Speaking From The Crib

TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: MUCH MORE THAN MOMMY

2010-03-19T06:00:00.002-04:00

MMTM sent me a link to one of her archived posts. God bless her. The post is entitled, Making a Scene at Church, and you can find it right HERE. Please go read it, visit her, follow her, leave her some comments, and send her tons of Crib love.

Have a great weekend everybody!

DID YOU KNOW SATAN IS NOT ONLY A WOMAN, BUT THAT SHE WORKS AT THE MY TOWN DRIVE THRU AND BEVERAGE. IT'S TRUE.

2010-03-18T06:00:00.002-04:00

Have you listened to this week's podcast? It was magical. DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom was my guest along with my co-host, news anchor, and executive producer, Jill from HurstBurst. We discussed regional accents, how I hate Blog Talk Radio, pooping while talking on the cell phone, blumpkins, the Gottis, guidos, juice heads, the Real Housewives of New York vs the Real Housewives of everywhere else, urban dictionary dot com, mentally challenged newscasters, and prominently featured, the Drag Queen Name Generator. Go under my profile picture and click on the Blog Talk Radio player to listen.

I am afraid of many important things. Clowns. Loose stools. Fatness.

And Satan.

Did you know Satan works at the My Town Drive Thru and Beverage?

She does.

My daughter drinks a lot of milk. And I go to the drive thru because I am too lazy to get out of the car for a gallon of milk. Or because I am wearing pajamas, pink glitter slippers, and no bra.

The she-devil working the drive through is all business. Her lank greasy hair sports two colors: four inches of black roots and 6 inches of orange. Her face is accented with pock marks, a couple pounds worth of pancake base, black eyeliner, and tarantula lashes.

Her seven inch acrylic nails and ever-present slim brown cigarette hanging loosely from her lips, tell the tale of one who accepts no bullshit.

Bullshit includes: speaking, asking you what you want, telling you how much it costs, saying hello, good-bye, you're welcome, or thank you (see speaking).

Your visit goes like this:

Satan glares at you with questioning yet disgusted look.

You are fearful, yet wearing pink sparkle slippers, you have no choice.

You (experiencing mild hand tremors and clearing throat numerous times) ask for one gallon of whole milk. Please.

Beelzebub angrily trudges at the speed of slow to yank out your milk and thrust it through your car window.

With trembling hands you grapple with the milk and finally toss it into the passenger seat. There's no time for dilly dally. She won't have it.

Satan glares at you with questioning yet disgusted look.

You thrust your five dollar bill at her because you know exactly how much your items cost. You have to know.

She rips the cash out of your sweating hands and begins to violently stab at the register buttons.

Change?

Hmmmm.

No.

And you will say, thankyousomuch, regardless.

But she won't even hear you.

Because she's already wishing malignant brain tumors on the next customer.

You take a deep breath and ease into traffic.

You have done it.

Again.

You've survived another visit to the My Town Drive Thru and Beverage.

And Satan.

Who or what is something you fear that might not seem reasonable to others?

NO ONE TOLD ME BLOGGING WAS GOING TO BECOME THE BAIN OF MY EXISTENCE. NOW I AM TELLING YOU. YOU'RE WELCOME.

2010-03-17T06:00:00.005-04:00

Have you listened to this week's podcast? It was magical. DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom was my guest along with my co-host, news anchor, and executive producer, Jill from HurstBurst. We discussed regional accents, how I hate Blog Talk Radio, pooping while talking on the cell phone, blumpkins, the Gottis, guidos, juice heads, the Real Housewives of New York vs the Real Housewives of everywhere else, urban dictionary dot com, mentally challenged newscasters, and prominently featured, the Drag Queen Name Generator. Go under my profile picture and click on the Blog Talk Radio player.

When I started blogging, I was all, now I have somewhere I can write. I love to write. And people will read it. This is fun.

Then a bit later, I was all, Oh now I get it. It's like a game you play. A game you MUST play. People read you if you read them and leave a comment. Super.

Then I discovered blog fishing.

Then I became blog-chotic.

Grow BLOG grow. You must grow big, and large, and strong. (TWSS)

Then I was spending HOURS every day, reading 100 plus blogs and leaving comments, so that I would get 80-100 comments every post.

I want THEM to read ME. So I have to read them. No matter how many hours it takes away from my life.

I would dutifully sit on my couch every day, at every nap time (which is the only time I blog) and visit and comment on every blog who had visited me. Read and comment, read and comment, read and comment. For however long my daughter napped.

Meanwhile, laundry waits, meals wait, kids wait, dogs wait, cleaning waits ... it all waits for me.

And then something happened.

I fell behind.

First it was a few days, then a few weeks, then a few months.

I will never be caught up. Ever.

And the guilt has been killing me. Killing me.

I have felt awful that I don't visit other people as much as they visit me. I love and appreciate 'my regulars' so much. I ask myself, why do they come every day, when I am essentially MIA? Do they really like me that much? What's the deal?

To my faithful readers, a tip of the crib.

So now my comments dwindle to 20 or 30 per post.

I must make peace with those numbers. They are a direct result of the amount of time I have invested.

I am now officially waving my white flag of blog surrender. And I am taking a solemn vow. Well, a few of them.

From now on:

I am writing for me and because I love to write.

I am not going to be obsessed with word count, posting daily, driving people to read my blog, or the number of comments or followers.

I will visit other blogs I enjoy reading when I have time, but I will not do it out of guilt or a sense of duty.

I will remember this blog is not my job and behave accordingly.

I will not allow this blog to ever cause me another second of stress and guilt.

Amen.

DOES YOUR BLOG STRESS YOU OUT? OR DOES SOME PART OF BLOGGING STRESS YOU OUT? HOW DO YOU HANDLE IT? DO YOU READ ANY BLOGS THAT YOU WOULD VISIT REGARDLESS OF WHETHER OR NOT THEY RETURNED THE FAVOR?

DOGS HAVE SUFFERED FOR MY BLOG. AND THIS IS PROOF. AND THIS IS WHY I FEED HOMELESS DOGS MY POOP. IT'S THE GUILT.

2010-03-16T06:00:00.001-04:00

Have you listened to this week's podcast? It was magical. DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom was my guest along with my co-host, news anchor, and executive producer, Jill from HurstBurst. We discussed regional accents, how I hate Blog Talk Radio, pooping while talking on the cell phone, blumpkins, the Gottis, guidos, juice heads, the Real Housewives of New York vs the Real Housewives of everywhere else, urban dictionary dot com, mentally challenged newscasters, and prominently featured, the Drag Queen Name Generator. Go under my profile picture and click on the Blog Talk Radio player to listen.

I installed stat counter on my blog. It is wonderful and tells you MANY fantastical things. Like how many visitors you have, how long they stay, and where they come from.

Most come from blah places, like Blogger. But recently, something caught my eye. Someone entered this phrase into a Google search engine:

I HIT MY DOG WITH A STICK AND NOW HE IS SPASMING

Sorry to interrupt, but why wouldn't you say someone else hit my dog ... retarded.

And it brought them to my blog.

I realize my blog is a wonderment filled with dogs, poop, kids, and sorority life, amongst many other amazing things. But does it take precedence over a suffering pooch? The answer is yes. Yes, it does.

Let's set the scene.

Dog gets beat with stick.

Dog is spasming.

Dog-beating owner in sweaty and stained wife beater thinks to self:

I better Google this. Wait a minute. What? A 787 word post about walking a dog. This feels kind of reckless. But I just beat my dog with a stick.

Maybe once I read it, the dog will have either a) stopped moving or b) recovered. Ok, let's seeeeee... this chick is... MAN! I get her. I so get her. Oh yeah. My dog. Hmmm.

