Friday, November 29, 2013

10 Reasons Why I Have A Love/Hate Relationship With Football


I love the fall season. The air is crisper, leaves turn gold, sweaters come out of storage and pumpkin lattes abound. My husband loves fall for a different reason. Football. The time of year when both my grocery and liquor bill skyrocket. I’ve been to several games and I’ve tried to get into the sport, but the spirit just isn’t there. I am far more interested in the fried foods that are offered than I am over who scored a touchdown. I won’t even remember who won the game, but I’ll be able to tell you in detail every morsel I put into my mouth while watching it.
I have a love/hate relationship with the football season, and this is why:

1. Love my personal time

While my husband turns into a football zombie for 18 hours every weekend, I get to lose myself in the internet Twilight Zone. This is done guilt-free without my husband’s criticism over how much time I spend in front of a computer screen.

2. Hate being a football widow

Where I once strapped on sexy stilettos for a Saturday date night, I now slip into yoga pants and zebra slippers for a hot date with my computer.

3. Love the food

Football season is second only to the Christmas holidays when it comes to binge eating. It’s the perfect excuse to act like the Romans did centuries ago—-eat, purge and gorge some more. Or pretend you’re a cow and switch over to your second stomach.

4. Hate the weight gain

Gorging to oblivion has its consequences. People break lap bands during football season and are forced to schedule gastric bypass surgery to return to their former weight…..otherwise they’ll remain the size of a lineman.

5. Winning puts my husband in a good mood

If his team wins, my husband is fired up. It’s the perfect time to call in favors such as re-grouting the bathroom floor or painting the house pink. He’ll do anything I ask—adopt another pug, host a ladies book club meeting or start up a foundation for wayward squirrels.

6. Losing puts my husband in a bad mood

If his favorite team loses, my husband becomes cranky and sullen. Times like this call for breaking out the handy Pez dispenser full of antidepressants.

7. Love the Super Bowl commercials

Normally I hate television commercials—I mute them or take a bathroom break when they air. But during the Super Bowl, I’m glued to the set in anticipation of the commercials. Months down the road I won’t recall who won the big game but I will remember the E-Trade talking baby, stomping Clydesdales and Dorito crunching dogs.

8. Hate that everything is scheduled around games

Last year our lives revolved around the football calendar. We missed three weddings, two funerals and the annual yard gnome convention.

9. Love the drinking

The term “Beer Belly” originated from football season. This year I want to supply kegerator backpacks for my husband and all of his buddies so that I don’t have to be on call as a barmaid during each game.

10. Hate the screaming and cheering

Forget napping on a Sunday afternoon. My husband and his football pals are reduced to grunting, hollering, clapping, chanting neanderthals during the games. They’re reminiscent of their caveman ancestors celebrating their latest kill around the camp fire. Woolly mammoth wing dip, anyone?
At the very end of the football season, I do my celebratory dance as the time clock ticks down to zero. I grab the last chicken wing off the platter and smile. Life will finally return to normal, and hopefully I’ll drop a few pounds before the swimsuit season begins.
And then my husband cheerfully reminds me that basketball season is only six weeks away….


2 cups diced, cooked chicken (cut small)
1/4 cup cayenne pepper sauce (like Frank's Red Hot Sauce)
1 cup mayo
1 cup shredded cheddar
2 TBSP finely chopped green onions
1 tsp. lemon juice
1/2 cup crumbled blue cheese, divided

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Toss diced chicken and cayenne sauce together until evenly coated. Add all other ingredients, reserving 1/4 cup of the Blue cheese. Pour mixture into a 1 or a 1 1/2 qt. baking dish. Sprinkle remaining 1/4 cup of cheese over top. Bake for 20 minutes or until bubbly.

***Serve with celery sticks or dipping chips

*****Meno Mama is in the Powder Room today talking about surviving the day after Thanksgiving with a funny spin, as always! Stop by and say hello!

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Singlewritermomrants

    My Wacky Wednesday Writers guest today is a dear friend I met in the blogosphere two years ago when I first started blogging. Please welcome Tiffany N. York of I quickly became hooked on this talented writer's humorous blog posts, and when I discovered that she had actually published a NOVEL, I contacted her for writing guidance. Tiffany was so kind and helpful to me, and a friendship grew from our frequent emails. Her romantic comedy, Accidental Cougar, is a MUST read for those of you who love romance novels spiced with a dose of humor.  Check it out and I guarantee you'll get hooked on her writing, too.

