Friday, May 28, 2010

Gratitude....It Does The Body Good

Happy Friday, Peeps!

And not only is it Friday, dudes! But, it's also the beginning of Memorial Day weekend! HELLO UNOFFICIAL BEGINNING OF SUMMER! Woot woot!

In my dreams, I would be leaving right about now for my house in the Hamptons.

However, in reality, my husband has reminded me that we are working class stiffs. THUS, we are too poor to own a house in the Hamptons. Damn buzz kill.

So, what exciting things are y'all doing this weekend? Tell me! Tell me! Make me jealous and let me live vicariously through you!

Hubby and I are actually working most of this weekend. He's conned me into it, but that's OK because in exchange for my laboring soul, he has agreed to let me drag him to the Sex and the City 2 movie. That's right, people. I go to work with him, and he watches a movie about vajayjays for me.

That's fair, right?

Oh, well....So, that's all I got, my friends!

I hope you all have a glorious and safe holiday weekend!

And remember! This holiday weekend isn't about stuffing yourself silly with burgers and dogs.

It's really about this:


And this:


Have a grateful Memorial Day!

And God Bless America!

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Oh, Just Bite Me.

You know what I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE?

I love it when I am working the daily grind like an a-hole, and my friends are on vacation, and they send me shit like this:

Hello Sally! While you're back home being a chump, I'm looking at this view! Whatever, Whorey Von Whoreman... (AKA my friend Heather)



And this:

Hello Sally! While you're getting up at the asscrack of dawn to get ready for work, I am lounging here! Suck it, Douchenaya (AKA my friend Heather...AGAIN).




And this:

Look at me enjoying NOT ONE but TWO lovely beverages in Aruba while you are back home eating Hamburger Helper and drinking Kool Aid! Stick it, Strawberry Shortcake (AKA my friend Linda).



And finally...

Here's looking at you! YUMMM! This EXPENSIVE wine, that I am enjoying in Aruba while you are BACK HOME drinking Riunite on ice, is fanfreakintastic! Up yours, Trophy Head (AKA my friend Lou).



I know, I know. I'm am quite the ray of sunshine today, aren't I?

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Why Don't I Just Wear A Madonna Cone Bra?

Hmmmm...

Something fishy is going on around here.

And?

I'm pretty sure there's a man behind it.

Yesterday, after work, I went shopping. I had a mall gift certificate and I wanted to buy some short sleeved shirts for summer.

As I was walking around in Macy's---just browsing, I WAS SUDDENLY ALMOST BLINDED when this mannequin's nipples threatened to poked my freakin eyes out:



WHAT THE?

A few minutes later, I rounded another corner in the store and BAM! More mannequin nipples to the face:



Seriously, dudes! What in the perverted frick is going on around here? Have I been living under a rock or something? I don't remember seeing this shit in department stores before? Do you?

And you know what kind of ticks me off? I just happen to have biggish boobs. AND? It is now air conditioning season here in Rhode Island (92 degrees today), which means that I usually spend my days trying to PLAY DOWN my hooters by keeping my nipples out of the direct paths of cool breezes, lest I have men drooling all over my friggin shoes like horny pigs. Oink, oink.

So, basically, what I want to know is WHAT douchecanoe at Macy's thinks that women, like me, are going to walk by their pervy mannequins and say, "OMG! That shirt is simply NIPPLETASTIC! I think I'll buy TEN! One in every color! Whoo hoo!"

Seriously, Macy's dudes.

WTF?

Blog Addendum: After my stroll in Nippleville, I headed to the men's department to look at their mannequins. And you know what? I couldn't find ONE with an accentuated weiner. That's what I call BULLSHIT, my friends.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

If You Think Joan Rivers Looks Good, It's Time To Have Your Cataracts Removed

I just got back from taking Sophia Petrillo (my mother) to the eye doctor. Apparently, she has been sporting an infection in her left eye since Friday.

In case you're wondering, her not feeling well has had NO bearing on her ability to talk WAY too much. Her gums are still a flappin NONFREAKINSTOP.