Now, don't get me wrong. I can think of a MILLION reasons to beat my own dog with a stick.

The difference is: I would read my blog before I did it. Because once I get started, I can never ever stop.

So stupid.

So what is something you would love to do, but would NEVER actually do it. Yes, murder is acceptable.

No dogs were beaten with sticks during the writing of this post. That I am aware of. And yes, I do think this is horrible and awful and my heart aches for that poor dog with that stupid owner and I hope the dog recovers and poops all over his bedsheets before he eats all of his Salsa out of the fridge and then runs away to live with a forever family in southeast Nebraska.

SPEAKING FROM THE CRIB PODCAST SEASON ONE EPISODE 7 AIRS TONIGHT AT 8 PM EST with DIARY OF A MAD BATHROOM

2010-03-15T06:00:00.007-04:00

My podcast airs tonight at 8:00 PM EST. Go to the sidebar under my profile picture to locate the Blog Talk Radio player.

Click play.

If you miss the show, you can click on the player to listen to the archived version. A podcast is a radio-type show you listen to from your computer.

And for all you naysayers, I real live published author left me the following comment:

Kelly, I just tuned into the podcast--and can I just say how impressed I am with your interviewing skills? You sounded like a pro--your pacing was great, and I love the way you uncovered T!nk's story in layers--first the basics, then delving deeper into his experience. Great work--I felt like I was listening to a professional radio show.

Thank you Cynthia Davis at Running with Letters

This week Speaking from the Crib welcomes DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom. And I may or may not be with my co-host, news anchor, and executive producer, Jill from HurstBurst.

We will be discussing God only knows what. She's from Long Island, NY, so at least we'll have an awesome accent to entertain us. I may just make her repeat: I take my dog to the park to poop on Thursday 1700 times.

Is anyone else hungry for hummus and pita chips? Mmmm.

We will be taking callers. (347) 539-5407

With that, here's my REMAINING SEASON ONE line-up:

Thursday, March 25, at 9:00 PM EST
Lee the Hotflash Queen at Headaches, Hormones, & Hotflashes

Thursday, April 1, at 12:00 PM EST
Midget Man of Steel or Mooooooog (who knows how many O's. I'm not counting) at Mental Poo

Tuesday, April 6 at 7:00 PM EST
Amanda (MODG) at Martinis or Diaper-Genies?

I hope you'll tune in. Any questions? Suggested discussion topics? Leave them in the comments along with your blog URL for a free shout out.

TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: ED'S FUNNY PAGES

2010-03-12T06:00:00.000-05:00

This is straight from Ed's profile: This Top Blogger is ... (and I quote) a married Christian father of 3. Blog Disclaimer: Things posted on this blog are not not meant to offend anyone, nor are they reflective of the actual views of the author, and are strictly intended for comedic relief. Essentially, do NOT believe what you read, but do feel free to laugh. If you don't laugh, you are just wasting both of our times and that means you're a douche. Ed, I quite agree. He's funny. Really funny. His posts are on the short-side, chocked full of chuckles, and just all around entertaining. He also works for the government, if that tells you anything. And he even called into my podcast just because he said that he would. He's a good guy. If this here isn't enough for you, go over there and read one of my favorite posts. It's right HERE

ED'S FUNNY PAGES

Since this is my first, and probably my last, appearance here in The Crib, let me take this opportunity to introduce myself……

*skips intro*

I hate that crap.

Who cares who I am.

You guys didn’t come here to read my drivel.

You came here because you’re devoted followers of all things Kelly. Thank you, Ed. Thank you.

When she asked me if I wanted to be the featured guest blogger on The Crib, I was honored.

At first.

Then, I realized that it was probably just because she had worn out her autopilot while on vacation.

And I thought I was lazy.

Geez!

In fact, knowing that I am almost as lazy as her, she offered to re-post an old post of mine.

But I have a rule.

NO LICKING THE TOILET SEAT.

Or was that…

I DON’T EAT LEFTOVERS. Either does my husband. So annoying.

Regardless, I prohibit myself from reposting.

Mainly, it’s because I count it as exercise.

That way, I can continue to take the elevator instead of the stairs while my gut expands, because I know at least I’ll have the trimmest fingers this side of hand-modeling school.

So, why me…?

Well, I’ve been following SFTC for awhile.

I’m not sure how long. It feels like a long time, but probably not as long as it would feel if I was trapped under a building in Haiti waiting to be dug out. That's so wrong. Not even funny for one second.

I think I found Kelly after she popped up in my comment section wearing those big goofy glasses that she used to have on her photo. I thought, “Now here’s a girl with style and taste.”

Then I read her blog.

So anyway, I am honored to be here.

I am not really sure what I’ve done to deserve this. At this point, either am I.

It’s almost like I won the Nobel Peace Prize or something. Only with more effort.

I’m also not sure what to write about.

Nobody ever gives you a topic when they ask you to do these things.

They just say, “Come over and entertain my followers so I can have the day off. Just try and be funny, Funnyman.” Then they laugh like mad evil scientists (MUahahahahahaha!) and run away.

I know SFTC is what is commonly called “a mommy blog”. Just because I have a vagine and have birthed two chilluns does not mean, I am a quote unquote mommy blogger. I also know that Kelly is a pretty funny lady. Well, he does have a point.

I mean, just look at that picture up there. If that doesn’t scream riotous laughter, then Dane Cook must actually be a genius. (hint: He is most definitely not a comedic genius as this was sarcasm and I’m really ashamed that I had to explain this to you cause I thought you were smarter than that.)

I also know that Kelly used to have a thing on her blog saying that she loved Jesus or that he was her homeboy. Since I don’t see this anymore, I guess we’ll assume that they had a falling out. I'm streamlining the look of my blog. Jesus! See? There He is. He FOLLOWS me. Stop it.

As a fan of the big man myself, and knowing women, I have determined that the split was Kelly’s fault. I’m just guessing here, but I’m always right about everything.

Usually, I come by SFTC to check out her craziness and read the mommy stuff. What the hell is he talking about? Out of 143 posts, 15 have been about my kids. So suck it. They're just not that funny. This helps me to understand and sympathize what my own wife goes through on a daily basis as a SAHM.

Although, my three children are perfect angels when compared to everyone else’s in the 3 hours I spend with them each day after work and before bedtime.

So sweet and innocent. Especially the baby. She never does anything wrong. I really don’t understand why our house isn’t cleaner. (In case the wife reads this……SARCASM!)

Well, since I’ve been left to my own devises here, I’ve decided that I am too lazy to write anything for this guest post.

So I am going to end it here.

And since the majority of SFTC followers are no doubt SAHM’s, and since you have nothing better to do but read blogs and take naps between diaper changes, feel free to waste time on my blog as well.

I know I do.

Bye.

What can you do? Ed is Ed. That's why we love him. Despite his numerous faults. Now go visit him, leave him some comment love, and for the love of Jesus, FOLLOW.

My Big Fat Greek Life: IN PICTURES.

2010-03-11T06:00:00.010-05:00

Welcome to My Big Fat Greek Life series, celebrating the wonderment that is Greek life on America's (and some of Canada's) college campuses. We're not talking gyros, people.

What a couple of wonderful weeks we have had, re-living my Greek experience. Well. I have enjoyed it. So to reward all of you for hanging in there with me, I present to you, My Big Fat Greek Life. In Pictures. Enjoy.

FORMAL 1993
The original quality of this picture was crap.
My apologies.
This whorishly-dressed big-haired freak
is not on her way to the Poison Concert.
And yes, my date slash boyfriend slash
future ex-husband is wearing jeans.
And his hair is also longer than mine.
He was in a 'band'.

