Remember Internettians when I said I was going to try out Carmen Electra’s Aerobic Striptease Workout?

So Aaaaaannnyway,

we made some wonderful cookies for Alena’s birthday on Tuesday. We brought some over to her on a Hello Kitty plate that Girlfriend decorated with stickers and they were a big hit. I saved about 10 for Mister because he always whines like a big baby if I bake for someone else and he doesn’t get any. He’s really a pain in the ass that way and they’re all gone now because he had himself a little stoner festival and ate them and shit all over their self-righteous, high horsey, veganness by putting whipped cream on them.

It’s like he didn’t care that they were vegan at. all!

So here’s the video and you should get this cookbook too because it’s realistic and doesn’t call for a lot of weird, dirty hippy ingredients that make the Whole Foods people moist in their crotchal areas. It’s almost like it’s for non-vegans and stuff.

And if you want the recipe, let me know and I’ll email it to you. I’d post it but I’m too lazy to type it out here and I’m banking on the fact that no one cares.

Except for cute little Leah who’s preggers . The baby likes cookies. Don’t worry Leah. My baby liked cookies too.

Cookies and VODKA!

No.

I’m only kidding.

It was TEQUILA.

See? NOW you can call Child Protective Services.

Troll.

Good Morning Internet!

Thank you so much for all your birthday wishes and e-cards and mail mail cards and everything yesterday.

I’m pretty tired this morning from snorting coke off hooker’s thighs opening presents so I’ll fill you in on all the super sexy details later and leave you with this video.

It’s a secret family recipe so don’t go fucking telling everyone.

OH! I almost forgot!

I’m over at Chris’s today talking about some crap that happened recently at The Stop & Shop so come see me.

It’s still my birthday so you have to do what I say.

Do it.

DO IT.

Today I will share with you my favorite vegetable lasagna recipe because this girl and this whore and this little cutie over here who does it every day on her blog, are like all culinary and stuff and I’m feeling inspired.

So here, have another video.

It’s not as long as last week’s I swear to Jeebus.

It’s Friday.

Here, have a video:

Needless to say that our lives changed when the baby came. Having a newborn to take care of is a lot of work and it’s the reason why I don’t know if I want to have another baby or just get another dog instead.

You laugh, but I’m on the serious.

Besides, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go without the booze and the pills for another year and a half. (that’s pregnancy + nursing, people. My math skills aren’t that fucked.)

Not only did I have a destroyed vaginal (thanks Megkathleen) but I was sooo tired. Look at my eyes:

See? Tie-yid.

That’s what a baby does for you, but I was also blissed out. That’s what Oxytocin from breastfeeding does for you and you barely notice how different life has suddenly become. You’re just trying to keep the little sucker alive and for fuck’s sake how many diapers do these kids go through in a day!?!

And Mister and I weren’t the only ones whose lives changed drastically. You’re looking at a picture of two little dogs who should be holding on to their hats because shit is about to get interesting.

The cute little teddy bear dog on the left in the picture is Martha. She was my baby before the baby. I used to carry her around on my hip just like a baby and she’d put her arms around my neck and rest her head on my shoulder. She was a sweet dog, but also a crazy little vicious asshole. You don’t hear about her because about one year ago today-ish, Martha turned on Girlfriend and shredded her face with her teeth and claws and left her with a permanent scar on her cheek. We had to feed her to a pack of angry Rottwilers give her to a little old lady with no grandchildren.

But Alice is there standing sentinel like she always does because she’s a good egg.

Moments after this picture was taken, the following doggie conversation took place:
Martha: Have we determined what this thing is yet?
Alice: Maybe you should sniff its ass. Maybe there’s a clue there.
Martha: They won’t let me near the thing. What the hell is it?
Alice: I don’t know. It kind of freaks me out though. I might hide until it goes away.
M: I think we should pee on its stuff, you know, to send a message.
A: You do that. I think I’ll go hide under the bed.
M: Maybe I’ll try to eat it.
A: That’s a stupid idea. How do you even know it’s edible. You do what you want and let me know how it turns out.
M: Maybe I’ll just wait until it’s vulnerable and then I’ll kick its ass!
A: Ummmm, sure. Good luck.

See? Good egg.

She wanted no part in Martha’s evil scheming.

And now poor Alice takes a lot of punishment from the baby and if there’s anyone out there considering getting a dog or a cat for their little one I urge you DON’T DO IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL HER SMALL CREATURES! Alice gets her ass handed to her all day long, every day. But she puts up with it, god bless her, because she doesn’t want to go and live with Martha and also because Girlfriend usually leaves a trail of yummy treats behind her.

And I know Girlfriend adores her some Alice burger (that’s what I call her. Alice burger. shut up.) because when we drop Alice off at the groomer, Girlfriend goes coo-coo for coco puffs and hits and kicks and cries because she doesn’t want to leave her with strangers.

“Mommy! You’re disgusting, you’re A Disgusting! I want Alice! Aaaaallliiiccceee!”

So here, I leave you with this: a story of compromise, a story of love:

As you are all aware, I have always been a wonderful dancer and it will surprise you to know that I’ve never even had one lesson. And I’ve been scared to take lessons because I’m afraid that my natural and innate talent for the art of movement would make the instructor and other students feel overwhelmed–sort of how you’d feel if Jesus walked into the room right now.

However, I’ve always felt that taking lessons could bring my dancing to a whole ‘nuther level but since I’m saving up for my BMW, I can’t really afford to pay for them right now. So I got this helpful DVD out of the library.

I think I did rather well, actually.

I’m a hip hop Soopa-sta!

One thing that I’ve always wanted to do is learn how to drive a standard transmission automobile. Some of my favorite dreams, when I’m having the most fun, involve me driving the shit out of some sassy little number like this:

Some people say dreams about driving or riding horses are really sex dreams, but I don’t care about some people. I think it just means I want a BMW. With a stick.

Real. Bad.

Problem is, I’m too chicken to actually drive the car.

But this week is all about getting over my fear of trying new things and so I’m giving it a go in my husband’s beloved Subaru WRX. And then I’ll be so totally brilliant at driving that I’ll have to get my new BMW so I can keep my hand in and not have to re-work through all the trauma of learning how to drive it all over again. I’m sure he’ll be completely on board with that idea.

Fuck the mortgage payment, I needs me a pimpin’ ride.

His car scares the hell out of me because it’s not a normal car. He’s got it all full of “mods” and I don’t really know what that means but I think it makes him a car nerd.

It looks like this:

See? Scary.

And on the inside it has this “Pyrometer” thingy

which I can only assume keeps track of how many seconds are left before the car turns into a fire-y Chariot O’ Death.

And on the other side is this “boost” gauge

that makes me suspect this car might actually be capable of flight and I’m terrified I might hit the wrong button because if you think I’m bad a driving cars, you should see me fly a carplane. It’s not good.

And I giggle every time I see this Momo emblem on the steering wheel. And then I say “You’re a momo. It says so right there” because I’m very mature. Not only is it on the steering wheel, it’s on the shift knob too:

just in case there was any doubt as to his momo status.

So anyway, to prove that I actually put on my big girl panties and drove this bitch here’s the video.

Goal for next time: get to third gear.

I think I can do it.

Oh, and for tomorrow?

Dancing lessons.

If youtube is being a bunch of pussies, then you can also see it here:

hermaphrodite vs. crotchrotian from the gilberts on Vimeo.