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I mean geez, our last post was in August. But we’ve got lots of exciting things to share with you!! Yep, lots of exciting things. I mean just tons of great things, really. SO many things.

Ok, not a damn thing in the exciting category. Has anything changed in the last five months? Well lets see.

  • Honey B. still not pregnant? Check.
  • Queen B. and Honey B. still fat? Double check (one for each chin).
  • Still griping at Marmot and Left Brain for the same old things? Ok I hate this depressing game.

But in other news, here are the only mildly exciting things that have happened in our five month hiatus:

  • Queen B. has moved just around the corner from my house. Or as Marmot says, one dysfunctional block away. We love it! Brewer and I walk down there to visit ‘Gramma’ (oh, she loves it when he calls her that) and we drink tea and gripe about our husbands.
  • Marmot and I crossed a couple more Baby Bucket List items – we paid off credit card #2 and had an amazing trip to Europe this fall.
  • And kind of a light pencil line through another BBL item – while I’m not at my ideal weight, I’m almost 50lbs lighter which is definitely a better weight than where I was! I still have another 50lbs to go, but I’m at least at the halfway point – I’ll take it.
  • We’ve started a more serious approach to blogging, with some other ventures (to be disclosed in future) in process. And by more serious, that really just means that we bring notebooks to the aforementioned gripe sessions.
  • Below is proof that we’re alive – taken in a name-since-forgotten piazza in Rome. :-)

 hbqbitaly

But long story short, we’re back! And we can’t wait to tell you about our new (brilliant) ideas… :-)

posted on January 29, 2013 in baby bucket list, blogging, queen b., travel, vacation, whatever

So here’s how it went down. I went over to a friend’s house, and she is a ‘Minimalist’. She has no crap. No piles sitting anywhere. No doors that are closed, blocking off rooms that should not be seen. Nothing. She also doesn’t believe in ‘consuming’, because its not green to consume vast quantities of say, kitchen gadgets, whose production puts toxins into the environment and enslaves small children in China. And she says the packaging alone is an environmental travesty. But I digress – I got home and immediately called Queen B. and told her to come over, I need therapy because I just discovered that I’ve destroyed a rainforest by being a total consumerism-whore.

QB:  Oh Honey let me make you feel better about yourself. Everybody does this, we all have shit we shouldn’t have bought.

Let me tell you about the shower head. As a result of drinking a margarita the size of a fish bowl, I got totally plowed and your sister Nelly had to drive me home – she had to stop at Walmart, so while we were there I bought a banana cream pie and a massaging shower head. Your Dad installed it while I was sleeping off the margarita, and the next morning my hungover self decided to take a shower. It turns out it was a power pulse shower head, and it started beating me in the head. I fought it off the best I could, using the giant bottle of conditioner as a shield, but I didn’t have my glasses on and couldn’t see the dial. I ended up crying in the corner of the shower and your father had to rescue me.

HB: Well apparently its hereditary. I bought a juicer and $80 worth of organic vegetables. I came home and took it out of the box, turned the vegetables into an $80 glass of green slime that looked like science fiction leaking out of the bottom of the juicer, and tasted like a cigarette butt. I added a pound of fresh fruit and 4 pounds of non-organic white sugar, the result was so repulsive that I boxed up the leaking piece of shit juicer up and dropped it into the trash. Unfortunately the story didn’t end there, I poured the congealed green slime down the drain and clogged the kitchen plumbing. The plumber was not prepared when he unclogged it, it let loose and the kitchen looked like a scene from the Exorcist.

QB: There was the time I bought the waffle iron because it was on sale, and who doesn’t love waffles. I was so excited about it, I made a giant bowl of waffle batter. The first waffle cooks up like a dream, golden and delicious. I tell your Dad that I am a waffle genius and this is what we’re having for dinner for the next month. Waffle #2 was fabulous, and waffle #3 to die for. Unfortunately, somewhere between waffles # 11 and 12, I forget to spray the waffle iron with Pam. Waffle #13 (not a lucky waffle) gets stuck to the waffle iron and ripped in half, some on the top and some on the bottom. I immediately take a butter knife and start hacking away like a prospector, which extricates some of the waffle from the top but takes a large portion of the non-stick lining as well. In the meantime the bottom part of the waffle has started to smoke, and the smoke detector alerted your father who came into the kitchen to fan the smoke detector with a paper plate, and started screaming at me to unplug the damn waffle iron. The last straw was the spark that flew out of the side where apparently a tiny amount of wet waffle batter makes the whole thing unusable. I marched out onto the deck with the smoking sparking piece of shit and threw it in the yard. I hate waffles.