SPRING BREAK
Panama City, 1994
Me with Kappa Sister, Kim
Posing for pics before the party starts.
I honestly said (and I quote)
I'm only going to drink one or two nights all week.
I strictly adhered to that personal declaration.
And our bathtub was not used as a 'cooler'
during the daytime.

BID DAY
FALL 1992
I did not roll out of bed, put a clip in my hair,
throw on a bra, and drive the one block
to the Kappa house to greet our new pledges.
I was much more excited than that.

SPRING BREAK
Me and my Little Sister, Dee
Panama City, 1994
We were not drinking with the
Sig Eps from Eastern Illinois University

We did not ask them if they had met Oprah.

SPRING BREAK
A little too much sun
Me with Kappa Sisters, Kim and Michelle
Panama City, 1994
We were covered in Noxema for like 6 hours
to ward off the affects of a bad sunburn.
Sunblock? That will ruin a good tan.

Also, if you look closely at the side of my leg
you will see remnants of a hellacious black and blue mark
I got it the first night. I was dancing on a platform.
And I forgot I was dancing on a platform.
I took a 6-7 foot drop to the dance floor below.

The vodka cushioned my fall.

SPRING BREAK
Me with Kappa sister Trina
Panama City, 1994
HOOTERS

We were not making fun of their outfits.

SPRING BREAK
On A Boat With Strangers
also
HOOTERS
Panama City, 1994
We met three older gentlemen who had a kick ass boat.
They asked us if we wanted to take a ride.
We said, sure.
They even took a picture of us on the boat.
We are lucky fish aren't picking our rotting
corpses clean off the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

You know you had that same bandeau suit in the nineties.
You know you did.

Me and My Little Sister, Dee
2000
Chicago
Even though she abandoned me for the Windy City
And her dumb husband Joe
We still remain loyal friends and sisters

Over the years, my high school pals, college roommates, classmates, and friends have faded away. The only people that have remained are my sorority sisters.

It was not just about partying and having fun. It was about coming-of-age together. Becoming young women, and then wives and mothers.

It was about having each others backs, no matter what. It was about leadership, friendship, loyalty, and sisterhood. It was about striving to always see the best in each other and sharing life with women who were all different from ourselves and yet bonded together by this one common thread. It was so much more than a social club. And continues to be.

They are the majority of my fans on Facebook. They are some of the most beautiful and good and best women I know. They are my true and faithful sisters. And I'll die with their key on my heart and defend them and sorority life until my dying breath. Without it, I would not have become the woman I am today.

- THE END -

Who are your best friends today?

For more MY BIG FAT GREEK LIFE STORIES, head on over to Erin at The Mother Load right HERE and Cameron at Conquer the Monkey right HERE and Big Boops at Boops Does Tulsa right HERE and "Julie" at Life on a Hanger right HERE and Big Sis at Speaking of Witch right HERE and Cathy at Antsy Pants right HERE and HurstBurst right HERE

My Big Fat Greek Life: My Lady. My Legacy.

2010-03-10T06:00:00.007-05:00

Welcome to My Big Fat Greek Life series, celebrating the wonderment that is Greek life on America's (and some of Canada's) college campuses. We're not talking gyros, people.

I wasn't excited to be having a girl. I had a boy. I wanted another one. It was what I knew.

Until I realized she had the potential to be my Kappa legacy. From the moment this sunk in, I couldn't stop envisioning her path to the fleur-de-lis way of life.

Her rush week. The excitement. The nervousness. How the sisters would fawn over my beautiful, brilliant, clearly-Kappa-like cheerleader slash dancer slash singer slash triple threat daughter slash legacy.

My husband bought me a beautiful Brighton Kappa bracelet as a gift for her birth. She loves to play with it and and examine the little keys and owls and fleur-de-lis. It brings tears to my eyes to think of the day when she can hold her own Kappa legacy in her arms.

Mostly because I'll be ten years dead in the ground by then.

I yearn for the day when I can grasp her hands in the secret handshake, and welcome her, not only as my daughter, but as my sister. Wait ... no ... that sounds wrong.

I will cherish the moment I pin my golden key over her heart. And wish for her an experience filled with life-long friendships, golden memories, happiness, bug stuffs, songfests, and sisterhood.

And if she opts for another sorority, it's really no big deal. She'll only be ripping my heart right out of my heaving chest and poking my empty body cavity with hot sticks while gunshots zig zag through my extremities.

That's all.

So just follow your heart, Ann Claire. No pressure.

What is something you really want your kids to do or what is something your parents really wanted you to do? But it just didn't pan out.

Your Greek Dictionary:

Legacy: An immediate family member of an initiated member, such as a sister or daughter. Some sororities also recognize a granddaughter, step daughter or step sister or niece.

For more MY BIG FAT GREEK LIFE STORIES, head on over to Erin at The Mother Load right HERE and Cameron at Conquer the Monkey right HERE and Big Boops at Boops Does Tulsa right HERE and "Julie" at Life on a Hanger right HERE and Big Sis at Speaking of Witch right HERE and Cathy at Antsy Pants right HERE and HurstBurst right HERE

SPEAKING FROM THE CRIB SEASON ONE EPISODE 6 PODCAST AIRS LIVE TODAY AT 11:00 AM EST

2010-03-09T06:00:00.005-05:00

My podcast airs today at 11:00 AM EST. Go to the sidebar under my profile picture to locate the player. Click play. Duh. If you miss the show, you can click on the player to listen to the archived version. A podcast is a radio-type show you listen to from your computer.

This week Speaking from the Crib welcomes herself. With co-host, news anchor, and executive producer, Jill from HurstBurst. And making her podcast debut, my IRL best friend, Debbers.

We will be discussing sorority haters in the blog world and Songfest. Debbers recent run in with Snooki and Pauly D, a forgotten How Gay Are You question (Nathanael, please call in), how Debbers and I got busted for talking smack about the opposing basketball team at my 7 year old's basketball game, LeBron James, interesting news, and much, much, more.

We will be taking callers. (347) 539-5407

With that, here's my UPDATED upcoming show line-up:

Tuesday, March 15 at 8:00 PM EST
DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom

Thursday, March 25, at 9:00 PM EST
Lee the Hotflash Queen at Headaches, Hormones, & Hotflashes

Thursday, April 1, at 12:00 PM EST
Midget Man of Steel or Mooooooog (who knows how many O's. I'm not counting) at Mental Poo

Tuesday, April 6 at 7:00 PM EST
Amanda (MODG) at Martinis or Diaper-Genies?

Tuesday, April 13 at 7:00 PM EST
MiMi at Living in France

I hope you'll tune in. And one question:

Any questions? Suggested discussion topics? Leave them in the comments along with your blog URL.

My Big Fat Greek Life: I HAVE BEEN TO HELL, PEOPLE. AND IT IS FILLED WITH DRUNK COLLEGE BOYS.

2010-03-08T06:00:00.005-05:00

Before we get started (and yes, I am doing this again and will continue to do so) have you listened to this week's podcast yet? It featured blogger Nathanael Rey (T!nk) author of the blog, This Is How It Feels.

It was wonderful. You've never heard a gayer thing in your life. Especially noted, our How Gay Are You (insert echo sound effect) segment, which he was failing miserably, until at the last minute, he managed to pull out all of the lyrics to I Will Survive for 25 bonus gay points.

You can listen to it from HERE. Go listen now before I sissy slap you twice. This pod cast is for mature audiences only, due to the penile extension discussion about Lady Gaga.

Welcome to My Big Fat Greek Life series, celebrating the wonderment that is Greek life on America's (and some of Canada's) college campuses. We're not talking gyros, people.

PART II.
For Part I go HERE.

The competition is over. I am standing with the TKEs waiting for the winners to be announced.

In all honesty, I was so concerned about myself that I paid little to no attention to our competition. Shocking, I know. I had no idea what we were up against.

