It's that kind of blog today.  Oh yes, yes indeed. 

And why not? I write these little bursts of creativity to satisfy the exhibitionist tendencies in my life. My Facebook page is rife with examples of over sharing. This blog, too, serves as a clearing house for the little blorps of grey matter that wriggle free and scream for attention. 

What shall I share today? Lots of different things.

Let's start with this:

   Embarrassment bucket list

 What is an Embarrassment Bucket List? 

Mortifying things that happen when and where other people will see.  Luckily, due to some divine law, if you manage to cross of an item on this list it will never happen again. Hopefully. Maybe.  Potentially.

Some things are out of your control. 

Being caught outside in your backyard in your birthday suit (no girdle, no bra, no lipstick, NO dignity) because you think you'll be able to dash out quickly and hop in the hot tub without anyone seeing...but no...the neighbors have guests over and they are all out on their top deck as you come waddling out, starkers, oblivious, cocktail in one hand and smoke in the other.

 Good times.

Number 2? Why number two of course.

I recently had the flu. As we all know Mommies don't get time outs, do-overs, or real days off.
Cue violins and laugh track.

In my quest to get stuff finished before I collapsed on my death bed, I had two errands to run. Two.
The bank, and to return some helium tanks to a rental place (I was in charge of a school function -- heh...PTA Monkey).

Not only did I throw up in the bank lobby and completely humiliate myself,  I proceeded on the next errand  to have the trifecta at the rental return counter.   Yup. Yuppers. Yupparooni.

I coughed, vomited, and blew my dignity out me arse, all right in front of the poor service guy. Yes. It is what you think it is.

Damn! That's nasty, yo!

Yeah.  Lovely. There's no coming back from that one.

Embarrassment Bucket List?
Check. Check. CHECK.


In other news I have a child that likes to paint with poop. Stellar. But of course I do. I'm a smoking simian. Monkeys fling poo. Ahhh, but do they paint with it? Mine does.  She's a genius!

A veritable Poop Picasso. Epic.
Speaking of poo...

(nice segue)

I am obsessed with Samy and Amy Bouzaglo from Amy's Baking Company and Bistro Boutique Crazy Bonanza. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you need to see it.
Their restaurant was featured on Gordon Ramsey's Hells Kitchen. They were the only people Gordon Ramsey has EVER walked away from in the show's history.

Amy and Samy are Nucking Futs!

Here is the link : Crazy time wackadoodles

She says she speaks cat.
Oh. Dear. My. My.
And not in the awesome Super Trooper kind of way.
Whoa.

Meow, Amy. Meow. You need some lithium, babe. Seriously.

A big old shot of WTF.

Even though I believe you to be utterly and sincerely CRAY CRAY, I do feel bad about the amount of horrible racist comments hitting your facebook page and twitter, and tumblr, and whatever.
You and Samy are horrible people. But bringing race into it is off sides.
Let's just stick to the facts:
You guys scream at and threaten your patrons, your employees, you steal their tips, you sell fake food, you sell other company's cakes and claim them as your own, you do things to customers' food that will hurt them -- overspice much?-- you throw GOD in folk's faces and then turn around in the same sentence and say the most obscene things.
Don't get me wrong. I worship at the altar of profanity.

But bitch, you crazy!

Seriously unbalanced. Wacked. Out there. Un-hinged.

You make me look like the poster child for Normalcy. Color me humbled.

Who am I to judge? Why yes...I am the decorum police.

But...

I still hate woodpeckers with every fiber of my being and dream of delightful Eli Roth inspired ways to kill them.
I think free samples sitting out on counters are terrifying.
I don't understand the lure of Bubble Tea.
I hate all manner of blank blank Dynasty reality television shows, in fact 98% of all reality tv shows.
Justin Beiber is a little twat.
Auto tune songs make me stabby.
The Wicked Witch caught a bum rap.
I laugh when people fall down.
Achondroplasiaphobia is my excuse to be a horrid little monkey.
I think society would benefit from Thunderdome justice. Bust a deal...Face the wheel.

So there it is then.

My friend suggested I write about things that aren't what they are.

Duran Duran. They are neither Duran nor Duran.

Love it, babe. (that's what she said...heh)

From Urban Dictionary the meaning is someone who is perfect without flaws. 

Simian Gothic. That's without flaw.

But is Duran Duran truly Duran.
Why yes. I believe it to be so.

Philosophical Monkey say, her name is Rio and she dances in the sun.  The reflex is a lonely child who is hungry like the wolf.  Save a Prayer for Electric Barberella because is there something I should know?

That needs to go in a fortune cookie somewhere.

Time to go fall into a cocktail.

Smelly bye byes.

Foinah Out.