Matter of fact, while we were waiting for the doctor to call us into the exam room, she asked me about some posters that were plastered all over the waiting room walls.

These were posters showing the before and after pictures of women who've had botox injections, restylane injections, and eye lifts---all procedures which are now readily available for purchase at the eye doctor's office. Seriously.

Anywho, after examining the pictures for awhile, this is the conversation that took place between me and my seventy-nine year old mother. Please remember that she has a Portuguese accent AND zero mouth filter:

Sophia: What's does dat say?

Me: It's an advertisement for Botox.

Sophia: What's dat?

Me: That's the stuff they shoot into your face with a needle. It takes away wrinkles.

Sophia: Yeah?

Me: Yeah.

Sophia: How much money does it cost?

Me: I don't know.

Sophia: WE needa find out.

Me: What do you mean WE?

Sophia: Well, you needa find out too because you are forty. Pretty soon you gonna needa dat, too.

Me: Ma, puh-leeze! I don't need that AND neither do you. Plus, it's a lot of money.

Sophia: I no care! Maybe I gonna get a face lift like Joan Rivers! Dat is ten tousand dollars!

Me: WHAT?

Sophia: Joan Rivers! She looks nice. No wrinkles!

Me: Ma! Joan Rivers looks like crap! She looks like a crazy lady! You are NOT getting a face lift!

Sophia: You not my boss. I am my boss!

Me: (mumbling under my breath) Maybe not now, I'm not. But, I will be when you're living in Shady Pines.

Sophia: WHAT you say?

Me: I said you look nice the way you are.

Sophia: Dat not what you said!

Me: If you know WHAT I said, then why are you asking me what I said?

Sophia: (folding her arms and pouting) You are verrry fresh.

Me: I guess that proves you are my real mother.

And with that, she stuck her tongue out at me

Whatever, Old Woman.

Addendum: I asked the doctor if he could prescribe a numbing agent that I could apply to my mother's tongue...you know, to keep the old gal quiet for the duration of the car ride home. He laughed and said, "Oh, you're mother's so cute! You don't really mean that!"

For the record?

Yes.I.FREAKIN.DO.

Friday, May 21, 2010

I Feel My Mouth Filter S-L-I-P-P-I-N-G Away

The older I get, the more I behave like my mother (Uh-oh!).

I think this happens to a lot of women as they mature.

And FYI? I am maturing. I am not getting old. Getting old can suck it.

The reason I think I am turning into my mother is that I have become sort of free with my opinions. Shocking, right?!

Here's a great example...

Recently, I went out for dinner with my friends--Joyce, Pam, and Debbie. I was sitting at the table, facing the door, when suddenly I saw this dude walking into the restaurant with his date. I took ONE glance at him, put my fork down mid-conversation and said, "Oh, THAT would be a deal breaker for me."

The girls looked at me like, What the hell are you talking about? And I responded, "Don't look now. But, this middle-aged dude just walked in with his woman. AND? He is wearing a friggin headband."

They were intrigued.

I continued to ramble, "I'm sorry. But that just looks so fruity. If I was on the dating scene and I met that guy, I'd be all SORRY, DUDE. Headbands are for rock stars."

See? They're cool! They can pull that shit off!





But you, Harry Headband? Instead of looking cool, you look kind of like this...minus the crazy face...



Yeah. Sooo not cool. But don't take my word for it.

Because to illustrate my point, JUST FOR YOU--MY BLOGGY PEEPS--I made my friends, Debbie and Joyce, PRETEND to pose for a picture so I could inconspicuously zoom in on Harry Headband, who was sitting behind them.

Check it:


Click on the photo below to read my very OWN custom joke. Hey Letterman? You lookin' for a writer??


And for the record, my girls---Debbie and Joyce---agreed with me. They were all like No Way, Dude! Get that plastic, little girl headband out of your mop!

My pal, Pam, was more forgiving. She's nice like that.