I am standing with Eric the TKE. He was manning my mother's suitcase-sized camcorder. It was focused directly on moi.

The announcer begins.

In third place, Delta Gamma with whoever.

In second place, Alpha Delta Pi with whoever.

At first, I think we didn't place. But in my heart, I knew we were good. Despite the hell they put me through, in the end, they had pulled it together.

I looked at Eric, and said ... Oh. my. God. I think we won.

The announcer begins.

In first place, K....

He didn't even get out the -appa Kappa Gamma.

The auditorium erupted with wild cheering.

I burst into tears and clawed my way through the screaming throng to the stage. In true dramatic fashion, with hand over mouth, and tears streaming down my face, I accepted the trophy.

For me.

Not for the TKEs. Or the Delts. Or even the Kappas.

That #$#$%#$ thing belonged to me.

With trophy in hand, I looked out at the audience and saw my sorority sisters loudly cheering.

I raised the trophy to them.

We did it! We did it! We did it!

Well, I did.

I did it.

I did it.

I did it.

That is right.
I took the trophy HOME with me.
Put it beside my composite picture and
took a picture of the trophy beside a picture of me.
It was my only evidence.
The trophies all stayed at the Kappa house.
If you look closely at the lower right hand side
you will note that the victory figure is missing a wing.
That happened sometime during the Post-Songfest celebration.
At the TKE house.
Victory erases all transgressions.

I have told this story a few times. At one point in my life I had actual video footage, which I would have freely shared with the world. This was my Oscar moment. This was my miracle of the stage. So much so, that for my daughter's baby shower, they had a onesie decorating competition (like Project Runway for infants) and one of the designs said (in puffy paint): MY MOMMY WON SONGFEST. What was your miracle moment?

And don't say having kids, that is so boring.

For more MY BIG FAT GREEK LIFE STORIES, head on over to Erin at The Mother Load right HERE and Cameron at Conquer the Monkey right HERE and Big Boops at Boops Does Tulsa right HERE and "Julie" at Life on a Hanger right HERE and Big Sis at Speaking of Witch right HERE and Cathy at Antsy Pants right HERE and HurstBurst right HERE

TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: SOUNDS LIKE TOMATOES

2010-03-05T06:00:00.005-05:00

Before we get started (and yes, I am doing this again and will continue to do so) have you listened to this week's podcast yet? It featured blogger Nathanael Rey (T!nk) author of the blog, This Is How It Feels.

It was wonderful. You've never heard a gayer thing in your life. Especially noted, our How Gay Are You (insert echo sound effect) segment, which he was failing miserably, until at the last minute, he managed to pull out all of the lyrics to I Will Survive for 25 bonus gay points.

You can listen to it from HERE. Go listen now before I sissy slap you twice. This pod cast is for mature audiences only, due to the penile extension discussion about Lady Gaga. Now here is Kearsie.

This Top Blogger is a wife, mom, and claims to have chronic bad hair. Her blog is a combination of randomness and pure delight. She has the uncanny ability to know things the Queen of England would never say. She owns several Edward dolls and is said to have fashioned a snuggy for one of them. A caller of podcasts, faithful follower, and SFTC recent blog roll addition, please give it up for my Top Blog of the Week, Kearsie at

SOUNDS LIKE TOMATOES

So. My name is Kearsie and I'm from the great state of Alaska. Immediately you're thinking I'm some super butch girl who rocks at snowboarding and maybe I've frolicked in my yard with penguins and polar bears near my igloo, right?

I've skied once, which proved so disastrous I was scarred for life and shan't be back on the slopes anytime soon. I've only ever seen penguins through the glass partition at Sea World in Florida. Polar bears? They live at the zoo, don't they? Did I just destroy all stereotypes of living in Alaska?

Anyways, so I was a city girl. I rode the bus, did girly junk like paint my nails, went to the movies and the mall, made fun of weird people who lived on farms...you know, just plain old city life. Little did I know that in the near future I would meet and fall in love with a man who was from Alabama and lived on his parent's farm. Yeah, PSA- be careful who you make fun of; you might marry that guy.

That being said, let me share with you a story about the first time I met a cow...

THE COW STORY

Last night we fell asleep to the frantic cries of bovine separation anxiety. I tell you, life on a farm can be really noisy. If it’s not the bulls bellowing to everyone how … randy they’re feeling, how they really want to … be affectionate with the females, then it’s the mamas bellowing how they want their babies back NOW.

Before you go all animal activist on me, this is a natural part of raising livestock (listen to me all sounding like I know what I’m talking about). The calves get separated from the mamas, get vaccinations and get tagged. Then they’re weaned from mama’s milk and sold for a pretty penny, or ground up into hamburger meat for our freezer. It’s just that natural cycle that cattle farmers live by. *nodding importantly*

My father in law (hereinafter referred to as FIL) keeps cows as his hobby because he’s really weird strange interesting. I had the ahem, pleasure, of experiencing first hand being around the cows one weekend in the wee hours of dating my Hubs (hereinafter referred to as Lance, because that's his name). My FIL carried (in the South you don’t say drive, you say carried, it’s just one of those cute little Southernese things) me and Lance over to his farm of beasts to go “work the cows”. I didn’t know what he meant, maybe making them run around the field in a kind of cow-aerobic exercise to make them lean? *shrugging cluelessly*

* Aside: let me give you a brief glimpse into the back story. I had never, ever, ever been on a farm. The nearest I had gone to a cow was the hamburger I purchased at McDonald’s. I had never touched one, smelled one, been pooped on by one nor had I ever really been near manure. I had no clue that manure was not a hard substance but is really a runny grass stain that simply hardens into roundish pancake-like things that litter a field. I was a city girl through and through.

So here I am, surrounded by cattle of various color and scent. My FIL handed me a stick and stuck me in a far corner of a field and told me that I was supposed to wave that stick and herd the cattle into another portion of the field. So I waved that stick, and those dumb cows just stared at me in my purple Columbia jacket and Adidas shoes they were itching to stain with their projectile grass stain poo. So I waved harder and started running, tripping over hard and fresh piles and not having one clue as to what I was doing. Secretly, I think my FIL was just messing with me.

Well, eventually, we got the cows all herded together and the separating began. Oh, the sounds! Mama cows hollering “give me back my baby, you evil farmer!” in their mooing and baby cows hollering “Mama, where are you?” in their tiny moos. By the way, moo isn’t really how a cow sounds. It’s more kind of a merrr, I’m just saying. That Old McDonald really got it wrong. And cows only really go merrr right before they poo everywhere and then flick said poo with their poo-covered tails. I can’t believe we eat these things.

At first, my FIL and Lance were in one pen with all the calves doing whatever, wrestling them or something and I was in the other pen with all the belligerent mamas. They kept looking right at me and shouting “Merrrr!“, like it was MY fault that they were in there with me and the babies were over there with the meanies. A city girl can only take so much so I started merrring right back, like “don’t blame me, sister! I don’t want to be here either!”. We had our little merrring conversation going until my FIL said “You know, they can get mean and charge you, right?” Uh, that would be a no, but thanks so much for letting me know and um, can I come over there with you away from the angry cattle that might CHARGE ME!?!

It was really no different with the calves. They looked at me and merrred at me like it was my fault, too, but I thought if one of them charged me, I could take ‘em. So there’s lots of merrring going on around me and my FIL hands me this ginormous needle/gun thingy filled with what looks like the worst yellow pee ever and shows me where to stick it in the calf. Yuck. I was NOT born to be a vet.