   I've gotten some great advice from Tiffany and she has always been so supportive of Meno Mama. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this special lady. Please welcome her to my site and give her lots of comment love (some hugs would be nice, too!).

                                    Divas Come In All Shapes And Sizes

It all started with the movie, Beverly Hills Chihuahua. My son was 7 when he first saw it and he instantly fell in love. Had to watch it 10 times in a row. Every day.

“I want a Chihuahua,” he announced shortly thereafter. I pooh-poohed it of course, as I often did his ridiculous requests (a motorcycle, a nuclear submarine), or I’d nod absently and say, “Mmm-hmm, okay, honey,” figuring he’d drop the idea eventually. I should have known my son does not drop anything he truly wants. He hounded me incessantly; he became like this obsessive-compulsive parrot who only knows how to say one word (Chihuahua), or a CD that skips, repeating the same lyric over and over again (Get me a Chihuahua).

A year later, when he still hadn’t gotten the whole Chihuahua thing out of his head, I began to take him seriously. We had talked about getting a dog before, but there was no way in Hell I would ever consider a Chihuahua.

“They’re just not kid-friendly dogs,” I tried to explain to the boy. “I don’t even think they’re people-friendly dogs. They’re mean, yappy oversized…” rats that I’d like to punt like a football. Okay, so I didn’t actually say that, but I thought it. I’m a cat person. I’ve had 7 cats at one time. I don’t do dogs. They’re kinda stinky, they’re over-enthusiastic about everything, and they poop a lot.

And yet, I had this Norman Rockwell image in my head of a boy sitting on the steps with his arm around a dog. Except in the image, the dog was a strong and noble Lab, not a quivering slip of a dog that old ladies dress up in cutesy sweaters. To the animal shelter we went, just to look. Unfortunately, we live in a complex with a 40-lb.-limit dog rule. Every time my son and I visited the shelter (sadly bursting to capacity with barking Pit Bulls and Chihuahuas), I’d have a poor shelter attendant drag out a Lab mix and weigh them. “Sorry, this one’s 43 lbs.” or “This one’s 38 lbs., but she’s going to get bigger.”

The boy and I must have visited that shelter 50 times in search of the “perfect” dog.

“Won’t you at least consider a different breed of dog,” I’d plead, as we’d pass the cages with the snarling Chihuahuas and their ear-piercing, nonstop barking.

“No, I have to have a Chihuahua.”

During one fateful visit as we strolled through the area where the shelter kept the large dogs, there amidst the deafening barks was this 7-month old Chestnut brown Chihuahua in this huge cage, and she wasn’t barking. She wasn’t barking. She approached us, friendly as can be, and licked our fingers through the bars. The boy and I were instantly smitten. We adopted her on the spot.

I wish I could say we lived happily ever after, but the truth is this Chihuahua is everything I knew she’d be and worse. That no barking ruse? Apparently, it was all a ploy to get us to adopt her. She in fact, does bark. All the time. At falling leaves, cats, the sound of a voice 3 towns away. And she snaps at small children who reach down to pet her. And she chases poor, unsuspecting kids on skateboards and bikes, scaring the bejeezus out of them. Oh, and then there’s the peeing on the carpet that I’ve since had to replace. And the need to be near me or on me every nanosecond of the day.

You see, she became my dog, not my son’s, because, well, my son is a bit rambunctious and smothering and I don’t think Chihuahuas appreciate those traits. And while I can’t say I’ve transformed into a dog person (dogs are just so needy compared to cats), this diva Chihuahua has indeed sucked me in under her diva spell. She forces me to baby her, and allow her to sleep in my bed. I have to buy her more expensive food than the cats, and yes, I must dress her up in cute sweaters, dresses and Halloween costumes—because a diva won’t have it any other way.

Do you think there are more dog people or cat people in the world? If you have a cat or a dog, tell me something ridiculous you do with them.

Tiffany N. York lives in SoCal with her spirited son, diva Chihuahua, 3 ½ cats, and 2 screeching parakeets. She writes romance to escape reality. Her first book, The Accidental Cougar is available on Amazon.