Oh, well. At least Deb, Joyce, and I won't be lonely in Hell. We'll have each other! Hehehehe....

From L to R: Joyce (Hellion #1), Me (the ring leader/Hellion #2), Pam (the forgiving one), and Debbie (Hellion #3)

Good God! It's amazing! We don't look a day over twenty-five! Do we, girls?!

Thursday, May 20, 2010

You DRIVE Me Crazy!

I want to go on that new TV show, The Marriage Ref.

What, you ask, in my marital world full of rainbows and unicorns, could I possibly have to dispute with my Hubby?

I'll tell you WHAT. It's his effin driving. It makes me friggin CRAZY.

Case in point:

Recently, Hubs and I had to attend a work related trade show in Boston.

HE drove us there.

And the whole way?

I prayed for Jesus to spare me from a windshield to the forehead.

To prove my side of the story---BECAUSE I AM RIGHT AND HE IS WRONG---I will illustrate my HAIR RAISING experience pictorially.

Then, you be the judge.

Here is a picture of the Boston BUMPER TO FRIGGIN BUMPER traffic that was in front of us:



And here is a picture of the CRAZY MOFO traffic that was behind us:



Now, in these high traffic conditions, you would think that a CAUTIOUS driver (like me and every other NORMAL person) would keep both hands on the steering wheel at ALL times. Right?

UH...WRONG.

Here is how my husband was driving:



And when he decided he needed a little more CONTROL of our vehicle, he utilized this little move:




You know...

Cuz in a fuggin traffic CRISIS, that middle finger of his is definitely going to save our asses!

Seriously, dude?!

Middle finger driving?

Where the hell did you learn that shit? Ham & Egg Driving School?

Finally, after having an hour long Hubby's driving induced panic attack in the car, I finally BLEW a cork when he kept getting too close to the car in front of us.

I yelled, "Paul! Get back, dammit! I'm going to have a friggin heart attack!"

And then I noticed the bumper sticker on the car in front of us.

That's when I slapped Hubby's arm and said, "Seriously, dude! If we lived in Massachusetts, I would SOOOOO put that sticker on your car. It fits you like a friggin glove!"




And he just thought that was sooooo freakin funny.

Little bastard.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

A Man With Issues AND A Recipe!

Hello Peeps! Welcome to Weight Loss Recipe Wednesday!

I've got a yummy recipe for you, complete with pictures. But first, I hope you'll indulge me while I take a WHACK at my neighbor. I just need to get something off my hooters...

Dear Assface Who Drives This Car:



We work on the same street. And yesterday? You cut me off. And you were really rude about it like Step back, B*tch! THE MAN has arrived!

I want you to know that I am not jealous of your car in the least. I also want you to know that everyone who sees your car with that STUPID license plate on it, knows that you are probably utilizing that shit to compensate for your insecurities which probably stem from having a wiener the size of an itty, bitty gherkin.

U R DUST?

Seriously?

I don't think so.

I'm thinking more along the lines of U R A DOUCHE.

You're Friendly Neighbor,
Sally

Ahhhh...Thank you for indulging me. I feel MUCH better now!

*******************************************************

OK. So last night, I made Baked Pasta & Smoked Sausage for dinner...and it was yummy! Here's the recipe:

1 pkg. turkey kielbasa--cut into 1/4" slices
(I used Hillshire Farm)
1 can Campbell's 99% fat free cream of celery soup
2 1/2 cups skim milk
8 oz. uncooked penne (or pasta of your choice)
1 cup shredded 2% (lite) mozzarella cheese
1 cup French's Cheddar French Fried Onions
1 cup frozen peas
salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 375. While you are boiling the pasta, saute the kielbasa in a large OVENPROOF pan in a little olive oil spray (until browned):



To the browned kielbasa, add the soup, milk, 1/2 of the mozzarella, 1/2 of the french fried onions, peas, salt and pepper. Mix well and keep stirring until thickened:



Drain the cooked pasta and add it to the saucy kielbasa mixture. Mix well:



Cover pan tightly and place in the oven. Bake for 30 minutes.