After all the vaccination fun, then began the castration. Yes, you read that right- castration. The cutting off of the male genitalia. MUCH MUCH merrring. At least I didn’t have Lance’s job which was wrestling the calves to the ground while my FIL sliced away. Talk about poo-it covered Lance. Yuck. Once the testiclely stuff was cut off it just sort of laid around on the ground, covered in dirt. One part of me was totally grossed out and the other part of me was fascinated. I don’t think my FIL appreciated me prodding the bits and pieces with a stick, so he sent me to the Farmer’s Co-op to buy some earrings for the calves. Ok, so they’re really not earrings, but they’re ear tags that go on the ear, big difference.

I climb in the truck that’s circa 1956 and head off in the general direction of the Co-op. I go in and ask for some cow earrings- er, ear tags. When it came time to pay, I told them my FIL wanted them charged to his account so they got out an invoice and actually made me sign it as “Lance’s girlfriend”, that’s right-not “Kearsie” but “Lance’s girlfriend”. Geez.

I climb back into the old truck and head back to hell the farm. Now begins the ear tagging. All the calves looked the same to me, but my FIL had been there for most of the births so he knew which calves went with which mama cow, which is pretty amazing. He numbered and tagged all the calves and let them loose to grieve graze.

We were done. I was dirty, sweaty, and stained. My Adidas never gleamed white again, they looked kind of nauseous from then on with their grass stain poo tinge. All that work just for a cheeseburger.

So last night when we heard all the bellowing, I had to smile and remember this crazy story. Perhaps the next time you chomp down into a steak, you’ll remember this story and realize you are eating a dirty, slobbering, stinky, poopy cow. Bon Appetit!

Well, actually, Kearsie, you're probably eating a steer which is a castrated male. Does it drive anyone else crazy that the MALE cows on the Nick TV show Barnyard have UTTERS? It makes me mental. Yes, I was raised on a dairy farm in the Midwest. Yee ha. And no, I don't chew on straw as a past time.

Please go visit Kearsie, leave her some comment love, and for the sake of the Queen, FOLLOW HER! Have a Moooovelous weekend everybody!

My Big Fat Greek Life: I HAVE BEEN TO HELL, PEOPLE. AND IT IS FILLED WITH DRUNK COLLEGE BOYS.

2010-03-04T06:00:00.003-05:00

PART I.

Greek Songfest is huge. It is a song-and-dance competition between fraternities and sororities. There is the individual competition, where individual sororities and fraternities compete against each other. And then there is the combined competition, where a sorority is combined with a fraternity and they compete against other combinations of fraternities and sororities.

I was the Combined Competition Songfest Chair. No one wants combined. And you'll soon find out why.

We were paired with the TKEs and the Delts. The TKEs forced their pledges to participate. The Delts followed suit.

Which translates into them showing up for practice: drunk, belligerent, uncooperative, drunk, distasteful, disrespectful, drunk, and sometimes drunk.

Which translates into many tears being shed by yours truly over the hopelessness of the situation.

We could barely get through one song without someone passing out or pretending they didn't know how to read. Not read music. Just read, period.

Fast-forward through six weeks of utter hell. It's the night of the competition. I am threatening people within an inch of their lives to be on time, not screw up, not be drunk, and get this over.

Our theme? Greeks For Peace. We wore white t-shirts with black peace signs spray painted on them and jeans. We created a planet earth prop out of paper mache, but that had been destroyed during a drunken match of planet-earth-paper-mache-kickball.

We performed Let There Be Peace on Earth, I'd Like To Teach the World To Sing, and our grand finale, Kenny Loggins, Conviction of the Heart. Complete with flashlight choreography sequence.

The performance is over. It wasn't awful. Let the chips fall where they may.

Tune in Monday for Part II. You are forbidden to comment: can't wait. Just tune in.

Were you ever responsible for or part of something that seemed a hopeless cause?

For more MY BIG FAT GREEK LIFE STORIES, head on over to Erin at The Mother Load right HERE and Cameron at Conquer the Monkey right HERE and Big Boops at Boops Does Tulsa right HERE and "Julie" at Life on a Hanger right HERE and Big Sis at Speaking of Witch right HERE

SPEAKING FROM THE CRIB PODCAST SEASON ONE EPISODE 5 AIRS TODAY AT 11:30 AM EST WITH NATHANAEL REY FROM THIS IS HOW IT FEELS: A SURVIVOR'S GUIDE.

2010-03-03T06:00:00.008-05:00

Before we get started, have you listened to last week's podcast yet? Do you have any idea what you are missing? You are probably also wondering: how long am I going to have to read this broad yenta on about this stupid podcast? Until you LISTEN to it. That's when. My podcasts have been called, and I quote, ...one of the funniest, most entertaining podcasts I've heard in a long time. Thank you, Maven.

Where else can you listen to someone lose their ever-loving-mind over dog barking and whale sound effects that didn't download?

Where else can you listen to someone speaking in whale for 10 minutes? Where? Just go HERE. Like, right now. DO IT!

What's a podcast? Glad you asked. A podcast is a live or pre-recorded audio program that's posted to a website and is made available for download so people can listen to them on personal computers or mobile devices.

My podcast airs live at 11:30 AM Eastern Standard Time today. You can listen to it from HERE. If you miss the show live, you can click the link to hear the archived version.

This week Speaking from the Crib welcomes Nathanael Rey (T!nk) from This Is How It Feels: A Survivor's Guide.

He claims to have been dropped in a box of glitter at birth. So this should tell you it is going to be FAB-U-LOUS! A former military man, we'll be discussing his blog and DADT journey, Kirstie Alley's fat a$, Roger Ebert's robot voice, Lady Gaga's left boob, Kelly Cutrone and her hair, Bobby and Kevin on Celebrity Fit Club, and Alec Baldwin's alleged drinking problem.

I also downloaded a TON of new sound effects. So help you God if they don't work.

We will also be taking callers. (347) 539-5407

With that, here's my UPDATED upcoming show line-up:

Tuesday, March 9 at TBD EST
Leigh from Leigh vs Laundry

Tuesday, March 15 at 8:00 PM EST
DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom

Thursday, March 25, at 9:00 PM EST
Lee the Hotflash Queen at Headaches, Hormones, & Hotflashes

Thursday, April 1, at 12:00 PM EST
Midget Man of Steel or Mooooooog (who knows how many O's. I'm not counting) at Mental Poo

Tuesday, April 6 at 7:00 PM EST
Amanda (MODG) at Martinis or Diaper-Genies?

Tuesday, April 13 at 7:00 PM EST
MiMi at Living in France

I hope you'll tune in. And one question:

Have a question for Nathanael Ray? Or for me? Leave it in the comments. I'll give you a shout out on air. Make sure to leave your blog address and blog name in the comment so I can give you a proper shout out. Thank you!

My Big Fat Greek Life: How Craming 87 Women In A Burned Out VW Helps You Bond For Life

2010-03-02T06:00:00.014-05:00

My Big Fat Greek Life: Why I Didn't Pay People To Be Nice To Me

2010-03-01T06:00:00.009-05:00

Before we get started, have you listened to last week's podcast yet? Do you have any idea what you are missing?

Right off the bat, I spaz out because my dog barking and whale sound affects (or is it effects? someone please tell me) didn't download. There's a lot of screaming, ranting, and raving and shooting myself in the face.

Then when Kim launches into her blue whale with an 80 foot penis being narrated by David Attenborough story, I can't stop speaking in whale for like 10 minutes. It's good stuff, people. Good stuff. I forgive you. Just go HERE. Like, right now. I'll cut you.

Welcome to My Big Fat Greek Life series, celebrating the wonderment that is Greek life on America's (and some of Canada's) college campuses. We're not talking gyros, people.

I'm not sure why I decided to rush. For me it was part and parcel of the college experience, like drinking too much, staying out too late, and going to class. I certainly did not join a sorority to go to parties (had already done plenty of that) meet boys (already had one) or make friends (already had those too). It just seemed like something you 'did'.

