how's about a little side of grilled nessie sandwich?

last night i made soup for dinner. ambitions soup. okay, that's a lie because we all know chicken stock pretty much cooks itself, but i through in a boat load of fresh veggies so as to feel like i did my mothering job. boy child sees me chopping said veggies and this is how it goes:

boy child: what's for dinner, mom?

me: chicken soup

boy child: chicken in soup just doesn't sound right to me

me: *in head* what the fuck? you never heard of chicken soup, kid? what the hell have i been doing all these years when you get sick? *out loud* you know, like chicken soup when people get sick?

boy child: *stares* so what's that? (as he points to the yellow squash i am hacking away at)

me: squash

boy child leaves at this point. probably to go plant himself in front of the ps3, but you know, it's summer, and letting video games entertain my kids is just how i roll.

fast forward to dinner time. boy child comes in to peer into the bowl of this somehow mysterious and sure to be disgusting chicken soup, because after all , what business does chicken have being in a soup? the horror!

boy child: *face brightens up* mom, i've had this before! i've just never had it with the sasquatch in it before!

i love the smell of cat ass in the morning

so i have a cat. i have two, and they are both pretty much assholes, just in different ways. oh, and i have dogs, too, and again, i am going with asshole on this one as well, but this story is all about my retarded feline, and how she has decided to love me. did i say love? i meant, how she has decided that she will tolerate me enough to not smother me in my sleep. hmm, it occurs to me now i may have mistaken her intentions and that is exactly what she intended to do.

quick background: we adopted this little kitten not too long after i had to let those nice people at the vet murder my beloved cat, kitler. that's right, her name was kitler, like hitler, but with a k, and she was evil. and wonderful. and snorted like a pig due to a large nose tumor. rip, poor dead kitler. so being that i need to replace things in my life that love me and leave immediately, said kitten seemed like a great idea. at first she did all the kitteny things she should have to win my heart.

kitten: lady, look at me, i am chasing this thing. um, what the fuck is this thing and why am i running after it? oh wait, i am a cute tiny baby and you WAAAANT me.

me: (to family) omg, look at the tiny little baby ball of fur. i want it, i am having it.

kitten: yes. yes you are having it (insert evil kitten type laugh)

so we get kitten home, promptly give her a name (which she has still never learned) and let her settle in. at first, it's all fun and games: running kitten, chasing string kitten, generally being so cute you want to squeeze her to death kitten. then something happens. she gets fat. and fatter. and fatter. and i think at this point her head starts to shrink, like at the end of beetlejuice. her little cat eyes start to take on a vacant look and her personality disappears like she is now some kind of pod cat. oh, and did i mention she hates me at this point, too? well she does. or maybe i am exaggerating and she is just indifferent to me. either way, i don't take rejection well so i do what any normal woman who's being rejected does and i throw myself into forcing her to love me. i do this by constantly kissing and hugging and generally throwing myself at her.

fast forward to this saturday morning. i feel fat (she never learned her given name, delilah, so we just call her fat) jump up on the bed. i feel her little cat paw start poking at my chest, followed by her massive bulk standing on my chest. of course at this point i can feel my chest cavity start to cave in under the weight, and i know i might die, but fuck it, my cat LOVES ME! i know it! and just when you think your cat loves you, she sits, tail up, directly down onto your mouth and nose. like the title says...

drum roll please dududududu...or however it goes

my name is rena, and i am an addict. i somehow believe that if you eat a pound of pasta over a 24 hour period, wash it down with pepsi, and cleanse your pallet with 42 cupcakes your ass will not become wider than the office chair you sit it on all day long. i hit bottom when i woke up in a cheap motel surround by twinkie wrappers and styrofoam take out containers, and i didn't even know their names, but i hear there is a youtube video of the night online.

i have been on the wagon about 10 days now, and it's soooo a one day at a time thing. a whole whopping 4 pounds have removed themselves from my body, but dammit, this is just too slow for me. i need instant results! i want to be energetic and thin, like a squirrel on crack. scratch that, squirrels are fat. um, what is thin? okay, wait, if a squirrel does start hittin' the pipe, does it become thin? does it also start wearing ratty cutoffs, a dirty wife beater and selling its ass on the local corner? oh whatever, you know what i mean. i want to be thin, because not looking at your cottage cheese thighs or feeling your belly rolls touch each other leads to instant happiness, wealth, and popularity, right? right?!?!