You can read her somewhat raunchy blog that her family doesn’t know about here:

New LIKES on her Facebook page get her very excited:

Friday, November 22, 2013

Fly On The Wall In Happy Town

 Welcome to another edition of the Fly On The Wall group challenge, hosted by Karen of  13 bloggers are participating today and inviting you to catch a glimpse of what REALLY goes on in their homes when they think no one is looking.  But the fly knows, and he's here to give away all of his secrets.
     When the fly came to my house this month, he saw what makes me happiest: time spent with my family and the freedom to blog about them. I love the quirkiness that runs in our gene pool and have always taught my children to embrace their inner weirdness.
     If you were a fly on the wall at my house, you would have overheard some of these oddball comments in our home:

"Close your mouth while you're eating. You sound like a cow chewing cud."

"I can't eat my scrambled eggs by the window anymore. The pigeons on the sill think I'm eating their cousins."

"Any teenager who sprays Axe throughout the house deserves a good throttling."

"When the office pooper takes a break, everyone knows it's goin' down in toilet town."

"I just burped up a piece of chicken and re-chewed it. That was my after dinner snack."

"I saw lots of spandex camel toes at the gym today."

"What are you doing with this fossilized granola bar in your purse---saving it for the zombie apocalypse?"

"For Christmas, I'm going to ask Santa for an artificial urinary sphincter."

"The pugs are tearing the sofa pillows apart!"
"Ahh….but the entertainment value of a pug tug-of-war is priceless."

"I gave you the energy drink so that you'd be pumped up to do yard work, not play air guitar with a rake!"

"Got a new bag of nuts for you, son."
"Are you saying I need to grow a pair?"

"I was on a safari in the bathroom and I just spotted a South African toilet snake."

"Nutella is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."
"No….just fat."

"This coffee doesn't work for me anymore. I think someone is punking me by filling the pot with decaf."

"I tried to hide the Halloween candy but our son is like a drug sniffing dog when it comes to chocolate."

     Hope you enjoyed your little visit to Happy Town, where toilets require a double flush and the air smells like Axe cologne.  Be sure to stop by and visit all of the other bloggers crazy enough to share a  personal slice of their home life with you!

***Check out Meno Mama's weekly post over at In The Powder Room. This time I'm talking about what makes a friend your BEST friend! Click on the link:                                     Baking In A Tornado                                Just a Little Nutty                          Follow me home . . .                  Stacy Sews and Schools                            The Sadder But Wiser Girl                                     Menopausal Mother                Moore Organized Mayhem                                 The Momisodes                      Spatulas on Parade                              The Rowdy Baker                       Sorry kid, Your Mom Doesn’t Play Well With Others                            Moms Don’t Say That                      Juicebox Confession

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: DeBie Hive

     I am SO EXCITED to introduce you to my new Wacky Wednesday Writers guest today! This lady holds a special place in my heart and I admire her more than she knows. Please say hello to Kelly DeBie, of I bonded with Kelly several months ago over some painful loses we've shared in our past and since that time, I've been in awe of her strength and compassionate heart. Kelly is the champion of many causes and has touched so many wounded souls with her kindness.  She has a wide variety of posts on her blog---some humorous, some poignant and often ones that are very informative. It's easy to see why she has been a mentor to so many mothers and bloggers. She is a remarkable writer who knows how to dig deep and make you think.
     Kelly is a beautiful person inside and out, and I am so grateful to have this awesome lady as a friend.  Please welcome her today with lots of comment love. Enjoy!

This is why we can't have nice things...or any of the things for that matter….

A few days ago, I reached down for my purse while I was stopped at a red light. I rifled through it a bit, looking for a piece of gum. My husband had just bought me a couple packages a few days before hand.

I didn't find one. Not a single piece.

When I got home, I went through my purse.  This is what I found.

- my wallet (thank god)
- three inhalers
- three single dose containers of benadryl liquid
- two unwrapped tampons, covered in crumbs
- two tampon wrappers that had been folded like origami
- one tube of chapstick with bite marks in it
- nail clippers
- three pens
- a bottle opener (don't judge)
- two hot wheels cars
- a tiny dinosaur
- three army guys
- two pairs of earrings, neither of which is mine
- fourteen receipts
- four expired coupons
- two completely empty packages of gum

I am, apparently, the keeper of all things. Except the things I would ever want or need, like a fresh unwrapped tampon or chapstick that hasn't been chewed on or a piece of gum.