I rushed three times total. My freshmen year I was all

*duhwhatwhynotsureummmwhat*

and dropped out.

My sophomore year I was all

*IlovethemIwantthemIshouldsuicidebutIamtooscaredIdidn'twantthathouse*

and I de-pledged.

My junior year I was all

*IamsuicidingIdon'tcarewhatanyonesaysandIbettergetKappaorIwillddie*

Why?

Because it was the only house you could smoke inside. Duh.

And just like that, I was a Kappa pledge.

I was a junior in college, working part-time, and living off campus with GDIs, and I will admit, I wasn't too involved with the sorority outside of the weekly pledge meetings.

On initiation night, sitting amongst virtual strangers, who all appeared to be sharing underwear, inside jokes and the secret to creating the wall-of-bangs, I thought to myself, what in the hell am I doing? And why?

I don't even know these people.

A secret handshake and few cups of chicken's blood later, and I was one of 'them'.

And then a strange thing happened. I got involved. Funny how things turn around when you check in and decide to participate in the organization you've just joined.

I was asked to take over Rush. Which is baptism by fire in the sorority world.

Which led to Pledge Chair. Which led to Songfest chair. Which led to Standards Committee, Scholarship Committee, Rho Chi, Rho Lambda, and as an alum, Chapter Council Advisor, and Province Director of Chapters.

All of which led to making me a strong woman, active leader, teacher, and a true and faithful sister. All because I thought it was something I was 'supposed' to do.

And in the end, it was.

Dedicated with loyalty and love to all of my Kappa sisters, but especially the Lambda Pledge Class of Fall 1991 and 1992, to Brooke, you are the reason I am a Kappa. Thanks for not giving up on me. My Grand Big Sister, Shannon, for all of her inspiration and dedication, my Little Sister, Dee, for being a breath of fresh air during my final year of college and Kappa, my great friends, Keli, Monica, and Candace. You are some of the best and funniest people I know. I love you gals. All of my little Kappa pledges from Fall 1993 and Spring 1994, the women of Lambda chapter that I advised from 1998-2000, especially Selena, Lesley, and Nicole. I'm so proud of you ladies! And to Trina, Kim, Jill, Michelle, and Dee for the best Spring Break ever.

All of you live amongst my best life memories and always will.

Your Greek Dictionary:

Rush: A drive by a Greek society on a college campus to recruit new members: a sorority rush. Most currently call this process: membership recruitment.

Suicide: During the selection process, to Single Intentional Preference a sorority. In other words, when you place your bid, you are to select your three top sorority preferences. In a 'suicide' you only select one sorority.

Pledge or De-Pledge: A new member of a sorority who has not been initiated. You de-pledge if you decide to leave the sorority prior to initiation.

GDIs: God Damn Independents otherwise known as people who are not involved in the Greek system and sometimes also strongly oppose it.

And if you made it this far ... have you ever joined something where you initially felt you did not belong?

For more MY BIG FAT GREEK LIFE STORIES, head on over to Erin at The Mother Load right HERE and Cameron at Conquer the Monkey right HERE and Big Boops at Boops Does Tulsa right HERE and "Julie" at Life on a Hanger HERE

TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: SARA SPELLED WITHOUT AN H

2010-02-26T06:00:00.009-05:00

Before we get started, have you listened to this week's podcast yet? Do you have any idea what you are missing?

Right off the bat, I spaz out because my dog barking and whale sound affects (or is it effects? someone please tell me) didn't download. There's a lot of screaming, ranting, and raving and shooting myself in the face.

Then when Kim launches into her blue whale with an 80 foot penis being narrated by David Attenborough story, I can't stop speaking in whale for like 10 minutes. It's good stuff, people. Good stuff. I forgive you. Just go HERE. Like, right now. I'll cut you. Now here's Sara.

This Top Blogger is a twenty-something graduate student who originally hails from the Midwest, but is now studying in North Carolina. She is adorable. She is whimsical, delightful, and the closest thing you are going to get to a slice of heaven, on a Friday. I heart her with all my heart. Her grandparent stories leave me in stitches, and I feel very protective of her, like she is my much younger sister. Please give it up for this week's Top Blog of the Week, Sara at

SARA SPELLED WITHOUT AN H

The Bubble

I like to think I have myself pegged.

I know most of my strengths (eating, sleeping and pop culture references), but more importantly, I recognize the majority of my weaknesses (parallel parking, simple math and french fry consumption).

While I'm sure I'm blind to one or two of them, I think I'm pretty in tune with me.

This is not true of everyone.

Now, I think we've all met or known someone who thinks he or she sings like Christina, cooks like Giada or has a razor-sharp wit like Joel McHale.

Because these are probably people you see once or twice a week, there's no real harm in just going along with it. So, when Gail from your carpool makes her "famous" non-fat, low-sodium, sugar-free, buckwheat brownies, you choke one down, rub your tummy and announce, "It's good!"

When Ron from Accounting asks for your opinion on the short story he's submitting to a writing contest with the local community college, you critique a little of his grammar but mainly praise him for his enthusiastic use of adjectives.

However, when it's someone you're dating (especially if you just started dating), it becomes a completely different story.

Suddenly, you're with this person who thinks he has great taste in movies or plays the guitar like Clapton. And naturally, he wants to share his gift with you.

So, you find yourself watching Nacho Libre because it's his favorite movie and he just knows that you'll love it, too!

This is usually where the path forks.

If you're lucky enough to have this capability, at the end of the movie you might say, "Wow. I now have yet another reason to hate Jack Black".

However, if you're like me, you'll find yourself saying, "I had no idea Spanish wrestling was so similar to American wrestling!" or "Wasn't the countryside in that movie just breath-taking?"

Everyone has known or dated someone in *The Bubble. I want to hear all about it.

Did you go out with someone claiming to make authentic Chinese food that actually tasted like microwaved tennis balls?

Does your neighbor's attempt at witty banter always sound like a recipe exchange on NPR?

Does your office mate keep buying you Vera Bradley accessories because you haven't had the heart to tell her you hate that quilted mess?

Come on.

Shout, shout. Let it all out!

*The Bubble is a 30 Rock episode featuring John Hamm. If you need further clarification, go here

Oh Sara, you have not disappointed me! Even finishing the post with a question. She's my little girl! I told myself I wouldn't cry. There. It's over. Now go over to Sara's place, FOLLOW HER WITHOUT QUESTION, and leave her some comment love over there too. If you don't, you're hurting no one but yourself.

HOW I GOT BEAT BY THE FUZZ AND INTERVIEWED BY THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER ALL IN THE SAME NIGHT PART III.

2010-02-25T06:00:00.007-05:00

Before we get started, have you listened to this week's podcast yet?

Do you have any idea what you are missing?

Do you have any idea what a podcast is? No? Well, I don't know what to tell you. Well, actually, I do. It's a talk show (kinda like the radio except not) that you listen to from your computer. That thing you're staring at right now.

Here's how the podcast went. Right off the bat, I spaz out because my dog barking and whale sound affects (or is it effects? someone please tell me) didn't download. There's a lot of screaming.

Then when Kim launches into her blue whale with an 80 foot penis story, I can't stop speaking in whale for like 10 minutes. It's good stuff, people. Good stuff. I forgive you. Just go HERE. Like, right now. I'll cut you.

When we last visited me, I was being sprayed by a fireman's hose. Go HERE.

The next thing I am aware of is a hand on my arm.

The next thing I am aware of is a police officer beating the ever-loving-sh*t out of me with his night stick.

I swirl around and psycho-nightmare-spaz-fit scream into his face,

I. AM. A. GIRL.

And in the same psycho-nightmare-spaz-fit he screams into my face

I DON'T GIVE A
EFF YOU SEE KAY
WHAT YOU ARE.