HB: Yoga clothing. I think we’ve said enough about that already.

QB: There was the Ab Shaker. I was using it in front of the bathroom mirror to watch my biceps develop before my eyes, but the momentum got away from me and I smashed the bathroom mirror. I think that counts as two – one for the Ab Shaker which went directly to the trash, and the other for the mirror which took a half hour to sweep up and $30 to replace.

HB: I bought that electric staple gun for my upholstery project. I plugged it in and realized it had some sort of trigger malfunction and went off like a machine gun. Thankfully the damage was minimal, the ceiling had a few holes and I always hated those mini blinds anyway.

QB: And lets not forget the time that I went to Macy’s when I decided I was going ‘sporty’, and bought $300 worth of Columbia cargo pants and Merrells sandals with 83 straps on each foot. Do you think a woman that weighs over 200lbs can be sporty?

HB: Oh Mom. Only if you’re a competitive eater or sumo wrestler. But in the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit that I’ve been getting Shape magazine for two years. It was from one of those door-to-door salespeople who tell you that you buying a subscription is the only thing standing between them and a life of crime. Since getting Shape magazine, I have gained 40lbs and my exercise consists mostly of my monthly sprint to the mailbox to get the magazine and hide it from Marmot and the cleaning lady.

QB: Every time we go to the As-Is department at Ikea, we buy shit that we not only don’t need, but is already broken – or will be by the time we smash it into the back of the car or drag it across the cement driveway and up the steps into the house. We might as well walk it straight through the house and out the back into the dumpster, or better yet just pitch it out the window into the ditch on the way home.

HB: Thanks Mom, I no longer feel like a consumerism whore, I’m just the daughter of one.

QB: No problem. Want to go shopping?

posted on June 23, 2012 in queen b., shopping, whatever

Dear Honey,
This is your Mother speaking.

Well that is a dandy little “doo-dad” you have there, the outdoory dog-privy!  What’s not to love about that I tell you?  May I suggest one small accessory? Put a toilet seat on top and call it the “Man-privy”  Maybe we could mass produce them – and sell them – and make pooh-piles of money?? I know I want one! 

I would send your father (Left Brain) out regularly.  I have had it with the way he be-fouls the bathroom and then snickers when I walk in after him.  I could make up little coupons to charge him when I make his favorite dinners…. Burritos? One Man-Privy coupon.  Chili or Cooked Cabbage? That will cost him two Man-privy coupons. 

I am liking this better by the minute. 

 We could even use his truck to deliver the Man-privy sets to women who are to weakened by their husbands flatulence…  We could make a deluxe set with it’s own shovel and matching work gloves…  On Fathers Day we can put a bow on top and a magazine holder on the side……  

Let me know what you think Honey?
Love from your Mother,
Queen B.

posted on August 26, 2011 in queen b., whatever

I always think that I would greatly enjoy being the Keeper of the Karma Stick. You know what I’m talking about, that event or happening that follows a proclamation that is begging to be refuted.

Yesterday I had the privilege of babysitting one of the cutest kids ever. As planned, I was meeting my Mom for lunch with Baby G in tow, at the local food co-op (they have an awesome restaurant/deli) so we drove over. I got G, her diaper bag, her sippy cup, a toy, and my purse and we went over to the door of my Mom’s SUV. She took one look at me and cackled. Why would my so supportive mother cackle at me?

I was wearing the shorts that my sister had told me to never wear in public again, along with a dingy white tshirt that had G’s breakfast goo-ed all over the shoulder. I had (at most) half brushed my hair into a pitiful ponytail, I had no makeup on (violating my own rule, which I have not done since college), and I was carrying the crankiest two year old ever on my hip.

It was one of those moments where I think that Karma is a she, and she’s a mother, and she was laughing her ass of at me yesterday. :-D

posted on August 1, 2011 in queen b., whatever
by Honey B.
with 1 Comment

I’m on my way home from grad school orientation and I just watched my friend, who happens to wear a headcovering and be from the Middle East, get an extra body search at the airport.

I’ve flown eight times in the last three months, and have never had an extra body scan. I asked my friend how often the extra search happens? She says that she didn’t get searched on the last flight, but did the four flights she had before that.

The security woman said passengers are chosen entirely at random. I’m not sure I believe that.

posted on June 16, 2011 in whatever

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a B*** in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that S***. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

-An excerpt from Tina Fey’s new book Bossypants, 2011

posted on May 4, 2011 in whatever
by Honey B.
with 4 Comments

Why is it that adults who lose all their teeth look like their faces have caved in (I always think Muppets) but babies don’t look like that before they’ve gotten any teeth in…?

