quintuple good blog tour

I have to apologize to you, my loyal so-and-sos, because this Blog Tour post is REALLY overdue. Especially when you consider I’ve been tagged to participate by not one, not two, but FIVE PEOPLE:

Jeff of Jeff and Jill Went Up the Hill

Amber of Mommy Needs Wine, Not Whine

Kate of Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine?

Chris of Pixie CD

Stickymom at Sticky Fings

But guys? Listen. Try to understand — I’ve just been super busy this month. As much as I wanted to write the Blog Tour post, I kept getting sidetracked by stuff like:

  • Avoiding the Blog Tour post;
  • Not doing the Blog Tour post;
  • Putting off the Blog Tour post; and
  • Saying “I’m going to go write that Blog Tour post!” and then sitting around watching YouTube videos.

Still, “better late than never” as they* always say, so without further ado, let’s Blog Tour!

*platitudinous morons

What am I working on?

I am currently working on:

  • A couple of kidney stones
  • Guest posts for Meg Sanity, Abandoning Pretense, and The European Mama
  • My regular submission for BLUNTMoms
  • A painful underground zit right in the middle of my fucking cheek
  • Killing this fly
  • Holding in a fart
  • Several anthology submissions
  • Your mom

How Does Your Work Differ From Other Work in Its Genre?

I would say that my work differs from other work in its genre in that I have very few boundaries other than my steadfast refusal to use the “c” word in print. I’ll say the “c” word out loud, though. I’ll say it RIGHT TO YOUR “C” WORD FACE.

Why Do I Write What I Do?

It’s probably an obvious answer to say that I write my comedy pieces to make people laugh, but it really is just that simple. I love when I manage to turn around a reader’s crummy day with nothing more than a well-timed poop joke.

But here’s another fun fact. I started this blog as a way to teach myself to write regularly instead of — you know. Not doing it at all. And you know what? It’s worked really well. I’ve put out more original material in eight months than I have in 10 years.

How Does Your Writing Process Work?

Writing process?


*wipes tear*

Man, I don’t know. I don’t have a process. If I think of something funny, I write about it. Then I edit it until it’s acceptable for human consumption. Then I publish it.

Period. Punto.

Three Blogs I Recommend

Obviously, I love each and every one of the bloggers who tagged me. Just in case you forgot, here they are again:

Jeff of Jeff and Jill Went Up the Hill

Amber of Mommy Needs Wine, Not Whine

Kate of Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine?

Chris of Pixie CD

Stickymom at Sticky Fings

But here are three more that I *highly* recommend:

Foxy Wine Pocket

Everyone knows Foxy is my hot wet slutty blog wife. Anyone who reads me regularly (or follows me on Facebook) will not be surprised she’s in my number one slot.

*in my number one slot* *snrk*

Foxy’s blog is funny, irreverent, and full of keen observations and slick truths. She says everything we always wanted to say about parenthood but were afraid to. Start with this story about her son’s inappropriate text message, and then move onto a detailed account of her drunken adventures in real estate.

Then binge read everything else on her site.


If Foxy is my blog wife (which I accidentally just spelled “whife”), Brooke Takhar is my very favorite mistress. (You know the one I mean. The one who does *that* stuff.) An amazing writer with precious few boundaries, she recently rocked Scary Mommy with a hilarious post about dirty kid butts. She also just posted a super entertaining anecdote on her own blog about a run-in with some neighborhood tweens selling slimy Nutella-covered banana slices. I dare you not to read it.

Orange and Silver

If Foxy is my ball and chain, and Brooke is my piece on the side, then Tracy of Orange and Silver is my cyber crush. Tracy is wry, funny, and she can spin a YARN, bitches. Two of my more recent favorites are this piece about a peculiar, fanatically religious woman named Luggage Linda and this one about a recent lice outbreak.

And that’s the end of today’s Blog Tour post! Till next time!



If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.