Why, I never.

I run away from him as fast as my out-of-shape-yet-still-slender-and-devoid-of-all-cellulite-collegiate-legs will carry me.

I hear my boyfriend screaming.

Two cops. Beating him. With night sticks.

You have got to be kidding me.

I am a girl. What am I doing to do about this situation?

I tell you what I am going to do. I am going to run like hell, looking backwards occasionally to yell useful things like,

C'mon! We gotta get out of here! Let's go! Would you .... gah! Jesus! I can't ... ya know ... call me later. Ok. Well, I'll just see you tomorrow.

He eventually escaped and caught up with me on foot.

Two blocks away.

Where I was being interviewed by a reporter about what had happened.

I've never been one to shy away from the press.

The next day I was quoted word-for-word on the front page.

And that's how my parents found out their daughter was involved in the Kathryn Place Riots of '92.

And when my mother called to find out if I was okay, I told her, (and I quote)

The f*cking cops were beating the sh*t out of everybody.

And to this day, that is still what I am most traumatized over.

Wow. WHAT A RIDE. Three posts. Three days. I am exhausted. But aren't you glad I didn't just shove it all into one long post, which is what I would normally do? Me too. So here's the question: What is the worst thing you've ever said to someone?

HOW I GOT BEAT BY THE FUZZ AND INTERVIEWED BY THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER ALL IN THE SAME NIGHT PART II.

2010-02-24T06:00:00.004-05:00

When we last visited me, I was being hit in the head with a full can of beer. Go here.

At this point in our story, 2,000 drunken college students are heaving full beers at the fire truck making its way (slowly) down the street. Let's continue.

I know, ... how did you get hit in the head with a beer if you were INSIDE the house? Well, because (of course) I wandered outside to the front stoop to see what all the commotion was about.

Biker toughs, furniture on fire in the street, Old Milwaukee's Best beer-missiles, damage to public property ... and yet, I stayed.

Couch #2 is taken into the street and set on fire.

Awesome.

The firemen come again. But this time, they are not alone.

This time they have police officers in full riot gear with them. Who are apparently using bull horns to order everyone to disperse.

Who knew?

In our college-wisdom, we decide it's best to stay put and find out what happens next.

Well, what happens next is that the firemen put out the fire with a big hose full of very powerful water which sprays dangerous and jaggedy bits of debris all over myself and my equally-as-stupid co-horts.

Clearly, now it's time to go.

But we can't.

Because we're being sprayed into the corner of this house, by the powerful water-shooting hose.

Stay tuned for part III ... I know, I still haven't been beaten by the cops, but while this story is long, your attention spans are very short.

Have you ever been sprayed by a fire hose? Or other equally powerful water source? Like Niagara Falls. Discuss.

SPEAKING FROM THE CRIB PODCAST SEASON ONE EPISODE 4 AIRS TODAY AT 12:00 PM EST WITH INSANITY KIM

2010-02-23T06:00:00.006-05:00

My podcast airs live at 12:00 PM Eastern Standard Time today. You can listen to it from HERE.

If you missed the show, you can still click on the link and listen to the archived version.

This week Speaking from the Crib welcomes Blogger Insanity Kim (IK) from A Parent's Life to Behold Through the Eyes of Insanity & Bliss

Again, IK leaves some of the funniest comments ever on my blog. She will go into great detail about a cougar attack. And at the end say, btw, that was a lie. I just laugh and laugh. Oh IK!

She does things like barf up lungs while riding the ceiling fan. She truly is INSANE. So imagine how this homeschooling mom of two handles the S3X talk while watching a David Attenborough narrative on the lives of blue whales.

We will be taking callers. (347) 539-5407

With that, here's my UPDATED upcoming show line-up:

Tuesday, March 3 at 11:30 AM EST
Nathanael Rey (T!nk) from This is How It Feels: A Survivor's Guide

Tuesday, March 9 at TBD EST
Leigh from Leigh vs Laundry

Tuesday, March 16 at 8:00 PM EST
DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom

Thursday, March 25, at 9:00 PM EST
Lee the Hotflash Queen at Headaches, Hormones, & Hotflashes

Thursday, April 1, at 12:00 PM EST
Midget Man of Steel or Mooooooog (who knows how many O's. I'm not counting) at Mental Poo

Tuesday, April 6 at 7:00 PM EST
Amanda (MODG) at Martinis or Diaper-Genies?

Tuesday, April 13 at 7:00 PM EST
MiMi at Living in France

I hope you'll tune in. And one question:

What blogger would YOU like to hear on a SFTC podcast? And yes, you can put MYSELF. It worked for Mental Poo.

HOW I GOT BEAT BY THE FUZZ AND INTERVIEWED BY THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER ALL IN THE SAME NIGHT PART I

2010-02-22T06:00:00.006-05:00

The year: 1992.

The place: The annual May Day celebration at Kathryn Place.

The event: A good old-fashioned cop beat down.

Kathryn Place was a one way street off campus. They were residential homes, but most, if not all, housed students. Each year, the weekend before finals, the residents of Kathryn Place would close the street and host a block party. Around 2,000 attended.

This fatal year I actually knew someone who lived on the street, so I had an in house pass; which meant, I didn't have to stand in the street with the rest of the drunken riff-raff slash losers.

In addition, although 21 years of age, I did not drink beer and beer was the only beverage. So I was stone-cold sober. Retain that.

At some point during the festivities, a group of biker toughs arrived and began looting the homes of furniture and dragging said furniture into the street to set it on fire.

I am not even kidding.

And yet, I stayed.

Enter the Fire Department.

They extinguish the flames and instead of exiting back out of the street they decide to drive down it; through 2,000 drunken college students. With lots of beer cans to throw.

There were a lot of bad decisions made that night.

At this point, I get slammed in the back of the head with a full can of beer.

Stay tuned for Part II ... because I haven't even been beaten by the cops yet.

Have you ever been beaten by the cops OR hit in the back of a head with a full can of beer? If so, what brand? Discuss.

TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: PARENTING WOES, WHOAS, AND WAHS

2010-02-19T10:00:00.005-05:00

This Top Blogger is a 40 something mother of three and self-confessed sufferer of ADD. Forgetful, easily distracted, bad with money, flighty, forgetful, and sometimes forgetful. A humorous writer, faithful follower, and giver of great comments and insightful advice. Please give it up for this week's Top Blog of the Week, Quandlequeen at

PARENTING WOES,
WHOAS, AND WAHS

PINK EYE

My kids are past the pink eye days, but lo and behold I've managed to get the nasty disease. It's forced me to take off work (yes that IS the cause of tears streaming down my face, not the infection... riiiiight). I don't miss having sick kids, but I do somewhat miss having random days off because of sick kids - you know what I'm talking about, right?

It took me a while to figure out the source of the contagion, but sometime this morning I recalled using a computer at the library on Saturday and touching my face. I know better. I work on computers for a living and just last week pleaded at the monthly staff meeting for my coworkers to wipe down their laptops with antiseptic wipes because when they get sick *I* get sick. Total self preservation there. After using a public computer I should have gone directly into the restroom and washed my hands. But I didn't and I'm pretty sure I wiped something off my face. After touching my face I always manage to remember my mother admonishing me when she showed up at my job at Taco Bell twenty odd years ago, you know in that screwed up way that mothers do just to embarrass you, and her pointing out that I touch my face a lot. I can't remember this motherly advice/observation/social embarrassment BEFORE I touch my face. No, always after. And thus, I infect myself with something crusty and gross in my eye. Lovely.

