If you follow me on Twitter (which you probably do) or follow my Tumblr (which you probably don’t), you’ve seen some of the quotes from my kids, friends, and family that I document and share. I have a horrible memory for details, so I wanted to keep track of the insane quotables that fall out of my kids’ mouths. Last April, I shared the quotes I’d posted on my Tumblr up until then, and today I’m sharing the quotes I’ve collected since then.

Weirdos.

I also kind of want to know that I’m not the only one who has kids who say random and insane things. I’m not the only one, right? RIGHT?

(...)
Read the rest of Not-So-Quotable Quotes (3 words)

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 16 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: girls, kids, quotes, tumblr

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You’re right, Auto-Correct Gnome.

I didn’t want to say “Get the gnocchi and have them to add cream to the bolognese,” I wanted Foursquare to tell people to “Get the gnocchi and have them add cream to the vomit ass.”

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 5 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: auto correct, bolognese, foursquare, iphone, vomit ass

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If you have read my blog for any amount of time or know me at all, you know I’m a gay lover.

Or lover of gays.

Or a mostly straight woman who loves the gays and just happens to be happily married to a man.

I believe Gay is OK.

I’ve also been a fan of Rosie O’Donnell for the last umpteen years before, during, and after her daytime show, and now I love her Sirius radio show. I listen to it nearly every day. I’m kind of two shades away from being a stalker.

I make no apologies for who or what I like, even if the rest of the world teases or berates my choices. I enjoy Twilight, Jersey Shore, Ranch dressing on Mexican potatoes, Mama Oprah, sugar on my margarita rim, Crocs, and Rosie O’Donnell, no matter what people may think of me for liking what I like.

Rosie talked on her show Friday about responding to a negative, hateful Twitter mention directed at her. Normally, I tend to believe in ignoring the trolls, the hatred, and the darkness in people. It kind of makes it easier on my wonky heart not to add to my stress levels.

BUT HOT DIGGITY DAMN, I love Rosie’s response to Margie Phelps, Westboro Baptist Church member and God Hates F***s founder:

Responding with love and light, even sarcastic love, is better than nothing.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 3 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: rosie o'donnell, twitter

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Do you see that *tear* running down my cheek?

Do you hear the sobs coming from deep inside my diaphram?

Do you see the pills I’m popping from the stress I’m feeling?

Today is National Grammar Day.

AND I WASN’T AWARE.

A travesty of epic proportions.

I don’t know how I’ll get over losing the last 16-1/2 hours of un-celebration of National Grammar Day.

Oh, I know! I’ll write to companies and tell them about grammatical errors on their websites.

Consider it done.

Now, I will march forth, March Fourth, and celebrate you for the rest of the weekend.

First, I’ll leave you with this grammar hint: “alot” is not a word. If you use it, I will have to punch you.

Consider yourself warned.

No one is safe.

image credit: grammargirl.com

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 10 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: grammar

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Seeing envelopes come out of my mailbox that say things like “SECOND NOTICE” or “URGENT” are not unusual for me. Let’s be honest; they’re not really serious until after the 2nd notice is sent anyway, so why pay attention until they really mean it?

I’m also fairly good at picking out the junk mail and tossing it in the garbage immediately. My hoarding hasn’t yet reached the point of saving every piece of mail that has my name on it.

So when I get a very important mailpiece from the very official Department of Vehicle Acquisitions, complete with an official U.S. Department seal, I stop and pay attention to the words “SECOND NOTICE” emblazoned across the top.

This is very important business that I must turn my attention towards. I must stop everything I’m doing! Forget about the children! Let the dogs run free!

Obviously.

I don’t want to mess around with government-looking official documents. The last thing I need is the Department of Vehicle Acquisitions knocking on my door, demanding the keys to my Turbo Town & Country. And any person who opens this official document that is not me better watch out, because they’ll be spending the next 5 years in the State Pen. SERIOUS OFFICIAL STUFF.

FOR GOT SAKES, it says “Extremely Urgent Message Enclosed”! I need to be swift with my actions!