Photo credits:
Title: “BMWi, Empfang Handelsminister von Norwegen Info non-talk.svg. Depicted people: Skaug, Arne: Handels- und Wirtschaftsminister, Norwegen. Depicted place: BMWi. Date: 15 February 1960. Photographer: Steiner, Egon Institution. German Federal Archives. Source: Logo Bundesarchiv. This image was provided to Wikimedia Commons by the German Federal Archive (Deutsches Bundesarchiv) as part of a cooperation project. The German Federal Archive guarantees an authentic representation only using the originals (negative and/or positive), resp. the digitalization of the originals as provided by the Digital Image Archive. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Germany license. Attribution: Bundesarchiv, B 145 Bild-F007576-0021 / Steiner, Egon / CC-BY-SA 3.0 — Modified

purple gravy

Children, vagrants, and loyal so-and-sos – it is now time for you to gather round the fireplace and listen in astonishment and wonder as Granny Sarah tells you the fabled story of The Purple Gravy.

(Though, if Granny Sarah was smart, she would save the story of The Purple Gravy for the month winding up to Thanksgiving. Then she’d publish it, sit back, and watch it go viral. But Granny Sarah is a willful sumbitch who may or may not be dumber than a box of pubic hair. And she wants to tell the tale of The Purple Gravy RIGHT. NOW.)

So hitch up your britches, have a seat, and listen as Granny Sarah spins the extraordinary yarn that is:


Thanksgiving 2009 was not a good Thanksgiving.

Unfortunately I can’t tell you much about it, because I have sworn to protect the privacy of a certain douchebag who ruined the whole holiday, but suffice to say it was *extremely* uncomfortable and stressful. By the time Thanksgiving dinner FINALLY rolled around after the longest and most distressing three days of my life, everyone involved was at the end of their wits. (Yep. End of their wits. I said it.)

My sister Cheeks, who is an amazing cook, was the one in charge of the gravy that year. But thanks to The Douchebag Who Must Not Be Named, she was frazzled, distracted, and overcome with anxiety. She went to strain the turkey drippings — and forgot to put a receptacle under the strainer. The base for our gravy went right down the sink.

Fortunately, we had back-up gravy, and a Thanksgiving dinner crisis was neatly averted.

Still, Cheeks was bound and determined to make up for The Great Gravy Disaster of 2009. Enter Thanksgiving 2010.

We went to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving that year. It was just Cheeks, my parents, my husband, my son, and myself. The marked absence of The Douchebag Who Must Not Be Named was noted as an auspicious start to the holiday weekend. There was also a Wii and Super Mario involved. Things were going to go great!

Here’s things going great! And my enormous mouth.

And things did go great… for about twelve hours. Then I got the stomach flu the day before Thanksgiving and started barfing all over everything and shitting all over everywhere.

It was a 24-hour bug. Which was fortunate because my sister and I were in charge of preparing the Thanksgiving meal, and I needed to be back on my feet in order to cook. And I was. THANKFULLY. (See what I did there?)

Here are some pictures:

The most effective cure for the stomach flu is drinking a shit ton of cheap wine.
Cheeks getting psyched up to cook. Quit staring at her face-butt, you big perverts.

As we laid out our strategy for the meal, Cheeks asked me if she could handle the gravy, to compensate for the previous year’s “incident.” Knowing my sister to be an excellent cook, and well aware that The Great Gravy Disaster of 2009 had been a once-in-a-lifetime culinary whoopsie, I said:

“Go for it.” 

Famous last words.

Fast forward four hours. The turkey was done and had come out of the oven to cool. Almost as if I knew this was going to be a blog post someday, here is a picture of me posing with it.

Which is bigger? My mouth or the turkey’s gaping b-hole? Don’t worry, I know the answer.

Cheeks strained the turkey drippings, this time making for damned sure that there was a receptacle underneath the strainer to catch them. With a good quantity of drippings well in hand, she began to prepare the gravy, though she was worried it was going to end up a little thin. I said:

“Add a little corn starch.”

More famous last words.

Per my instructions, she started adding some corn starch. In fact, here’s a photo of her doing it:

It’s eerie how the cheeks always seem to be staring you RIGHT IN THE EYE.

I turned my attention away from Cheeks and her gravy preparations and focused on one of the other tasks that needed to be completed before the turkey was cool enough to carve. But I wasn’t at it long before Cheeks said:


Which was then followed by a “COME TASTE THIS” that did not sound promising. Not promising at all. It was certainly not a “Mmm! This is delicious! Come taste this.” It was definitely more along the lines of a “This tastes like throw-up. Seriously. Come taste this.”

