don’t angry eat a muffin

On Sunday I did something I haven’t done in a great many moons. I baked. Yes, I can bake. I’m not some kind of ditz you know.

I wanted to make banana bread but I didn’t have a loaf pan. Big shocker. My kitchen still leaves a lot to be desired. But let me tell you one thing, when you’re basically unemployed for two years you aren’t throwing your money down on kitchen supplies, okay?

So I did what any other genius would do. I made muffins. They turned out pretty well. So well that I ate one and burnt my mouth and proceeded washed it down with three more. How I don’t weight 300 pounds is beyond me.

{eggs/3 mashed bananas/vanilla/yogurt/vanilla/sugar/flour,salt,baking soda/butter}
{ingredients combined}
{batter into cups}
{all done}

Can you see where I stabbed them with the toothpick? Also, I didn’t take any pretty pictures because I was too busy woofing them down. Speaking of which, I just did that. I angry ate a muffin because West Elm is being a royal douchelord.

You know when you get bread or pasta stuck in your throat? That, my friends, is what happens when you angry eat a muffin. So take heed, and don’t be a jackhole like me and try to kill yourself over a rug.

recipe I used (adapted from Martha Stewart):

  • 1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, at room temperature, plus more for pan
  • 1 cup granulated sugar
  • 2 large eggs
  • 1 1/2 cups unbleached flour
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 3 mashed very ripe bananas
  • 1/4 cup plain (I used maple) yogurt
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla


  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a cupcake pan with the prettiest liners you can find; set aside. In an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs, and beat to incorporate.
  2. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt. Add to the butter mixture, and mix until just combined. Add bananas, sour cream, and vanilla; mix to combine. Leave out the nuts because the middleman in the muffin delivery system is so unnecessary.
  3. Bake until a cake tester inserted into the center of a few muffins comes out clean, about 20 minutes. Let rest in pan for 0 minutes, then shove one in your mouth.

that rug… + pimping myself out

Remember the rug that I got that really tied the room together?


Yea, that one. I hate it. I hate that damn rug with the fire of 1,000 suns. It’s pretty intense.

Why all the hatred? Because it sheds like a freaking chevron dog. Worse. Like a Saint Bernard in the summer. There is rug everywhere.

After a few angry tweets and a pleading email, West Elm emailed me back saying they would gladly replace the rug for me but it is on back order until April. That’s fine by me because I do not want this rug again. So I asked them for this one and said they wouldn’t even have to refund me the difference in money, that I’d take it in store credit. Yes, because I am that nice of a person. Nah, it’s mostly because I really don’t want that chevron rug.

I’ll let you know how it turns out.

On to pimping myself out. Oh, don’t worry, it’s way less perverse than it sounds. I’ve got a few requests to guest post lately and I thought “why do people not think I’d want to spread my sarcastic self all over the internets even more than I already have?”. So here you have it. If you’d like to take a break or add some sass to your blog, hit me up. I have all sorts of different things I can post about that don’t involve cursing, if that isn’t ya gig.

Hope you all are having a splendid Monday. Is it Friday yet?

the real mean girl is one!

I honestly can’t believe I’ve had the follow through on this one. The Real Mean Girl is one today! One whole year old, 356 days, 8,766 hours, 525,949 seconds…you get the picture.

I am astonished that people read my blog and comment. No bullshit. Seriously. Flabbergasted. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d have a whole 22 followers. Hah! I kid. Even more than having people actually read the nonsense I write about, I can’t believe people think that I’m funny. Seriously. I’ll let you all in on a little secret: no one I work with thinks I’m funny. Isn’t that such a shame? I think so.


More than people actually reading and thinking I’m funny, I can’t believe that I’ve made friends. Real friends. Most of whom I’ve never even met. They are so supportive and always there when I need them. I never thought I’d gchat with people I met through blogging. But I do, daily. Maybe one day I’ll get lucky enough and Chelsea Handler will read this mess and have me on her show. Who knows?

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; this blog is for you. If it weren’t for you I’m sure I would have quit long ago. Thank you.

Just for good measure, if any of you know any of the following please comment below with their contact info: Chelsea Handler, Tina Fey, Amy Pohler, or Whitney Cummings.

overheard during my childhood

I talk a lot about my Mom on this blog, mostly because she stalks the crap out of me, but I rarely mention my Dad.

He’s pretty funny, but don’t tell him I told you that. And you don’t ever tell him, or laugh at his jokes because it only encourages it.

But for some reason last night while brushing my teeth, I was reminded of one of our weekend trips to McDonalds. Yes, my Dad would take me and the little bro to McD’s for a treat. Upon occasion. Not every weekend. Just to clear that up.


Remember Eddie the Echo and the McDouble? My Dad ordered a McDouble. When he picked up our order, brought it back to the table and opened the cardboard box which contained said McDouble he promptly said “What in the McShit is this?”

I think I was 10 or so at the time so this was wildly inappropriate. And we laughed hysterically like two little kids who just heard their father cuss, as a joke.

To this day, we still say “what in the McShit is this?”

Feel free to use it in everyday conversation.