Want to know what I want to be when I grow up??? LADY GAGA!!!!

ga ga oooooh lala, ga ga oooh lala ga ga oooh lala, it's a bad manstance.
ME: Honey, I think the words are "bad romance"
Emma: No mom. I know lady Gaga and that is not what they say. Its manstance.
Me: what do you think that means? I think that doesn't make sense. I think it says "bad romance" because that makes sense.
Emma: Ya? Well you are LYING. I know the words to Lady Gaga songs and you don't. Good bye.

Epilogue: This child also sings lyrics like "apple bottom jeans, and boots with the ferns, the ferns, the ferns. " and "Chinese like a melody, in my head...." Be warned, these lyrics come with the shaka shaka dance. Which involves incorrect lyrics and seizure like shaking of the booty. We thought "balleray" lessons would help alleviate the shaka shaka dance but so far, they seem to be making it worse. Do you think hip hop dance lessons would be more appropriate?

Small children, fire, and life lessons

Why does fiesta jesus reference the sweaty breasts crack? Well I'll tell ya. The other day, I had on a tank top and I had stuck a lighter in between the girls.....for, you know, lighting citronella candles and such as. Anyway, I was leaning over helping my four year old do something and she grabs the lighter and yells "MOM! DID YOU KNOW YOU HAVE A LIGHTER IN YOUR BREASTS CRACK!" and then she smells it. She hands it back and says: "It smells like sweat" and then she ran off. Lesson from psalm 33:4 Do not let small children grab indiscriminately at your girlie parts. Amen.

Hi. My name is Emily and I have a problem with food. Delicious, delicious food. And bacon. God I love bacon.

Sarah and i have decided that we are starting a support group and 12 step program for people obsessed with thinking about food. We don't care that OEA already exists because, just like everything else we do...ours is better and most importantly, funny. So, Sarah wrote out the 12 steps and a new serenity prayer just for us.

god, give me the strength to resist the donut, the courage to eat raw vegetables, and the wisdom to know the difference. amen.

The 12 steps of the Dear fiesta jesus I love bacon more than my husband or Good god this cake is delicious I must eat the whole pan; group.

1. we admit that we are powerless over sugar, carbs, and fatty sausagy foods and our lives have become unmanageable.

2. came to believe that a power greater than ourselves, namely fiesta and weather jesus, could restore us to a body mass index under 35.

3. made a decision to turn our fat rolls and double chins over to the care of fiesta and weather jesus as we understand them.

4. made a fearless and searching inventory of our stash of granny panties and fat jeans.

5. admitted to fiesta/weather jesus, to ourselves, and to each other the exact nature of our breasts crack sweat.

6. were entirely ready to have fiesta/weather jesus remove all our hidden chocolates that we stash from our children or significant others.

7. humbly asked fiesta/weather jesus to remove at least like 20 pounds so we can go down a pants size, goddammit.

8. made a list of all McDonald's, quickie marts, and taco johns we have abused, and became willing to make amends to all of them by ceasing our patronage.

9. made direct amends to all the sales clerks we have abused verbally when they told us we may want to move up to the next shirt or pants size, except when to do so would cause us to punch them in the face.

10. continue to take personal inventory of our cravings for krispy kreme/sprinkles cupcakes/gas station hot dogs and when we were craving, promptly admit it to the group.

11. sought through booze and cigarettes to improve our conscious connection with fiesta/weather jesus, praying only for knowledge of a 100 calorie pack snack that didn't taste like shit and the power to buy them instead of regular brownies.

12. having had a sugar awakening as a result of these steps, we try to carry these principles to other fat asses and to practice these principles whenever we go to gas stations, when we are traveling, or when we have fucking stresses that make us want to eat fat/sugar/carbs/salt.

I don't know about you but I am not sure these will help. They did, however, cause me to pee my pants a little because I laughed so hard when I read them. Maybe I should go jog a little. Like to my kitchen for some brownies.