Then I got to thinking about all the things that I can't have anymore. Forget the nice things, we all know that once you have kids you resign yourself to living in Target clearance rack clothing, vacationing at the local pool and considering anyplace you didn't cook as "going out to eat".  My furniture is all beat to hell, the walls aren't faring better, and don't even ask me about the floors in my house.

It's not just the nice clothes, fancy vacations and lavish dinners that we're missing. It's not just customized "distressed" furniture and stained carpets we have to live with.

It's the fact that I can't ever find any of the things, the totally ordinary things, that should be in my possession. Either I can't buy them, I can't ever find them, or I have to hide them like a ninja.

In no particular order...

* Gum - I like to chew gum, as horrid as a habit as it is, and as bad as it is for someone with a history of TMJ to do. Especially when I've made a run for the border and have onion breath or drank a pot of coffee and smell like a middle school science teacher, I'd like to have a piece on hand to mask my dragon breath.  But no. A package of gum lasts about as long as a can of Pringles in this house, and it doesn't matter where I try to stash it. They.Always.Find.It.

* Tape - I could buy six rolls of tape A DAY and there would never be any in the house. I'm fairly certain that the kids have a sixth sense about tape, and they can smell it when it's in the drawer. Ohhhhh, tape.....what can we tape???


Two minutes later, the tape is all gone.

* Pens - I buy pens in bulk. Monthly. I buy pens all the freaking time. We have a pen container on the side of the fridge which is where the pens are supposed to live when no one is using them. The pens? They grow legs and walk away. I NEVER have a pen, I can NEVER find a pen, and I can never find anything to write with that isn't a dull crayon when I'm on the phone and actually need to write something down.

* Scissors - What the hell happens to the scissors??? This is another thing I buy way too many of. I'm convinced there is an office supply troll under the stairs in the basement hoarding all the things. If you're lucky enough to locate a pair of scissors in this house when you need one, odds are the blades will be coated in dried ice pop goo and crusty yogurt from small people using them to open tubes of ooey goodness.

* Drinks - If I have any beverage in a cup with a lid and a straw, somehow the kids believe it belongs to them. My diet cherry cokes are pilfered, stolen, whisked away and sucked down like there are no drinks anywhere else in the free world and there will never be another soda for the rest of eternity. No, go ahead kid. I was totally done with that....and now that you backwashed, it's ALL yours. Have at it.

* Hairbrushes - Considering how rarely my daughters actually brush their hair, one would think that brushes should be easy to find. Not so! There have to be at least 20 hairbrushes in this house, but good luck finding one. You'll have to excuse the rat's nest.

* Girl Scout Cookies - I've hidden them in bathrooms, in the basement, under the kitchen sink, in the freezer, inside of other boxes in the pantry. To no avail. SOMEONE always finds them, and NO ONE ever knows who. Amazing how that works.

* Chocolate Chips - Candy, cookies or any other treat-like-food-items are fairly obvious, and when any of that finds it's way into my life, it quickly vanishes. Chocolate chips, however, were more surprising. More than once I have bought a bag to make cookies, and more than once I've found an empty bag stashed behind a box of crackers in the pantry, random chips rained down on every shelf below. It's your fault I don't make you cookies, you little chocolate thieves.

* Anything you'd actually need in the bathroom - Tampons, pads, ointments, creams, know....any of that stuff that you would like to be able to keep in the bathroom, but can't because if you do their radar will activate immediately. You'll find all the pads stuck to the wall or an entire box of tampons flushed or the cream and ointment squeezed all over the sink. Oh, and powder....that stuff gets everywhere. Don't make the mistake of thinking you can put that stuff in a sensible place. Noooooo. Plan accordingly. Or waddle. Either way.

* Good leftovers - This one might sound crazy, but just trust me. My children have been well trained to eat leftovers. Too well trained. If there is something good in the fridge, you'd best rise early and hide it.  Now that the oldest is in middle school and the cafeteria has microwaves, everything is fair game. Oh, all the times I have been giddy with anticipation at the idea of having leftover homemade pizza or something else awesome only to realize it was swiped hours earlier by some kid feasting it up at school.