Uncover pan and top casserole with remaining cheese and french fried onions. Bake about 3 more minutes, until golden:



Let stand 5 minutes before serving:



Yummy, creamy, low fat comfort food! What's better than that, people?

FYI---This recipe makes six BIG servings and if you're a Weight Watcher, each serving equals 9 points. Enjoy!!

Friday, May 14, 2010

Comfortable With My Dingus

Sometimes, because I am a bit of an instigator (Shocking! Right?!), my friend Heather calls me Satan's Sister. And you know what? I'm not offended at all. Actually, I think it's kind of funny and it gives me something to live up to.

I know, I know. My mother should be so proud.

Anywho, my friend Heather introduced me to her friend, Dave, who is now kind a sort a my friend, too...but not really.

We're friends on Facebook. But, we've never really met.

When Dave and I correspond on Facebook, he usually refers to me as a troll. I, in turn, refer to him as a demon. It's all very heartwarming, really.

So, Demon Dave? He's the King of Photoshop. And the other day, he posted a good one on my Facebook wall that really warmed the cockles of my heart.

You see...always the instigator, I made a comment saying that his new profile picture on Facebook looked A LOT like this picture of Charles Manson:



And he, being the Demon that he really is, took this Facebook profile picture of me:


And morphed it with Charles Manson's face, creating this:


Dudes! I don't know about you, but aside from the unibrow? I think I make one hot ass serial killer!

I would date me. Seriously.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Working Class Dog

Today, I'm supposed to post a recipe, but I'm not. Know why?

Last night, I didn't cook. I worked late, AGAIN.

Damn that work bullshit! It really cramps my style!

Instead, I got take-out, went home and ate, took a bath, buzzed around on Facebook (Friend me, if you're not a crazy mofo!) for a few minutes, read a book, and THEN the Hubby and I indulged in one of our new obsessions.

NO, not THAT! You PERVS!

I'm talking about that new reality show, Selling New York.

Have any of you seen this shit?

Dudes! We can't get enough!

It's a show about these two real estate companies that sell BAZILLION dollar apartments in New York City. Every half hour show is similar in that the realtors involved are either meeting with clients to show properties for sale or meeting with clients to score listings.

It's a fascinating look into the realm of the FILTHY STINKIN RICH!

I love it because I get to tour BEAUTIFUL residences that I can only dream about!

Of course, the funnest part? Is the fact that the whole time we're watching the show, my husband and I are yelling vulgarities and flipping off the television in JEALOUS unison. Last night's conversation went like this:

Hubby: That apartment is $3.8767566756589457483748274 million dollars?! WTF? WHO THE HELL CAN AFFORD THAT?

Me: I know! WHAT DO THOSE WHORES DO FOR A LIVING?! GEEZ!

Hubby: The commission on that apartment is $360,000.00?! WTF?

Me: BALLS! If I was that realtor, I would sell that ONE apartment, then sit on my freakin ass for the next TWO YEARS!

After the show was over, Hubby and I went off to bed. But our grumbling continued...

Me: That show really pisses me off! It makes me feel like an underachiever.

Hubby: I know! Can you believe people really live like that?!

Me: If they knew how much we paid for property taxes, THEY WOULD LAUGH IN OUR FACES!

Hubby: No shit! That's what they pay PER MONTH in condo fees!

Me: I friggin hate rich people.

Hubby: Yeah...me, too. Oh, well. SOME PEOPLE HAVE TO WORK IN THE MORNING. Time to get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow...GOOD NIGHT, LOSER!

Me: GOOD NIGHT, WELFARE CASE!

In case you had any doubt? Yeah. We really were made for each other.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Why I Self Medicate...

It's 12:23pm and I just got to work. I had to take Sophia Petrillo (A.K.A. my 79 year old mother) to the doctor's office to check the status of her blood pressure/new blood pressure medication.

