Perpetually Peeved

Get Yer Fat Pants On!

T minus 6 hours ’til bliss.  The only thing that peeves me about this wonderful holiday is that I can’t eat pumpkin pie for breakfast.

Brunch, on the other hand…

Buy yours today at

For more things I WON’T be shopping for on Black Friday, stop by the FB page today.  Bring your own atrocity, and don’t forget the wine.  Gobble! Gobble!

Adventures in Netherworld…

Just outside the city where I live, there is a complex of massive warehouses that get converted into haunted wonderlands each Halloween.  Zombies, goblins and strange ladies covered with doll heads roam the grounds.  Spooky music blasts from the speakers above and the screaming from inside drowns out the noise of the adjacent interstate.  People pay money to stand in line for over an hour and slowly walk through blackened tunnels that house myriad creatures waiting to jump out and force their hearts into overdrive.  Tonight, I will be one of those people.

This is one of the actual guys there... (photo courtesy of

The first and last time Mr. Peeved and I went to this haunted house, I thought I was going to die.  It went something like this:

Mr. Peeved: Are you going to be okay?

Peeved: Yes.  No.  Ack!  Does that lady have doll heads on her?

Mr. Peeved: It’s all fake, you know that, right?

Peeved: Why is she coming over here?  Make her not come over here!

Mr. Peeved: You can’t even handle waiting in line and you want to go in there?

Peeved: Aaah… aaah… she’s coming closer.

Mr. Peeved: They can see who’s scared and they’ll pick on you.  Pretend it doesn’t bother you.

Peeved: Okay.  No.  That’s not working.  Hold me.

Mr. Peeved: [eyeroll] You are ridiculous.  Get over here.


Peeved: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (I scream better than Janet Leigh on her best day)

Mr. Peeved: I. Can’t. Breathe.

Peeved: Sorry, but it was a clow…..AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: If you’re just going to close your eyes and bury your head in my back, why did we pay to get in here?

Peeved: Because it’s fun, it’s totally sca…  AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!  Oh my God, OH MY GOD, I’m going to die!

Mr. Peeved: You are not going to die.  It’s fake, remember.

Peeved: No, I’m going to have a heart attack and die.

Mr. Peeved: Well, that would make for a great date.

Peeved: Okay, maybe I’m exaggera… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


Mr. Peeved: Can you stop stepping on the back of my heels?


Mr. Peeved: Okay, it’s almost over.  I have to tell you something.  Are you listening?


Mr. Peeved: Okay, when we walk out the back door, you’re going to think it’s over.  It’s not.  There’s going to be a guy that runs after you with a chainsaw.  There is no blade in the chainsaw.  Don’t freak out.  It’s fake.  Okay?


Mr. Peeved: Okay?

Peeved: Okay.

Mr. Peeved: It’s fake.  Now, come on, let’s go.




Don’t worry. If I die from fright, Mr. Peeved has already picked out my tombstone:

Here lies a guy named STAN… got too close to the ceiling fan.

Here lies an atheist named MOE… all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Here lies a guy named DRAKE… choked to death on a soggy cornflake.

Here lies a girl named SUE… she was killed by the guy that is standing behind you.

Here lies a girl named EMILY… she never shut up.

Revenge of the Mom

As mentioned here on numerous occasion, Biggie is a torturer extraordinaire.  Elevated from Jr. Secret Torture Agent to full-on, eye-rolling, foot-stomping, back-talking Secret Torture Agent once she officially turned 12, this girl is a handful.  Which is why, when the school newsletter came out with an article asking for parent volunteers for the fall dance, I sent that “I’ll do it” email faster than you can say, “honey, get my shotgun.”  Pass up the opportunity to keep an eye out (or as she likes to say, “spy”) on my middle-schooler?  No way. 

Seeing as I am in marketing, I sew, I throw parties, I make unique invitations, I take photos, I thought for sure I would get assigned a very cool task. 

I receive a response to my email and with much anticipation, double-click to see what wonderful job I am going to be assigned and it’s…. 

wait for it… 

wait for it… 

photo courtesy of


Peeved:  Honey, you know how you told me to sign up for something for that dance at Biggie’s school? 

Mr. Peeved:  Yeah, I think it would be a good opportunity… 

Peeved:  I know, I know, to spy on her, but… 

Mr. Peeved:  … to NETWORK with the other parents, Peeved.  And, to, you know, keep an eye out for boys dancing too close. 

Peeved:  Blah, blah, I got an email back – guess what I get to do for the dance? 

Mr. Peeved:  Decorations? 