What about you all?  What things can't you have anymore?


Kelly is a native of California transplanted to Colorado. She writes because it keeps her sane. She resists niches and writes about anything and everything that happens in life as she sees it, and is in the process of writing several books. If you aren't nice, she'll write about be nice.

Friday, November 15, 2013

You Are My Sunshine

      I have met some amazing people in the blogosphere over the past two years. Talented writers, every one of them. They have become my friends and my followers---Meno Mama would not be here today if it wasn't for all of these wonderful people. They are my sunshine.
     Bloggers are supportive, generous people who love to applaud each other's successes and hand out awards to the ones they feel deserve special recognition. I am honored to have received two awards recently, and I wanted to share the love with a whole bunch of other bloggers out there to let them know they are appreciated.
     The first award comes from one of my closest blogging buddies, Lanthie of I have known her longer than any other blogger---we started around the same time and leaned on each other for blogger support. Our friendship grew from this, and now this awesome lady has become very dear to me. She is one of the sweetest bloggers out there and I love her to bits. Thank you Lanthie, for honoring me with the Sunshine Award!

     There are a few simple rules that go along with the Sunshine Award:

* Thank the person who gave you the award
*  Include the award badge on your post
* Name 7 things about yourself
* Give the award to 10 other bloggers


* I love Zumba---I just don't like looking in the mirror while I'm doing it.

* I have tricolored hair. I'm channeling my inner chameleon.

* I avoid grocery stores at all costs because I am a foodie at heart.

* I have a love/hate relationship with Pandora charms.

* I'm ridiculously sensitive about things. It doesn't take much to crush my spirit but somehow I always get back up on my feet, ready to fight.

* Nutella is better than Prozac.

* I become OCD whenever I leave the house. I have to check the lock on the door 3-4 times and triple check to make sure everything is unplugged. I also cannot leave the house until the beds are made and all the dishes done. If you're going out with me, be prepared to wait. 



     The next award I received is from the HILARIOUS blogger Michael Mele, who authors TWO blog sites: and He was my featured Wacky Wednesday Writers guest this week and his post had me in stitches! Michael has awarded me the Liebster and I hope I make him proud by the way I answered the questions he gave me. Hey, you ask weird stuff, expect weird answers! Thank you for the award, Michael!
     Here are the rules for the Liebster:

* Post 11 random facts about yourself
* Answer the 11 questions the awarding blogger has posted for you
* Nominate 11 bloggers (hopefully a newer blogger with less than 200 followers) and link them to your post.
* Let the bloggers know you have nominated them.
* Come up with 11 questions to ask the bloggers you have chosen for the award
* No tag backs!


* I'd like to turn my house into a home for wayward pugs.

* I have a bad habit of making people jump by yelling "RAWR" at awkward moments…..

* I live in fear of a cockroach apocalypse

* I went into a pool this past summer for the first time in 15 years.

* I'd rather spend my money dining on gourmet food in a five star restaurant then spend it on a Coach bag.

* I wear bright red reading glasses because that's just how I roll.

* When writer's block hits me, I strike back with a glass of wine and grab The Hubs for inspiration. He has a warped sense of humor and is responsible for several of the odd lines that appear in my blog posts.

* I encourage hoards of squirrels to colonize in my backyard. I am the Squirrel Whisperer, after all.

* I've been wearing contacts for 6 years and I still have trouble with them. Most days I just want to scratch out my eyes.

* The Hubs has had a "Honey-Do" list every day since we got married. To be fair,  I have one for myself, too….it's a control thing. Are you scared of me, now?

* I sleep with a giant stuffed dragon.  Don't ask.

11 Questions Michael Asked Me:

1. How do you feel about dropping the kids off at the pool (taking a poop in a public bathroom)?  As long as the kids can swim, I'm okay with that.

2. Have you ever stolen someone's lunch at work?  No, but I'd be tempted to if it was a Philly cheese steak sub.

3. Do you fart in public (oh man, this is SUCH a Michael question)? Only if the person on the elevator is getting off on the next floor.