After spending the morning with her, I think I suddenly need an assortment of meds MYSELF---starting with blood pressure pills (I'm sure), happy pills, some tranquilizers, and some beer. FYI...Beer is made from wheat and barley. Therefore, it qualifies as a homeopathic treatment for stress in my book.

So, the first thing that Sophia did to irk me today, was she came out of the house wearing high heeled--open toed slingbacks, capri pants, and a thin sweater.

Dudes! WTF? It's like 49 degrees here today!

So, I said, "Ma? It's freezing! Why aren't you dressed warmer?" To which she responded *INSERT PORTUGUESE ACCENT AND ATTITUDE PROBLEM HERE*, "I AM SICK of dis weather! I put all my winter clothes away ALREADY! Dis weather is bullshit!"

I retorted, "This weather is what we're stuck with! People are going to look at the way you're dressed and think you're a crazy lady!" To which she responded, "I don't care. They can kiss my ass."

Alrighty then...

Argument Numero Uno: Sally 0 / Sophia Petrillo 1

After making our way to the doctor's office and waiting approximately ten minutes, the medical assistant came out to get us. She led Sophia to the scale where she weighed in (after birthing NINE children in her lifetime, that would be at a measly 129lbs), AND THAT'S where ARGUMENT NUMERO DOS began.

Sophia got off the scale, looked at the medical chick and said, "You needa take two pounds off my weight because of my clothes and shoes or else dat not fair." Now, the medical chick is looking at my mother like, EXCUSE ME? YOU TELLIN ME HOW TO DO MY JOB, OLD WOMAN? And my mother's all staring her down and shit. So, the chick actually did it! She wrote down her weight MINUS two freakin pounds!

When the medical chick left the room, I was like, "MA! That is not nice! And you do not tell the doctor's assistant to lie about your weight! You are not her boss! She's going to think your a BIG feitseira (witch in Portuguese)!" To which she responded, "I don't care what she thinks about me. She can think I am a feitseira because I think she is toooo fat. If you work for a doctor, you should be skinny!"

Argument Numero Dos: Sally, 0 / Sophia Petrillo, 2

Now, it's time to leave the doctor's office. As I am driving her home, she tells me to pull into Burger King because she wants a Whopper Junior and some french fries for lunch. So I said, "Ma? You're taking blood pressure and cholesterol pills. Don't you think you should get a grilled chicken sandwich, instead?" She replied, "NO. I'm almost EIGHTY (she only turned 79 last week). I can have whatever I want."

Oh.My.Freakin.Hell.

Argument Numero Tres: Sally, A BIG FAT FUGGIN ZERO / Sophia Petrillo, 3

Knowing that I CAN NOT win...EVER, I give in and say, "Fine, Ma. Whatever!" Because by now? I am ready to glue her lips shut.

And the funny thing??? I mean THE REALLY FUGGIN FUNNY THING???

After my torturous morning with Ms. Bossy Von Bossman, I pull into Burger King to get her a damn sandwich and I see this on the street sign:



WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?

She's ornery enough NOW! If this sign rings true, WHO THE FRIG will be able to tolerate her after she eats her damn WHOPPER?

Seriously?!

Monday, May 10, 2010

From Puff Daddy To P-Diddy? OHHHH! Now I Get It!

Yesterday was Mother's Day.

And while I am not a mother (Oh, I've been called one!), Mother's Day is a day filled with familial obligations.

The day started off with Hubby and I scrambling to buy two Mother's Day cards--because even though I bought some two weeks ago, heck if I know where the frig I put them.

So, there I was, like a BAD, BAD, INGRATE OF A DAUGHTER---fighting off every other twerp who waited until the last minute to buy their Mama a lovey, dovey card.

Paint a big "L" on my forehead, why dontcha?

After foraging through the shitty card pile at my local pharmacy, Hubby and I picked up his parents and took them to lunch at a usually really nice Portuguese restaurant.

Note the USUALLY nice description, people.

For on this day?

That description went right out the window when we started eating and realized that the food sucked more that Monica Lewinsky.