Peeved:  No, the freaking concession stand. 

Mr. Peeved:  [insert 2.5 minutes of belly laughs here] How did you manage to get assigned the ONE THING you can’t do? 


Never one to let a wonderful opportunity pass me by, I decide to make the most of this.  You know, when life hands you lemons, make limoncello. 

Hey, if it's good enough for Danny Devito, it's good enough for me!

Overheard in the car on the way home from school yesterday: 

Peeved:  So, Biggie, you know that dance at your school this fall? 

Biggie:  Yeah…? 

Peeved:  Guess who’s going to be there. 

Biggie:  Mom.  You are NOT going.  Mom!  No! 

Peeved:  Yep!  And, guess what the best part is? 

Biggie:  This is not even funny.  You will ruin my life.  This is NOT a good joke.  Mom.  Mom! 

Peeved:  Oh, yeah, baby – concession stand! 

Biggie:  Wha?  How?  Huh?  Mom.  Mom!  MOM!  NO!!!! 

Peeved:  What’s the matter?  I’m just going to stand around and say, “HAWT DAWGS, GET YER HAWT DAWGS!” 

[Please imagine I sound like the lovechild of Delta Burke and Robert DeNiro after it has been dropped on it’s head a few times.] 

Biggie:  AAAAAHHHHH!!!! NO!!! SHUT UP!!!  MOTHER!!!!  NO!!!! 

Smalls:  Yeah, I’m gonna go too.  Mommy, can we dance there? 

Peeved:  Oh shawr dahlin’!  We’re gonna give away the hawt dawgs and dance to GaGa… “ga, ga, awl awl la la, ga ga, bad roooommmaaanncee…” 

[Insert dancing of the Elaine variety.] 

photo from

Biggie:  No.  Mom.  You can’t do this.  You will ruin my reputation. 

Peeved:  Aw shucks honey, I just wanna go enjoy myself.  Maybe sell some hawt dawgs and see that cutie guy you like – what’s his name again?  Connor?  “CON-NER – is that you dahlin?  Biggie just raves about how cute you are and ain’t she right… don’t you wanna come go ga ga for Ga Ga with me? ” Ga ga – awlalala… 

Biggie:  Mom.  No!  I don’t even like him anym… you have to be kidding.  You’re kidding right?  [hyperventilating]  Oh my… no!  No! No! No!  You. Will. Ruin. My. Reputation. 


You know what I learned from my 12-year-old?  Tenacity.  I kept it going for another hour or so – horrendous accent and all.  Back at the house: 

Peeved:  “Hawt Dawgs!”  Oohh Lordy, child!  Know what I’m gonna wear?  Your mama is gonna look so purdy!  I have just the thing. 

Smalls:  Oh, yeah, I’m gonna look pretty too, mommy.  Can we wear dresses? 

Peeved:  Bet your britches we can, sugar! 

Biggie:  No. You have to stop.  Don’t talk like that anymore.  I need to call Friend.  Why is Friend not answering?  You are going to RUIN MY REPUTATION!  You understand that, right? 

Peeved:  ga ga ow la wawl… 

Smalls:  cha cha bad romance…  come on mom, let’s ruin her reputation!  [insert mini-Elaine dance here] 

Peeved:  Oh yeah Smalls, get down! 


Peeved:  Ta da!  Sweetkins, doesn’t mommy look purdy? 

Biggie:  AHHHH!!! NO!!! WHAT ARE YOU WEARING????  [door slam – in the bathroom for rest of evening] 

Peeved:  What’s the matter sugarbottom? 

Biggie:  I’m holding a funeral for my reputation. 

Smalls:  Yeah, ma!  We ruined her reputation!  Seriously. 

I had changed into this dress and put my hair up Peg Bundy style: 

What?  It screams Ga Ga to me.  


Yes, revenge is sweet.  Now, pass me my limoncello!

Shh… Nobody Move!

Don’t make a peep.  I somehow finagled it so Biggie is out with a friend, Smalls is watching a movie and “camping out” in my room and I have a bottle of wine and Mr. Peeved’s fast, new laptop all to myself. [Insert evil laugh here.]  My BIG plans for the night? 



and this: 

