Musing of a Mostly Mediocre Mom
One of the best kept CSA secrets is nobody knows what to do with broccoli rabe except sauté it in butter and hide it in a glob of mashed potatoes.
I am not a wuss, and now I have a donor card. A story about a mother-son bonding moment that didn't kill either of us.
You ever try putting pants on amorphous goo, Juan? Huh?
I wondered for a second if anyone would pick the more obscure words like sycophantic or erinaceous or pauciloquent.
I apologize for my former lack of empty nest empathy.
It's like shooting fish in a barrel ....
Forty-seven is the new ten, people.
Don't say I never gave you nothin'
What if this was the start of something chronic and debilitating? And my first thought was how inconvenient it was to have to pick him up in the middle of the day.
If I had wanted applesauce, I would have opened a jar of it, plugged my nose, unhinged my jaw and shotgunned that crap right in front of the open fridge.
This blog isn't really about hookers and cocaine. Oh, and I've given up on trying to figure out SEO.
I know whereof I speak.
So, what do you do when the grocery checker makes a snotty, judgmental comment? Pen a massively passive-aggressive open letter. It's how I roll.
While we're talking about resolutions, I have a teensy, little rant. Happy New Year!
Have you ever hired your buddy, and then thought "that may not have been my best idea ever?"