You'd think after taking a few days off from blogging I'd feel refreshed. Instead I keep looking at that horse picture from my last post and feeling, well, ew.
Since I wasn't blogging over the weekend, I had plenty of time to make cupcakes for my dad's birthday.
Mmmm, right? If you want the recipe, I have to forewarn you: It's not for amateur bakers. It takes real finesse to craft a crumbly cupcake that won't hold frosting. And look, achieving that "this is so greasy how can I possibly be choking on it?" surprise ending is no easy feat. But go ahead, ask me for the recipe. I dare you.
Yesterday was Women's Day. I wasn't sure how to celebrate it. I felt like I should do something involving my vagina, but I couldn't find any listings on CTcalendar for vagina-themed events in Mulletville. That was really disappointing.
I stole a Time Out New York for Kids magazine from my doctor's office. I felt kind of bad stealing it. The magazine was a hot news item in the local newspaper: "Mulletville doctor has urban literature."
According to the magazine's Back Talk section—"advice from a mom (Antonia Kidd) who knows everything"—evil walks among us. It's none other than Frenemom. Gasp! Yes! Frenemom is a frenemy (friend + enemy) who's also a mom. Hold me.
Are you as sick as I am of words that have morphed with "mom" lately? Every time I turn around someone's birthed a cute new mommyism. It makes me want to gouge my momballs out with a hot poker—or at least set fire to my momputer. What the momfuck?
Five months ago, I wrote that if nothing in my life had changed and I was still whining, I’d stop blogging. I have one month to make some serious changes. Unless Frenemom gets me first. Maybe I can ward her off with my dastardly momcakes. I mean cupmoms. Shit, I mean cupcakes.