Seriously, people. I think my husband's steak was actually HORSE. BLECHHHH....

After taking a shellacking at lunch, we dropped Hubby's parents off at home and went to visit my Mom (the 79 year-old Portuguese version of Sophia Petrillo who has ZERO MOUTH FILTER). She had gone out for lunch with my sister and was tres happy to see us.

We sat and visited for awhile when suddenly she said, "Oh! I almost forgot! I bought you a blouse last week when I was shopping with your sister! It's a large so I know it'll fit you...even though you're looking a little puffy from all of the eating out that you've been doing."

Thank.You.very.Much.Old.Woman.I.Will.Consider.This.
Statement.When.I.Am.Choosing.Your.Nursing.Home.

Upon leaving the Old Lady's house, Hubby and I went to visit my sister, Natty. Natty has three grown kids (two married, and one that's getting married) and a granddaughter who was born on my fortieth birthday (that I just want to squeeze).

Look at this kid. Her "evil baby" glance totally proves that we are related. No?


Funny story about my sister....

While we were visiting, she was telling me about her back pain and how she went to see a new doctor last week. Now, mind you...my sister and I have similar builds and we could definitely stand to lose twenty pounds or so....

Natty: So, I went to see Dr. So-And-So about my back.

Me: What did he say?

Natty: He looked at me disapprovingly and said, "LOSE THE WEIGHT! YOU'LL FEEL BETTER!"

Me: Really?

Natty: Yeah! Just like that! LOSE THE WEIGHT! Like I was a beast or something!

Me: Wow. What an a-hole.

Natty: I know! And the funny thing is? When I was walking out of his office, there was a woman waiting to see him and she was at least a three hundred pounder. I looked in her direction as I was leaving and thought to myself, if he thinks I'm fat? Then SISTER, YOU'RE SCREWED!

We're definitely sisters. Can't you tell? Hahaha.

After leaving my sister's house, Hubby and I went out for dinner---just the two of us---so we could decompress from a long day of family obligations.

While I was looking over the menu--trying to decide what to eat, Hubby settled on a salad, a gourmet cheeseburger with bacon and french fries, and a glass of red wine. He also told me that upon finishing his dinner, he would be having (and he did) some chocolate lava cake, a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a glass of milk.

And I couldn't help but think...

Good Lord!

AND I'M THE PUFFY ONE?

Seriously?!

Friday, May 7, 2010

I Can Make It Look Like An Accident

By now, most of you know that the Hubby and I work together. We own our own business---which is quite challenging in itself---because after spending WAY too many hours at work, it's not like we can go home at night and "just forget" what went on that day. When you are self-employed, there's no getting away from business.

When I tell people that Hubs and I work together, I usually get one of two reactions. The first usually goes, "OH.MY.GOD! How can you stand it? I could NEVER live AND work with my wife/husband. We would kill each other!"

The second reaction---which is much rarer---is usually, "That's so great! You're working together towards a common goal! You must get along really well!"

If you ask me what I think, I'd say that working with my husband is definitely a plus in my life because he gets me. I can be myself at work and I like that he's not the least bit surprised or annoyed when I hang up the phone after dealing with a "challenging" customer or vendor and hurl f-bombs into the atmosphere.

As a matter of fact, sometimes he even fuels my fire.

Like yesterday, when I hung up the phone and started yelling, "Good Lord! That man is crazy! Crazy, I tell you! I think that mofo son-of-a-b*tch smokes crack!" And my husband yelled back from the other end of the room, "What's that a-hole's problem, now?"

Hahaha. Maybe it's only funny to me. But, I feel validated when he takes my side.

Now, let me just say one thing.

I DO NOT--for one minute--want you all to think that every workday with Hubby is filled with rainbows and unicorns. NOT SO, PEOPLE. Not so, at all.

As a matter of fact, yesterday? I wanted to beat the man into oblivion...and I swear, I AM NOT A VIOLENT PERSON.

Oh sure, I like to talk smack, BUT that's as rough as I usually get.

