To Go

Anything "To Go" you can count my ass in. That means it's ultraportable, light, but primarily EASIER (than something that's not 'to go').

An example of this genius at work?

I present to you:



Ok, here goes the crazy lady about to rant about peanut butter. See, I know what you're thinking but seriously listen! And maybe you'll understand...maybe..

This isn't some crazy marketing ploy to get you to buy more peanut butter in a smaller package. No, no.. this is genius, my friends.

I LOVE peanut butter. ESPECIALLY when I'm on a diet...pair it with apples, bananas, celery, pretzels...you name it. DELICIOUS. And it's like having a treat instead of fruit. But here's the thing about peanut butter (and all you pb fans can vouch) if that shit is not portioned out you can GUARANTEE you're eating more than the recommended serving size.

I'll be honest, I've eaten it straight out of the jar with a spoon (I can't be the only crazy who's done this). And this is where the genius of these to go packs comes in.

Pre-portioned packs! Duh. Somebody at Jif deserves a raise.

Now, do I recommend using these to have pre-portioned serving sizes to use for your toast? No. Because that's just stupid. That's what the jar is for. And to be honest, this pack, unless you happen to eat more than 2 pieces of toast in a single sitting, is probably more than you'd need.

These packs are PERFECT for dipping on the go. I used to bring celery and peanut butter to work for lunch...but before these to go packs, I'm gunna be honest, it was a total bitch trying to find ways to bring it. There are like no containers small enough...and then it's one more thing I need to wash.



One of these bad boys and you're on your way to peanut butter heaven without engorging yourself on the whole jar. Sweet. I'm telling you, try them once and you'll understand...you can thank me later.

Keep checking back today because I'll be making a memorial day dessert (with peanut butter) that will blow your socks off :)

Sometimes Five Is A Lot.

Five...in the grand scheme of things really isn't a big number.

But it can be a lot when put into perspective.

Allow me to explain:

Five gummy bears? Not enough...not nearly enough...and that's how many they put in a package. Who eats 5 fruit snacks? There needs to be at least 15 to be a reasonable amount...but I digress...

Five pairs of sandals? Fairly standard (unless you're a shoe whore... which I'm not)

Five houses? Well, screw you.

So you see...five...or any number really when put into perspective can be a lot or a little.

Are you wondering where this number hysteria is coming from?

You should probably ask my new next door neighbor. This woman apparently has a strong liking for the number five.

She also has a strong liking for cats...because she has 5 of them, 5 outdoor cats. 5 really annoying, always in the way, teasing, creepy stalker, outdoor cats.

And for each cat she also has an outdoor child. Yes, you've heard me correctly. That's 5 cats and 5 children.

Now don't get me wrong I love like tolerate cats. A few of my friends have had them, and I actually did enjoy their company. But would I ever own one? No.

Although I do love me some tardar sauce...aka grumpy cat. Her persistent grumpy face is the epitome of me if woken before 7 AM.



God I love her.

But it's one thing to own cats...it's something else entirely to own 5 of them...and outdoor one's at that.

Pardon my french, but what the fuck is the point of an outdoor cat?

You feed it...let it inside when there's a hurricane?...What is the point of a pet you never see, or cuddle, or love.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

And she has five of these pointless animals.

They run rampant in the neighborhood like squirrels driving my two dogs absolutely bat shit teasing them from outside.

I apologize for the rant but I needed to just let it out somewhere and here just seemed like the appropriate place. Ugh.

Five outdoor cats....I guess I'll just never quite understand.

Stanky

So the other day bug and I were taking a stroll through Target...which by the way I need to stop doing. How does my trip to buy coffee turn into a 50 dollar purchase?...Damnit, I'm on to you, Target. It must be something in the air...which IRONICALLY is a perfect segue into today's post. Bug and I were going about our meaningless humdrum shopping spree...and it happened. It was like I was smashed in the face with a sack of fucking rocks. Old lady perfume.

And don't play coy you know EXACTLY what one I'm talking about. I'm CERTAIN there is only one scent that they all wear and it is god AWFUL.



Now, I suppose old lady perfume wouldn't be so horrid if they didn't bathe themselves in it, which leads me to believe that SCENT along with sight and hearing also deteriorates with age. I don't know what it is about old lady perfume but that shit LINGERS. I couldn't tell if it was following me or if it was stuck in my nostrils torturing the hell out of my nose.



On top of the fact that we all know there are two types of perfumes. There are those you are allowed to spray like twice before they start to make your eyes water from being so pungent and then there are those that you can spray 70-80 times and lose your scent by the time you walk 10 feet. You know you're wearing too much perfume if you can taste it...seriously, Grandma.. Ease off.

I literally picture them walking around like little pigpens...you know that little stanky kid from the peanuts who had like a hoard of dirt and smell drawn around him at all times?...ya know...this kid...



Except instead of dirt it's the old lady odor lurking waiting to suffocate its next victims. My message to you older ladies ...Fine, wear your perfume, just please, for the sake of everyone within a mile radius of you, LESS IS MORE....But none is better :)

Ms. New Booty.

So if you've been reading religiously (which you better be), you'll know I have a problem when it comes to singing on the spot. I don't know what is wrong with my brain, but the second my brain needs to think of a lullaby or even a soft song to sing to my bug when she's upset, the only song I can come up with is..... Ms. New Booty...

what the actual fuck?
What kind of mother am I? And this happens every time...EVERY SINGLE TIME. Apparently, my brain is stuck only remembering sub par music circa 2006. And I mean, don't get me wrong it's not a bad song....but uhhhhh why?
So let me paint you a picture... there I am rocking my little girl attempting to silence the crying and there's mommy "I found you ms. new booty...get it together and bring it back to me." Followed by an internal dialog "what the fuck is wrong with you, you can't sing that shit to your baby...ok I'll try again" "booty, booty, booty, booty rockin everywhere....DAMNIT"...this happens daily...like on the reg. And I can't stop it. So between, "Soft kitty" and "Ms. New Booty"...nominee for mother of the year award is this guy right here.
Where the hell is twinkle twinkle little star or you are my sunshine or the classic rockabye baby when I need them? Oh well...if you can't beat em... join em.