Cheeks handed me the gravy. And I tasted it. And it tasted bad. Like — BAD. Not rancid bad. Not “I think this might be poisonous” bad. Not even “two flavors that don’t go together very well, like orange juice and toothpaste” bad. Just horribly, completely, indescribably BAD.

I spit it out into the sink.

“What the hell happened?” I asked Cheeks.

“I don’t know!” she said, stupified.

Me: “Well, what did you do?”

Her: “I kept adding corn starch to it until it thickened up.”

Me: “How much did you add?”

Her: “I dunno. Like… about a cup?”


ARGO Cornstarch recommends using 2 tablespoons per cup of broth to give it a thicker, more gravy-like consistency. Let’s be generous and say we had two cups of turkey broth going on that fateful day. If we take Argo’s suggested ratio as Bible truth, Cheeks *should* have used four tablespoons to thicken that shit up. One cup, which is roughly what Cheeks put in the gravy, equals SIXTEEN TABLESPOONS. Which is why the gravy tasted like baby powder soup.

And we did NOT have back-up gravy.

We panicked. We knew it was unthinkable to have a Thanksgiving dinner without gravy. It was, as Wallace Shawn says in The Princess Bride, “inconceivable!” So we practically broke our butts running to the Internet.

Neither Cheeks nor I remember the exact recipe we found but it was something like this – a red wine and onion gravy that did not require ANY meat stock, since we did not have even one drop left to use. We thought it sounded kind of barfy, but as actors on BBC America say, “Needs must.” So we made it.

It was purple.


It didn’t actually taste that bad. It wasn’t GOOD, exactly, but it wasn’t bad. My seventy-year-old father barely touched it, of course, but the rest of us managed to suck some down. We finished Thanksgiving dinner, marveled at Cheeks’ continued bad luck with gravy, and went to bed.

Which was when my sister got the 24-hour stomach flu and spent the rest of the night puking up purple gravy.

And the moral of this story? ALWAYS have at least two jars of back-up gravy. ALWAYS.

Also: when in doubt, throw a glass of red wine on the floor.


If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.

cheeks and my girl T

Hello loyal so-and-sos! I know it’s been a while, and I’m really sorry about that. But I’m back in full effect, and trust me when I say I’ve got some mighty funny shit in store for you over the next couple of months.

For today, however, I’m doing a Social Media Roundup™ (phrase courtesy of celeb blog The Hollywood Sigh) and this one stars two of the funniest chicks I know: my sister Cheeks and our good friend My Girl T. Read along, why don’t you?


I don’t know how it’s possible, but somehow my local radio station knows *exactly* when I’m going to be in the car, and manages to play Get Lucky by Daft Punk EVERY SINGLE GOD DAMN TIME I’M IN THERE. In fact, I posted this on Twitter a couple of weeks back:


Which led to the following group chat conversation a few hours later:



Okay. I’m not going to lie – like most siblings, Cheeks and I like to riff on our parents. Here’s a good example:


This next one took place right after the infamous “dad needs new ears” conversation:


P.S. DO NOT send me ear porn.

P.P.S. SERIOUSLY. Do not.hard-returngif

But listen. Don’t feel too bad for good old Mom and Dad. As the great John Lennon never once said, “Parental karma’s gonna get you.” And believe you me, my 18-month-old nephew H has been giving Cheeks a hell of a hard time lately:



*looks around*

*slowly slides deodorant out of hair*


And last, but definitely not least, who can forget the wry observations of My Girl T? Nobody, that’s who.




I think she might be giving haiku master Peyton Price of Suburban Haiku a run for her money with that last one.

(Speaking of Peyton, she was generous enough to send me an autographed copy of her book last week and I couldn’t be more thankful. It is funny. It is twee. It is adorable. It is relatable. It is real. Pick one up for someone you love. Christmas is coming.)


Okay folks, that’s all for now. Stay tuned for more fun stuff over the next couple of weeks. Hopefully things will pick up once the little dude is back in school. Ciao!

If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.