But, YESTERDAY? Oh, man. I seriously thought about sticking his head under some very dangerous shop equipment...specifically, I thought about zapping him in the noggin with a laser. *FRY, FRY, SIZZLE, SIZZLE*

And what could possibly push me over the edge like that and make me want to maim the man I professed to spend my life with?

I'm not even going to tell you. I'm going to show you, instead. AND? You'd better take my side IF you don't want me to hunt you down and taser your ass.

Here's what got my underwear all bunched up in a knot...

Yesterday, Hubby went out to make a delivery. While I was walking past his desk, I decided to put some of his tools away because I knew he wouldn't need them for the rest of the day. When I started to open up his toolboxes to see where certain wrenches belonged, I found this:










Dudes! WTF is that all about?

He has a damn stash of chocolate bars on steroids!

And did you see that they all say KING SIZE and LARGE SIZE?

What's the friggin deal? NORMAL FUGGIN SIZE candy bars won't do?

So, when he came back from delivering crap to a customer, I called him on it!

I was all, Dude! What is the meaning of this shit? We (meaning ME) can't have those in here! You need to get rid of those chocolate bars right now!

And do you know what the little bastard did??????

He walked over, grabbed a Kit Kat, and started munching on it saying, "OK. I'll start by getting rid of this one first!"

*STAB, STAB, STAB...PUNCH, PUNCH, PUNCH...TASER, TASER, TASER*

All I'm saying is he'd better heed my warning and get that shit out of my work environment ASAP. Because as the sign says:

He is in some seriously fuggin danger right now.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

A Serial Skank? And Some Barbecue Chicken Pizza!

Welcome to Weight Loss Recipe Wednesday, Peeps!

I have a yummy recipe for a low fat barbecue chicken pizza that will knock your freakin socks off! I swear! IT.IS.YUMMY!

But first, I'd like to share a quick story with you. It's kinda sorta my own version of a whodunit mystery.

Here's the deal...

Yesterday, after working a full ten hour day, I was packing up my car with all of my crap so I could head home and make my yummy pizza. As I was putting my briefcase in the trunk, I noticed something on the ground--right near my back passenger door:




I was standing over said mystery item, when my husband suddenly appeared at my side and said:

Hubby:
What's that?

Me: (bending slightly to get a better look) I think it's a pair of underwear.

Hubby: (bending slightly to get a better look) I think you're right!

Me: What the HELL? That's weird! They look kind of expensive.

Hubby:
How can you tell?

Me: Lots of intricate lace...You won't find that shit at Wal-Mart.

Hubby: Where do you think they came from?

Me: That's obvious. They came from a whore!

Hubby: A whore?

Me: Duh, yeah! I mean seriously, Paul. A "normal" woman doesn't just loose her underwear in the middle of the day.

Hubby: Maybe she pooped her pants!

Me: Nope. If a "normal" woman pooped her pants, she would've thrown them in the trash. These undies are just floating around the parking lot like they fell out of the back seat of a car when Whorey Von Whoreman rushed to get her clothes back on after bobbing he coworker's bologna pony. Yep. That's it. That's what happened.

Hubby: You really need to stop watching television.

Me: What? Why?

Hubby: Trust me. You just do.

(Apparently, all of this Tiger Woods/Jesse James/Rielle Hunter crap that I've been watching, has convinced my husband that I am "whore" obsessed. Whatev...)

AND NOW! THE TIME HAS COME for my slick segue from dirty underwear to barbecue chicken pizza!!!

Who's classier than me, People?

No one! That's who!

So, here it is, my friends! The yummiest low fat barbecue chicken pizza EVER! Trust me. YOU.WILL.LOVE.IT! So, get cooking!!