4. Stupidest thing you have ever done while you were drunk? How would I know that? I was too drunk to remember.

5. Have you ever been to jail/prison? No, and I don't plan on it unless it's illegal to hoard chinchillas.

6. Have you ever turned a pair of your underwear inside out just to get another day out of them (yeah…another typical Michael question)? Heck yeah, and then back the other way! Shhh…don't judge…I was camping and lost all my underwear….

7. Have you ever given a homeless person money just because you felt guilty, then afterwards saw them use the money for alcohol and felt like an ass? No...and I hope I never have to witness this. It would just make me feel really crappy if it did happen. I would rather buy them food and bring it to them.

8.  Would you rather get caught picking your nose or picking a wedgie (seriously Michael, where do you come up with this stuff?)? That's why you have two index fingers!

9. Have you ever been in a house full of people who love you, only to feel sad because you didn't get any love on Facebook, Twitter or any other form of social media outlet?  The only thing that makes me sad is when my blog post doesn't do well on a particular day or if I lose a follower over a comment that was can meant to be a joke. Lighten up, people! Where's your sense of humor??

10. Have you ever voted for a president really expecting things to change for the better? Only when I was young and stupid.  I hate to see our beautiful country go down the crapper but I have to admit, things have gotten worse in the last decade or so.

11. When was the last time you wanted to punch someone in the throat? The last time my new neighbor started up a lawn mower on a Saturday at the ass crack of dawn.  No one wants to mess with a menopausal woman deprived of sleep from hot flashes and insomnia. No one.


1. What is your biggest phobia?
2. Have you ever buried your face in a cake?
3. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
4. Have you ever been in a bounce house while intoxicated at a kiddie birthday party?
5. If someone handed you $1000 right now, what is the first thing you would buy?
6. Has your neighbor ever seen you in your underwear?
7. What is the one food time you can't live without?
8. Do you sleep in the buff?
9. When you were little, what did you want to be when you became a grown-up?
10. Have you ever gone skinny dipping? Details?
11. Have you ever had a bowel malfunction before you could reach the toilet?



***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? CHECK OUT MY WEEKLY ARTICLE OVER AT IN THE POWDER ROOM! This week I'm talking about the gym…and Mexican food….

***Meno Mama was nominated in the Babble 100 Best Bloggers and she needs your help! To cast a "vote" all you have to do is click on the link, which will take you right to my page entry in the contest. You'll see the social media icons there by my name--just share it on your Facebook page, Twitter or G= and that will count as a vote! Easy Peasy! Can you help a girl out? I would be very grateful. Thank you for your support! XO

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: The Nerdy Side Of Life & The Insane Asylum

       Okay, I'll admit it. I have a little blog crush on today's guest, Michael Mele, author of TWO blogs:  and  http://  Michael just GETS my warped sense of humor because we are cut from the same cloth. This guy never fails to make me laugh out loud and ask, "Did he really just SAY THAT?!?" Michael is a fearless blogger---he writes about  private things we THINK about but never discuss in polite company. I love the way his twisted mind works and would give my left kidney for an ounce of his humor. He's one of my favorite bloggers out there and I cherish our friendship because underneath all the snark is a soft teddy bear whom I adore. I think you will, too. Please give this awesome blogger some comment love and be sure to check out both of his blogs. Need an extra kidney, Michael?

“This Old Man”

     I'm going to be an old man with triple Ds, and I don't mean the ones on some floozy’s chest who's trying to steal my bingo winnings, but rather drool, diapers and dentures, baby.

     I’m going to hire Xzibit from Pimp My Ride to pimp my stairlift, because I want it to do more than just stairs; I want it to take me all around the house with some speed and some flare, and if you are in my way, I will run you over in the blink of an eye.

     I’ll walk around with an M60 machine gun as my cane, the bullets wrapped around my arm like a blood pressure cuff. The mere sight of me will have all those young punks crapping their underoos and thinking twice before messing with this old man.

     I’m also going to have my grandkids call me something cool--- none of that corny cliché stuff. I want a name that represents who I am and what I’m about; something like grand pimp pa…..what do you think?

     You can keep all that walker nonsense, too. F’ those stupid tennis balls on the legs, because I’m going to be rocking a 4 wheeler for my means of transportation, and if you don’t like it, you can just kiss my ass when I fly by.

