Just Call Me "House Mom"

Just overheard from the living room:

"Hey, Gage--sit on my face and fart!"

I live in a fucking frat house.

Because Lemonade Makes Me Have to Hawk and Spit Too Much

Life gave me these:

So I made these:

 

This is why housewives are fat.

Like my potholder? I made it this morning. It was so cute I felt compelled to bake something just to see if it was as functional as it was delightful (it is). Then I spied the almost-rotten bananas my wholly-rotten children promised me they'd eat if I bought them TWO WEEKS AGO. If they think I'm giving them any of these muffins, they're even dumber than I thought.

Promises, Promises

I, Mitzi Green, do hereby solemnly swear that, tomorrow morning, when my alarm clock goes off at 7:15 6:30 a.m., I will promptly hit the snooze bar get my fat ass out of bed, get dressed, and spend an hour on the treadmill.

Yeah...I don't buy it, either.

Share the Road, Assholes

Dear Douchewad in the Blue Pickup Who Yelled "Sidewalk!" Out Your Window as Your Friend Barreled Past Me on My Bike This Afternoon:

If you were to actually read the Missouri Bicycle and Pedestrian Laws, as I have, you would know:

Missouri law prohibits cyclists from riding on the sidewalk in a business district
AND 
(cyclists)  have the same rights and responsibilities as a motor vehicle operator.


Ergo, there was absolutely no reason for me to be riding on the sidewalk; in fact, it is discouraged by state law. Besides, the sidewalks in that area suck, and I've flattened more than one tire in the past because of riding on shitty sidewalks. 


So you, sir, can kiss my bicycle-riding ass.


Hugs and Kisses,


Mitzi Green