At Ethan’s baseball game!! We are so proud of him!!

The thought wouldn’t cross their minds to actually look up and WATCH THE GAME and NOTICE THEIR WRETCHED CHILD’S INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR!

The moms who are off in the shade watching the game quietly – are the ones who kids are actually good.

The parents who show up in Vineyard Vines attire and a huge Tommy Bahama beach chair with a matching sun umbrella are the ones to watch out for.

This dad of one of the players, put his iPhone in his pocket for a minute, looked up and realized that his son was in the outfield picking flowers and had also shit his pants, so he quickly got back on his phone again……

Those moms in the Lily Pulitzer attire at the game are the ones who will say “Oh we are so busy with Hunter! He has tennis and golf on Mondays and Tuesdays, karate on Wednesdays and baseball on Thursdays and Saturdays!!”

I am quite tempted to say “Oh really – is that Hunter? The fat kid who just ran from 3rd base to 2nd? The one Mr. Gaga told me pooped in his pants during the last game?” That’s super that he plays 3 sports!! You must be the best mother in the whole town!!!!

These kids not only shit their pants, and look for mushrooms instead of catching the ball.  They are known for crying when they get tagged out and crying when they don’t get a hit.  They also will refuse to leave the field when they are clearly out, because they DON’T WANT TO, and if they do leave the field against their wishes, they will take their batting helmet and smash it as hard as they can (which isn’t very hard because they are pathetic, doughy wusses) against the fence or onto the ground.

To add insult to injury – at the end of this horrorfest – the score?

It’s a tie.

Every game.

No matter what.


“If you had fun….you won.”

Can you believe this horse shit?






At some point these children in America are going to have to experience a loss, to understand what it is to be defeated, to possibly be inspired to do better or to stop looking for mushrooms, so that they can WIN!!!

Because in real life when you spend your entire lesson time or game time taking a shit and crying – guess what?


I think fellow mom blogger Momma Kiss said it best when she was shocked to find that most parents wouldn’t let their 7-year-olds play dodgeball because it was “too rough.” She wrote:

“I mean really – the pussification of boys these days.”

Enough said.

If you like this loving blog post about how I scream at my children and call other children fat losers, then please share on Facebook!!  ALSO -ANY LIKES ON FACEBOOK WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED!! XOXOXO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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…..


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