Why are we so fascinated with little people that there have been no less than four shows (and possibly more) on TLC in the last year dedicated to them…?

Who decides who sings at the Super Bowl? And don’t they get fired for several Halftime singer fails in a row??

Why is it that people charge the elevator as soon as the door opens? Why don’t people learn that its only a traffic jam that would be alleviated by allowing people to get off the elevator… Has someone been eaten by elevator doors before, and thats why people rush??

What are you wondering today…?

posted on February 7, 2011 in monday, whatever


(Source: PostSecret)

Please tell me I’m not the only one who does this. I’m going to say it anyway.

I grade you by how well your house is kept.

Especially when someone is expected as a house guest, like for more than an afternoon. The layer of dirt on the baseboards behind the bathroom door- the dust on the statuettes in the living room- the eww around the base of the toilet- and whether or not it appears that your carpet needs to be cleaned. Even if someone’s house is clean on the surface, all you have to do is lift a toilet seat to see how well they keep up. If I go to your house, I’m looking at the fingerprint/dirt smudges that build up over time on the wall of the stairway, where your hands just naturally brush everytime you go up them.

If I don’t like you- or if I’m still evaluating- I will take all of that into consideration for my current opinion of you as a person.

You know what that kind of trait is? Ironically, its disgusting. lol

Anyone else have cleanliness judgment?

posted on November 29, 2010 in bathroom, me, whatever

Halloween was our first real holiday in the New House, and we got inaugurated with over 75 kids, $35 of candy gone in just over an hour! We also gave ourselves a great introduction to the neighborhood, with the first doorbell had Brewer crashing through the door and bolting down the street with me in hot pursuit. Nothing like barreling down the sidewalk after your idiot dog, with parents and their trick-or-treaters looking at you like wow, never seen a fat lady run that fast. Note- Brewer was not in the lobster costume yet, which I was told by a neighbor would have really added to the hilarity. I grabbed Brewer about two blocks down and hauled him back home, with Marmot (who had been in the shower) coming downstairs just in time to ask, why the hell are you sweating?

I put his non-sweaty self on candy duty...

Because we don’t have children (and because, according to Queen B, we have an inordinate amount of spending money for stupid things) we bought Halloween costumes for the dogs. Now one of the challenges of having two large dogs (88lbs and 105lbs) is that the XXL costumes from Petsmart are a little snug. But we were not disuaded by this small detail, we stuffed the dogs into them anyway. If I can stuff myself into a pair of killer shoes, the boys can suffer for an hour of costume wearing!

Brewer the Lobster...

Trying to get them to sit still for a picture!

Max the Shark

And yes, even the cat’s costume was too tight. But I’ll admit, it was on clearance at TJ Maxx for $2 (the inmate costume I really wanted was sold out) and it was actually an XS dog costume…who knew she was that fat?? I’m starting to see a pattern here…

Happy kitty!

So we decided to deliver pumpkin muffins to the neighbors from Max the Shark and Brewer the Lobster…Neighbor Bob shook his head, and told us we need to have kids already. lol

Yum!

The pumpkin muffins were a-ma-zing, its a recipe my sister Apple B. found on Allrecipes.com, the Pumpkin Bars II recipe and she just put the batter into muffin tins. Note: the tablespoons of baking soda and baking powder should actually be teaspoons. lol The awful part is that Brewer has taken up counter-surfing as a hobby, and ate about 12 of them.

Hope you all had a wonderful Halloween!

posted on November 8, 2010 in cat, fall, food, marmot, pets, pictures, us, whatever, yum
by Honey B.
with 1 Comment

We have the plague. Also known as whatever disease was floating around the cubicles at Marmot’s new job.

And because we started going downhill on Tuesday, its now Friday night and oh its bad. The dishes are overflowing the sink, the garbage desperately needs to be taken out, the dust bunnies are so brazen that they stroll out from under the couch to say hey, and we haven’t eaten anything other than fast food all week.

I’m very glad that the thermometer differentiates between low fever and high fever- we just can’t tell Marmot that is my BBT thermometer because he thinks I put that in my hoohah.

At one point this week I went to Walgreen’s and bought $60 worth of cold/flu related crap that doesn’t work, and frozen pizzas.

 

But we’ve reached Crisis Level G, for Gross. So I called my sister and offered to pay her $50 to come the house tomorrow to some biohazard waste removal, and make something homemade.

Damn cubicle germs.

posted on November 5, 2010 in whatever