  • The Idiot Speaketh
  • The Friggin Loon 
  • Thoughts Appear 
  • Trailer Park Refugee
  • You are What you Eat and Reheat
  • Fix it or Deal
  • Straight from Helle
  • Sargastic Irrevalence
  • Go, Pop, Go!
  • Conflicted Mean Girl
  • My Piehole Overfloweth
  • Shouts from the Abyss
  • The Life of Jamie
  • The Whatever Factor
  • Vodka and Ground Beef
  • Blurt
  • PB & Chutney
  • Amanda’s Wrinkled Pages
  • Misadventures of Average Girl
  • Girl Normal
  • and, last but not least, my good friend and commenter extraordinaire D’Ag at I Know I Made You Smile
  • Yes, folks it’s a regular old party.  If I failed to mention your blog, the evite must have gotten stuck in your Spam box.  Don’t worry, I’ve got you in my Blog Surfer.  Like any good party, the comments should get good after the second glass (especially since I’ve decided to forego dinner in order to get a better buzz, quicker).  Oh, and bring your friends – if I’m not reading someone I should be, let me know.  Things should get interesting! 

    Kind of like this... Don't know who this guy is, but apparently after a drink (or 7) we grew very close. So close, that I had to get a photo memento. Alrighty, then.


    Don’t worry, if anyone needs an aspirin tomorrow, I’ve got plenty. 

    This is the inside of my purse the other day... See that ziploc baggie?


    I swear officer, they're low-dose aspirin.


    Really, I just envisioned getting pulled over and going in for my license.  Don’t ask how these got in there.  It’s a long story involving a hellish day and a helpful friend.  

    Last night we went to curriculum night at Biggie’s school.  Mr. Peeved wanted to see Biggie’s locker to see how it was decorated.  I flashed him the pills, “Oh my God, wouldn’t it be funny if we pretended to bust her…[giggle]?…No?…Bad mommy?…Gosh, you used to be fun!”

    The World According to Smalls

    At the age of four, Smalls has to be the smartest person I know.  One of my favorite things in life are the conversations we have on our daily commute.  While my pocketbook is excited that she starts kindergarten next year, part of me is really sad that we won’t have our quality time anymore.   So, for now, I’m going to enjoy it while I can.  Here are five things I’ve learned from my four-year-old.


    Smalls: I love Connor.

    Peeved: Who is Connor?

    Smalls: The boy in my class.  In the brown shirt.

    Peeved: Oh, well, why do you love him?

    Smalls: Because, he is nice to me and he plays with me all the time.

    Peeved: Don’t you love the rest of your friends?

    Smalls: Yes, but I love Connor the most.  He makes mud pies with me and plays Scooby-Doo with me.

    Peeved: That’s why you love him the most?

    Smalls: Yep.  Mommy, do you want to know how much I love Connor?

    Peeved: Sure, honey, how much?

    Smalls: Look.

    I love Connor THIS much.

    Peeved: Wow, Smalls, that sure is a lot.

    Smalls: I know.

    Peeved: Well, does Connor love you back?

    Smalls:  Yep.

    Peeved: How do you know?

    Smalls: I already told you.  He plays with me.  He sits next to me.  He gets messy with me.  And, he gives me hugs before I leave every day.

    Peeved: Sounds a lot like love to me, peanut.


    Smalls: Mommy.

    Peeved: Yes, Smalls.

    Smalls: Mommy.

    Peeved: Yes, Smalls.

    Smalls: Mommy!

    Peeved: I hear you!  What?

    Smalls: Can you get my froggy?

    Peeved: What?

    Smalls: Can you get my little cute red froggy?  It fell on the floor.  There.  Behind your seat.

    Peeved: Well, I can’t right now, I’m helping your sister with her bag.

    Smalls: Well, you got two hands!

    I'm just sayin'...


    Mr. Peeved: Smalls, who’s the prettiest girl in the whole wide world?

    Smalls: Mommy.

    Mr. Peeved: Mommy is?  Not you?

    Smalls: Me, too.

    Peeved: Smalls, who’s the handsomest boy in the whole wide world?

    Smalls: Uncle Mike.

    Peeved: Don’t you mean Daddy?

    Smalls: No, Uncle Mike.

    Personally, I think her Dad had a point.

    4 — NEVER GIVE UP.

    Smalls: Mommy, can I have a dog?

    Peeved: No.

    Smalls: Why not? ‘Cause your allergic?

    Peeved: Um, yes, I’m allergic.

    Smalls: But, you could just stay in your room all day long.  You could watch TV and read books and Daddy and I can bring you food.

    Peeved: Tempting, but, no.  We have cats, those are your pets.


    Smalls: Mommy, what would happen if the cats died?

    Peeved: Well, Smalls, they would go to cat heaven.

    Smalls: And, then we could get a dog?

    Peeved: No, then we wouldn’t have any pets and we would be sad.

    Smalls: I wouldn’t be sad.  I don’t even like those cats.