Barbecue Chicken Pizza

*2 tubes low fat crescent rolls
*1 cup barbecue sauce (I used Jack Daniels No. 7)
*3/4 lb. chicken breast tenders, cooked and shredded
*3 slices turkey bacon, cooked and crumbled
*1-1/2 cups low fat shredded cheddar cheese
*1/2 cup low fat ranch dressing
*1/2 tsp. chili powder
*1/4 cup chopped scallions

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Roll the crescent rolls out on a pizza stone or cookie sheet (I use a stoneware bar pan). Pinch all seams together to create one large pizza crust. Place in the oven and bake for about 8-10 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove crust from oven and turn on the broiler. Spread the barbecue sauce over the dough. Spread the chicken, then the bacon, and finally the cheese over the top. Place pan under the broiler until the cheese melts (the cheese kind of puffs up), about 3-5 minutes.

In a bowl, combine the ranch dressing and the chili powder. Drizzle the dressing over the pizza with a spoon (or a Ziploc bag with the corner cut off). Top with scallions.

Makes 8 large squares. Serve with a salad. YUM!

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

If It Walks Like A Ho And Talks Like A Ho, IT'S A HO!

This morning, I watched a clip from the Oprah Winfrey/Rielle Hunter interview that was on television last week.

You all know who she is, right? She's the tramp bag who polished John Edwards' ROCKET.

I swear, I almost threw up a little in my mouth when Oprah asked her WHY she wanted to do that interview. She actually looked Ope in the eye and said that she wanted to finally set the record straight because she is a WOMAN OF INTEGRITY.

I'm sorry. WHAT DID YOU SAY, QUEEN SKANK?

I know, I know, people. It's not my place to judge.

But, SHIT.

In this case, I just can't help myself.

And so, I decided to look up the definition of the word INTEGRITY, and this is what I found:

INTEGRITY
–noun
*adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty.

And I got to thinking that this bimbo, Rielle Hunter, is a bigger ho-bag than even I could imagine.

You see...FIRST, she throws herself--coochie first--into an affair with that married, scum sucking sorry excuse for a presidental candidate, John Edwards (PIG).

THEN, she shows complete disregard for his children and his WIFE---who just happens to be dealing with all of this crap WHILE BATTLING STAGE FOUR CANCER!

THEN, she tries to sway the world with her side of the story by doing an interview with GQ magazine in which she is pictured wearing NO PANTS.

Hey Skank?! If you don't want the world to see you for the big whore that you really are, perhaps you should try KEEPING YOUR FUGGING PANTS ON once in awhile. Just saying...



And finally...

Last week, Skankola Hunter goes on Oprah to tell anyone who will listen that she LOVES Johnny and he LOVES her and she a woman of INTEGRITY.

Bitch, puh-leeze.

Monday, May 3, 2010

You're All WINNERS To Me!

Happy Monday, Peeps!

Today's the day that I announce the winners of my Fabu Blog Give-Away!

Yay!

There's nothing better than starting your week off a winner, right? Woot woot!

And in case you're wondering how the winners were chosen, I put all of the names of those who entered the give-away into a Boston Red Sox baseball hat (GO SOX!). Then, I had Hubby stick his hand in there and pick out four winners. I figured that way, if any of y'all want to beat the crap out of someone because you didn't win, you'll leave me in tact and beat the bodiddlies out of him, instead. WHAT?!

It's called Survival of the Fittest, people! And it's P-R-E-T-T-Y ingenious, if you ask me. Hehehe.

And now, a DRUM ROLL please!

The winners of the Rachael Ray Cookbook-Fabu Blog Give-Away are:

1. Drea (submitted a recipe for Veggie Quiche)

2. Shannon (submitted a recipe for Lettuce Wraps)

3. Erin (submitted a recipe for Roasted Parmesan Asparagus)

4. Amanda (submitted a recipe for Pumpkin Custard)

To all of the winners:
Congratulations, Dudes! To claim your prizes, please email me (email address located on my blogger profile page) your full names and mailing addresses and I will ship your books out to you ASAP! Yay!!

To all of the non-winners:
Blame my husband. He's the one that screwed you over.

Thank you all for playing! And remember, this contest left us all with a plethora of great, healthy recipes! Utilize those suckers (I know I will!)! They'll make your butt smaller! Seriously ;)