     When people see me coming down their street they’ll avoid me like as if I was a bill collector and their asses were delinquent; like as if I was a Jehovah Witness with a police door ram or like as if I was a homeless man begging for change on the side of the road…you get the picture.

     I’ll put your lights out like an unpaid light bill; you will get blasted by a badass bastard that smells of Bengay and moldy cheese.…nuff said.

     I’m going to be the dirty old man who is molesting all the nurses in the doctor’s office while I’m getting my annual physical--- popping Viagra before coming in just to make sure my raisined pickle is standing strong and tall.I want them all to know that just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the furnace.

     I would also make sure to slather on the Old Spice and smooth out all my wrinkles so I look fine as a mutha. I would be like the Brad Pitt of old people and on the cover of “Old People” as the sexiest senior alive.

     I'm not going to be the cranky old man who is constantly yelling at all the brats to get off my lawn; if those bastards come up on my property they are going to get bombed with my soiled Depends.

     Go ahead and call the cops on me, it’s all good; I’ll just get off because I’m old and senile…take that, bitches!

     I’m not going to be one of those weak old men who don’t know what’s going on in the world around them, I’m also not going to be telling stories about walking to school, miles in the snow with no shoes on my feet. I’m going to be a straight up old man thug with AARP tattooed across my chest wrapped in barbwire.

     And then I woke up, realizing I’m in a retirement home, sporting bedsores and eating my checkers, wishing I had some more of that good shit so I could go back to dreamland where I was the bombdiggity.


Who's MJM, well let me ask the voices in my head, I am someone who likes to laugh and who does not take life too seriously. 

There is no rhyme or reason to my ramblings, there is no method to my madness, I write for fun and for the entertainment of the people who are not  uptight and not afraid to have a good time. 

I currently write two blogs, one for the mentally insane person "The Insane Asylum" and one for the nerd "The Nerdy Side of Life", feel free to stop by anytime.

The Insane Asylum:
The Insane Asylum
The Nerdy Side of Life:
The Nerdy Side Of Life

Friday, November 8, 2013

The Holiday From Hell

     Christmas 2001 will forever be known as The Day Of The Neighborhood Flu Epidemic. There is nothing worse than spending a major holiday like Christmas with your head in the toilet when you should be taking advantage of the biggest, guilt-free binge fest day of the year. There is no cheerful clinking of champagne glasses or popping sugar cookies in your mouth faster than an aardvark sucking up ants. There is only LONELY time in the bathroom to contemplate the identity of the fiesta-colored items that erupt from your stomach into the toilet bowl. Nor is it fun to be a party of one when you've been quarantined from family and friends like the town pariah. Swapping gifts on Christmas is fine. Germs, not so much. But the flu bug doesn't have discerning tastes and will happily descend upon whatever poor, unsuspecting host it can find.
     In 2001, we attended the annual neighborhood holiday party, which is traditionally held a few days before Christmas. As was custom, the entire block gathered for the festive event at a neighbor's home to chat with old friends and strain the waistband of our pants with an array of holiday foods. Little did we know that our stomachs and intestines were preparing to take us for a ride on the toilet train to hell.

     There was a child at the party who was recovering from a recent bout of the flu, but none of us gave it a second thought as we chatted over rum balls and queso dip.
     The party was a success and we left that night with full bellies and happy hearts.  We had no clue that an invisible, uninvited guest had followed the majority of us home.
     By Christmas Eve, the entire block was infected by the nefarious flu bug that took us down one by one like dominoes. The bubonic plague was alive and well in our neighborhood. The "Welcome To Our Home" plaque outside our front door should have been changed to: "Welcome To The Vomitorium." While others were listening to "O Holy Night" and sipping apple cider, my oldest son and I were singing "O Wretched Night", curled in the fetal position with a vomit bowl between us.  It didn't matter that the stockings were not hung by the chimney with care, because old St. Nicolas was not going to be coming there.  The ONLY thing that mattered to me was the sprinting distance between my mattress and the bathroom door. The problem was that I couldn't decide which end should hit the toilet first----my mouth or my backside. I ended up sitting on the throne with the vomit bowl in my lap and called it a BOGO---buy one get one free.
     That night we missed the candle light Christmas Eve services at church, along with the big solo my son was to perform with the choir. He was too busy making a casserole in the toilet bowl to be bothered with hitting a few high notes. The Hubs was forced to pull double duty with babysitting, gift wrapping and stocking stuffing, not to mention all those pesky, "Assembly Required" packages stored in the garage.