As I lay on the couch I think of sick days from school. It's mandatory that sick days are spent on the couch. Well I assume such for the entire world, but maybe it's just my family. You're really super sick if you can't even get out of bed. My ever so helpful mother would leave a pot and a wooden spoon to serve as bell if the invalid needed anything. In retrospect I'm sure my mother intentionally never obtained a real bell because she would be forced to do bodily harm to the first of us miscreants to ring it out of pure amusement... or need... whichever.

Since none of us had acquired the taste for tea, she would make jello and make us drink it hot. In case you have never had the pleasure, it is sweet. Too sweet. And when you vomit, it adds unnecessary color. I'm sure that last detail was also unnecessary, but the world needs to know. In case. Drink your tea and be glad of it!

With my own sickly children, they also got to drive the couch, but no banging device as everyone is right there anyway. A few times I even made the evil hot jello for them, but they fortunately LIKE tea and quickly opted out of grandma's tonic, waiting, instead, for it to set up and eat it like proper American children. I do insist that my kids drink orange juice when they are sick. They choke it down like troopers and pretty much avoid the stuff the rest of the time. I swear by it.

As I talk to friends and coworkers, I discover that not everyone is privy to the restorative powers of driving the couch, watching Scooby-Doo, eating jello and sipping orange juice. They were forced to stay in bed and drink broth, or worse, tough it out and go to school/work.

So what was the sick day options when you were growing up, and what do you offer to your own children?]

Thank you Qandlequeen for posing a question to my followers! You know how I love that! Now take a quick sec and hop on over to her place to leave some comment love and even follow. C'mon. It won't kill you.

I AM HERE. I AM GREEK. SO SUCK IT. UPDATED WITH AN AWESOME PICTURE. GO LOOK RIGHT NOW OR I'LL CUT YOU.

2010-02-18T13:56:00.002-05:00

I invite you and your blogs to join me for International Badge Day on Monday, March 1, 2010. On this day, women who number in the millions, will honor our separate and distinct Greek affiliations by wearing our badges or letters.

And some of us will even blog about it.

That's right. Get out those composites. I want pictures, I want rush stories, I want hazing stories (which is illegal and distasteful and should have never happened).

I want to hear about it all on your blog!

Let's unite over the passed-out-girl-with-vom-on-her-shirt-lying-under-the-keg-at-the-frat-house, and show the world how truly entertaining we are!

(Underage drinking is also illegal and distasteful and should never be celebrated or showcased).

yes, that's me.
what a siren.
created by Jill
sometimes it pays to know people

My Big Fat Greek Life: Why I Didn't Pay People To Be Nice To Me

My Big Fat Greek Life: I Have Been To Hell and It Is Filled With Drunk College Boys OR the Most Awesome Night of My Life. Ever. And How I Barely Ever Mention It To Friends.

My Big Fat Greek Life: How Craming 87 Women In A Burned Out VW Helps You Bond For Life

My Big Fat Greek Life: My Lady. My Legacy.

Who's with me? And if you read past the title of the blog post, you will soon realize, I am not of Grecian origin but am referring to my collegiate experiences as a member of the Greek System aka the Fraternity and Sorority Life.

The skimming weasels strike again.

WHACKED OUT BK WORKERS AND THEIR ASSUMPTIONS PART I

2010-02-17T06:00:00.010-05:00

If you did NOT listen to my podcast yesterday, do so now please. It was wonderful. Boops was wonderful, my co-host Jill was my rock when I accidentally hung up on Boops, and thank you so much to my callers, Insanity Kim and Nathanael Rey. Love you girls. Thanks also to the SEVEN people who listened live. That's right. I'm THAT big. It's all right here.

I am a mother who does what she says she is going to do. So a few Fridays ago when I told my son we were going to a high school basketball game, we were going. Snow or not.

Directly after the basketball game and during the ensuing snow storm, I decide to hit the Burger King drive thru. As the BK manager hands me my BK Kids meal, she says, rather loudly anyone driving out in this is CRAZY!

I hand my son his dinner and say to him, rather loudly that was completely inappropriate. To which the BK manager shouts, WHAT?!!

Avoiding impending confrontation, I say to her Nothing. To which she says, Did you just say I was inappropriate?

I guess we are doing this.

I respond, You just called me crazy. You called a customer crazy. I don't think that's right. You don't know why I am out driving in this. Maybe I have no choice.

And I didn't.

Because I am a mom who does what she says she's going to do.

Sidenote:

While I was fighting with the Burger King drive thru manager, I had a run-in with Zydrunas Ilgauskas. Maybe. He plays for the Cleveland Cavaliers.

Was he driving a silver Dodge Stratus through a Burger King drive through in a snow storm ... I think ... maybe. The guy was super-tall and bald, and I thought I heard a distinct Eastern European accent

By the time the confrontation with the BK manager was finished, Zydrunas was long gone in his Dodge Stratus, with no hope of an autograph or the ability to trail him to his house.

I know where LeBron lives too.

Throw downs with the service industry? Or are you on the other side of the counter? Give me your best oh-no-you-didn't encounters!

SPEAKING FROM THE CRIB PODCAST SEASON ONE EPISODE 3 AIRS TONIGHT AT 8 PM EST WITH BOOPS DOES TULSA

2010-02-16T06:00:00.007-05:00

My podcast (a pseudo-radio show you listen to from the computer) airs live at 8:00 PM Eastern Standard Time tonight. I know it says Feb 17 on the link. I do not know why. It is incorrect. It is tonight. You can listen to it HERE. If you miss the show, click the link to listen to the archived version.

This week Speaking from the Crib welcomes Blogger Boops Does Tulsa, author of The Blog Formerly Known as Boops Does Tulsa. Boops left the funniest comments on my blog. I would go visit her blog and it was a family blog. I wanted her to do a humor blog. She did and it was great.

Then she was gone. Turns out, the husband didn't appreciate Boops's Blog so much. I complained that she was gone and she came back. And now she's better than ever.

So tune in tonight to hear Boop's blogging journey. We will be taking callers. (347) 539-5407

With that, here's my upcoming show line-up:

Tuesday, February 23 at 12:00 pm EST
BloggerInsanity Kim from A Parent's Life to Behold Through the Eyes of Insanity & Bliss

Tuesday, March 3 at 11:30 AM EST
Blogger Nathanael Rey (T!nk) from This is How It Feels: A Survivor's Guide

Tuesday, March 9 at TBD EST
Blogger Leigh from Leigh vs Laundry

Tuesday, March 16 at 8:00 PM EST
Blogger DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom

I hope you'll tune in.

And one question:

What blogger would YOU like to hear on a SFTC podcast?

IS JESUS STILL HANGING ON THE CROSS AND HOLDING YOUR PEE THE ENTIRE MOVIE. DISCUSS.

2010-02-15T06:00:00.003-05:00

Car rides with my son are interesting. The shorter, the more entertaining. He knows he’s got a lot of sh*t to cram in, so he just goes for it.It was a four minute ride to basketball practice.

We drive past his school.This reminded him they aren’t allowed to play on the snow piles. He thinks this rule is stupid, and then he quickly launched into the story of how he held his pee the whole time we went to go see Mall Cop.

Which leads to (obviously) is Jesus still hanging on the cross? Where is he? What did they do with him? Is he’s out in the middle of the desert somewhere and no one can find him?

No, son, Jesus rose from the dead and went to heaven to be with God.

His Father?

Yes, his Father.

How did God get pregnant?

He was probably very careless.

What?

Actually, God didn’t give birth, he was the Father. He gave Jesus to Mary.

Like how he gave me and sissy to you?

Exactly.

What is the most ridiculous thing you have recently been asked? By a child or anyone, In the car, or at your house, or, wherever. And what movie did you have to hold your pee? Me? The Hand That Rocked The Cradle.