    Smalls: Oh, mommy, look at that doggie.

    Peeved: It’s so cute, Smalls.

    Smalls: Yep, I want one just like it.

    Peeved: Black and white?

    Smalls: Yes, but small and fluffy like Aunt Banana’s dog.  You know Aunt Banana is not allergic to dogs.  I could live at her house.

    5 — YOU SHOULD ALWAYS SING LIKE NO ONE ELSE IS LISTENING. (And, you may want to lay off the RockBand!)
    *Click on the photo – it should take you to a Flickr video.  It’s too late in the day and I don’t have patience with WP to try and figure out why it’s not embedding properly.*

    Me 2.1

    Apologies, I am my mother’s daughter.  When I said I had a post coming late Friday night, what I really meant was almost midnight on Sunday.  I’ve spent the weekend touring kiddie jump places and drinking vodka.  Don’t judge. 

    Last Wednesday, I had a wonderful dinner with a fellow blogger and photographer (she would probably protest me calling her that, but her pictures speak for themselves) – Katie from You Are What You Eat… or, Reheat.  She was taking pictures of Biggie and Smalls because, of course, while they jump up and down and simultaneously cross their eyes every time I’m behind the camera, when it’s a stranger they are all blinking eyelashes and smiles.  

    Katie (to Biggie): You are so pretty, you take great pictures, you could be a model. 

    Biggie:  Actually, I’m going to be a marine biologist. 

    Peeved’s Friend (yes, I have at least 1): Well, you could model to pay for school to be a marine biologist. 

    Peeved:  Yeah, mommy modeled a little when I was in high school.  You could do that. 

    Biggie:  You?  Modeled?  [giggle fit] 

    Peeved:  Yes.  And, I wouldn’t laugh if I was you.  You look just like me when I was your age.  I wasn’t always old, you know. 

    Biggie:  Yeah, I look just like you.  But, prettier. 

    Well, at least we don’t have to worry about self-esteem issues.  Biggie is my mini-me in more ways than just looks, she also inherited my smart-ass attitude and ability to tell the honest truth.  To prove to her that she does, in fact, look like me when I was her age, I pulled out some old photos.  She chose the photo of me that she thought looked most like her and recreated the look for a photo shoot.  

    Me 1.0


    Me 2.1 (Now, new and improved)


    The next day, we were sitting down for dinner. I had just picked up Biggie from school and she was telling me about her day.  

    Peeved: How was school today? 

    Biggie:  Good.  Another boy asked me out. (This is the 4th in the past week.) 

    Peeved:  Oh, did you make him fill out the survey your stepdad requires? 

    Biggie: Nah, he wasn’t worth it.  Guess what? 

    Peeved: What? 

    Biggie:  I wrote the best poem ever.  You want to hear it? 

    Peeved:  Sure… (getting on the game face…) 

    Biggie:  Okay, the assignment was to tell where you are from. 

    Peeved:  All right, bring on the ode to Long Island pizza. 

    Biggie:  No, mom, this is really good.  It’s the best poem, like, in the world. 

    I am from chlorinated pools, from law firms and from the restaurant business. 

    I am from the little, one story house. Small, comforting and the one that I sleep in. 

    I am from the venus fly trap outside, by the tree.  Vicious, yet gentle in its own way. 

    I am from smudging my name on my cake and loud laughing. From [dad’s name] and Emily.  I’m from the spoiled brats and mean little cousins. 

    I am from will you trust me. 

    I am from sleeping late and then eating and falling asleep again. 

    I am from many cousins and family members.  From flan and cheese eggs. 

    Biggie:  So, what’d you think? 

    Peeved:  I think that was the best poem, in the whole wide world. Like, ever. 

    Yep, like me, only prettier, more confident, less modest.  Me at 12 years old. 

    You like that, right?
    June 20, 2010, 8:00 am
    Filed under: Anti-Peeves | Tags: , , ,

    Happy Father’s Day!  Today’s post is an anti-peeve, which I usually post on Fridays, but this one is a little special.  This one is in honor of one of the most fun-loving and wonderful people I have ever known, my stepdad.  “Papa” passed away last year from cancer and this is the first Father’s Day I can’t pick up the phone and tell him how much I love him.  Papa was a big, Italian New Yorker who loved scratch off tickets, corvettes, trying to beat me at Wheel of Fortune (he never did!), the Jets, and a good joke.  He would tell you the same joke over and over and laugh each time like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard and he always asked, “You like that, right?”  Yeah, Papa, I liked that – and I miss it every day.  So, in his honor, I share with you a few of his favorite “Little Johnny” jokes.  Make sure you tell your dad you love him today!