     Christmas morning I was greeted by the cheery sounds of retching and moaning behind the bathroom door. The Hubs was down for the count, along with two more of our children. I knew it was a bad start to the day when no one raced into the living room to see what surprises Santa had left under the tree. The only surprise I wanted from Mr. Claus was a second toilet, along with a gallon of Pepto-Bismol and Kaopectate.
 Once we reached four hours of vomit-free bliss, we felt well enough to attend the big family dinner at my folk's home. Selfish perhaps, but we were stir crazy from staring into the well of a toilet bowl for twenty-four hours and needed to get out of the house. We took into consideration that our motley crew looked like Typhoid Mary survivors, but we did our best to control the contagious bug by refraining from bodily contact.  At least the surgical masks and gloves we donned made for some interesting Christmas family photos.
     As we drove home that night and congratulated ourselves for surviving the holiday with our intestines intact, we heard the sound no parent ever wants to hear while they're behind the wheel of a car.
     "Mommy....Daddy....I think I'm going to be sick...."
     If we pretended not to hear our youngest daughter in the backseat, we were certain the specter of illness would surely disappear.
     Apparently Santa had other plans for us.
     Is it any wonder why the following year there was a new porcelain throne under the Christmas tree with my name on it?

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Grace, Grits And Gardening

       My charming guest today on Wacky Wednesday Writers is a funny writer I met on another blogger's site quite some time ago. Since I love anything to do with gardening and good food with some humor tossed in, I consider myself lucky to have found Talya Boerner of She describes her blog as "ramblings from an Arkansas farm girl," and she makes you feel right at home when you stop by her cozy site. Talya has all sorts of fun things going on over there: funny stories from her childhood, decadent recipes, beautiful photographs from her travels and plenty of gardening tips, all with a twist of humor. Please welcome Talya to Meno Mama's house today and leave her some comment love!

Breaking Bad on Aging

Have you read those cutesy sayings plastered on Facebook and Pinterest? Things like oh I love my laugh lines and gray hairs. They make me proud of where I've been and who I've become. I'm stronger, wiser, blah blah BLAH!  

Check this one out...

Yo. I love Mark Twain, but what the heck did he know about being an aging woman? (Sorry about the yo-speak, but I've been watching tons of Breaking Bad lately.)

Anyway…Yo. What a crock of coping crap!

I'm calling bullshit to the whole charade. I don't love my wrinkles. I don't love that my freckles have spread into age spots.

I want my firm, young body back, the one I thought was fat at the time...

I want to be able to turn a perfect cartwheel without pulling every tired muscle or piece of fat in my body. I want to eat cheddar fries and drink beer with zero change in the scale. I want to pull an all-nighter, ace an eight a.m. college exam, go to work, then hang out until all hours with college friends.

I want to have natural, free, tow-headed highlights from the sun instead of worrying about the sun bleaching out my fake, expensive lowlights.

No, I don't want to go back in time, that's not what I'm saying. I enjoy my life. I love that my children are grown, contributing, responsible people. I am thrilled I get to write all day long. I love that I don't much care about what people say or think when I walk the dogs looking as though I just rolled out of bed. Because I just rolled out of bed.

I know this aging thing is part of the deal, not afforded to everyone... (another annoyingly popular Pinterest saying.) But my laugh lines and gray hairs…

Yo. No thank you.


Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.


Talya was raised on a cotton farm in Northeast Arkansas, moved to Texas for college (Baylor University) and now lives with her husband in Dallas. She is passionate about food, farming, gardening and life in general. Talya's heartfelt and humorous stories can be found on her lifestyle blog, Grace Grits and Gardening. When she isn't writing, she can be found walking her miniature schnauzers, Lucy and Annabelle. Talya recently completed her first novella about growing up in the Mississippi Delta.

Twitter:  @GraceGrits
Pinterest:  Grace Grits Garden
Instagram:  gracegrits
Google+ : Talya Tate Boerner


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