    Putting the "fun" back in dysfunctional

    Little Johnny was going to his father’s house one day and he was packing everything in his room and putting it in his little red wagon.

    He was walking to his father’s house with his wagon behind him, when he came to a hill.

    He started up the hill but was constantly swearing “This God damn thing is so heavy.”

    A priest heard him and came out. “You shouldn’t be swearing” said the priest. “God hears you…He is everywhere…He’s in the church…He’s on the sidewalk…He’s everywhere.”

    Then Little Johnny says “Oh. Is he in my wagon?”

    The priest replies “Yes, Johnny, God is in your wagon”

    Little Johnny says “Well tell him to get the hell out and start pulling.”

    A few months after his parents were divorced, little Johnny passed by his mom’s bedroom and saw her rubbing her body and moaning, “I need a man, I need a man!”

    Over the next couple of months, he saw her doing this several times.

    One day, he came home from school and heard her moaning. When he peeked into her bedroom, he saw a man on top of her.

    Little Johnny ran into his room, took off his clothes, threw himself on his bed, started stroking himself, and moaning, “Ohh, I need a bike! I need a bike!”

    Little April was not the best student in Sunday school. Usually she slept through the class.

    One day the teacher called on her while she was napping, “Tell me, April, who created the universe?”

    When April didn’t stir, little Johnny, a boy seated in the chair behind her, took a pin and jabbed her in the rear. “GOD ALMIGHTY!” shouted April and the teacher said, “Very good” and April fell back asleep.

    A while later the teacher asked April, “Who is our Lord and Savior,” But, April didn’t even stir from her slumber. Once again, Johnny came to the rescue and stuck her again. ‘JESUS CHRIST!” shouted April and the teacher said, “Very good,” and April fell back to sleep.

    Then the teacher asked April a third question. “What did Eve say to Adam after she had her twenty-third child?” And again, Johnny jabbed her with the pin. This time April jumped up and shouted, “IF YOU STICK THAT F*****G THING IN ME ONE MORE TIME, I’LL BREAK IT IN HALF AND STICK IT UP YOUR A**!”

    Little Johnny returns from school and says he got an F in arithmetic.

    “Why?” asks his father.

    “The teacher asked ‘How much is 2 x 3?’ and I said 6.”

    “But that’s right!”

    “Then she asked me ‘How much is 3 x 2?’”

    “What’s the f******g difference?” asked his father.

    “That’s what I said!”

    Little Johnny is sitting in a biology class, and the teacher says that an interesting phenomenon of nature is that only humans stutter, no other animal in the world does this.

    Johnny’s hand shoots up. “Not correct, Miss!” he says.

    “Please explain, Johnny,” replies the teacher.

    “Well, Miss, the other day I was playing with my cat on the veranda. The neighbors’ Great Dane came around the corner, and my cat went “ffffffffff! ffffffffffff! ffffffffff!”, and before he could say “F*** OFF!”, the dog ate him!”

    Little Johnny’s teacher asked her students to use the word “fascinate” in a sentence. Molly put up her hand and said, “My family went to my granddad’s farm, and we all saw his sheep. It was fascinating.”

    The teacher said, “That was good, but I wanted you to use the word fascinate, not fascinating.”

    Sally raised her hand. She said, “My family went to Graceland and I was fascinated.”

    The teacher said, “Well, that was good Sally, but I wanted you to use the word fascinate, not fascinated.”

    Little Johnny raised his hand.  The teacher hesitated because she had been burned by Little Johnny before. She finally decided there was no way he could damage the word ‘fascinate’, so she called on him.

    Little Johnny said, “My Aunt Gina has a shirt with ten buttons, but her boobs are so big she can only fasten eight.”

    Anti-peeve: Food worth eating and Why I’m a Bottom Dwelling Blogger

    I know, I know, I said I was giving up on this anti-peeve crap.  But, I also warned you that I was prone to lying just because I can.   Besides, you’ll thank me later for sharing… (pictures below are from the site)


    Hell to the YES!  You’re welcome.

    Also, one more thing that is making me happy today…  I have hit 1,000 page views! (of which I’m sure only 598 were me logging in from other people’s computers).  Thank you, thank you.   What’s so cool about that is that I only have like 10 subscribers, so I know most of this traffic is coming from fellow WordPress Bloggers that are blogrolling me and/or linking to my site.  A lot of these blogs are not getting the attention they deserve!  Please check out my blogroll and/or search for Bottom-Dwelling Bloggers.  Thanks y’all.  Happy Friday!

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