THE LIFE AND OWNERSHIP OF MY VEHICLE DEPENDS ON MY IMMEDIATE ACTIONS.

Click on the image to see it larger. IT'S AN IMPORTANT OFFICIAL GOVERNMENT DOCUMENT!

And hey! They said they’d give me a $3,000 bonus because my car is in high demand! Apparently, the U.S. Government is in the business of giving out bonuses to car owners who act quickly. I sure could use that extra $3,000 right now. Thank GOODNESS I now have this very official SECOND NOTICE.

I better get my Turbo T&C into a very official-sounding state-licensed pre-owned dealer to take advantage of this special U.S. Government program.

Oh, and LOOK! It just so happens that the dealer who sold me my Turbo T&C is just that official-sounding state-licensed pre-owned dealer! I’m in luck!

What am I doing still sitting here writing this when I should be speeding down to the official-sounding state-licensed pre-owned dealer that just happens to be the place from where I bought my Turbo T&C?!?

I’m OUTIE5000, Y’ALL!

•• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• ••

Thanks be to the sweet, sweet Baby Jeebus and Oprah that I have my wits about me and I know a scam when I see one.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 12 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: official scams

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My grammar nerdness is dying inside.

My teacher brain is exploding.

My motherly instincts are weeping.

… I need to go take a Klonopin and rock in the corner …

I can’t take it.

I wish I was exaggerating when I say this is making my wonky heart flutter with WTFness.

Thanks to my friend Erin for sharing this with the Facebook world and for giving me an anxiety attack.

Image source

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 24 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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“Wow, Jackie (my sister) really is coming around to being a grown-up citizen and recognizing me with kindness on my birthday,” went through my wee brain yesterday when she told me to make sure I answered the door when something showed up.

“Flowers? Cookie bouquet? FRUIT BASKET?” I wondered.

I was out having lunch with my 1st grader when the delivery arrived, but not knowing what it was going to be, I brought home Subway for my lunch. I checked the front porch for my flowers? cookie bouquet? FRUIT BASKET? and there waiting for me was a pizza box.

OH HOLY HELL! How nice is it to discover that Jackie had thought about ME on my birthday and ordered a pizza for me to enjoy so I wouldn’t have to make or pay for my birthday lunch?

“I wish she’d told me what it was BEFORE I went out to buy my own lunch, but it’s the thought and the surprise that counts.”

I thought past the fact that she ordered me Papa John’s and how Papa John’s pizza gives me the shits, but again, it’s the thought that counts.

My own personal delivered pizza for my birthday!

I thought wrong about you, sister, for all those “she’s a cuntwhorebitch*” thoughts that have gone around my head for the last 32 years. I’m sorry for all those things I thought.

Because you thought about ME on my birthday and did something extra special nice for ME.

I am loved!

I set the pizza box down, open it up to see that it’s a sausage & onion (my favorite!) pizza. I pick up a slice, take a bite, expecting delishusness.

And that’s when I saw it.

CHICKEN.

ON THE MOTHER FUCKING PIZZA.

But the damage was already done. The BAR B QUE CHICKEN PIZZA was already in my mouth.

And I was suddenly hit with urgent shits.

I had to sit and shit, chewing on the most disgusting man-made deliveralbe creation ever devised: chicken on mother fucking pizza.

I felt like taking my life to rid my memory of how it tasted.

You got me, dear cuntwhorebitch, sister.

YOU GOT ME.

And it’s on.

• • • • • •

*I may be over-exaggerating on the actual words I use to describe my dear sister, but you can see by now why I over-exaggerated.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 19 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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I don’t want to read about depression.

Unless I’m depressed.

Then, I seek it out. Like a good sammich. I need it. I need to read and hear about other’s misery when I’m in the midst.

It takes me a while to realize I’m smack in the middle of a lapse in The Happy.

It probably started after BlogHer. The post-excitement, the post-exhaustion, the post-vacation downers.

I’m tired beyond tired all the time. I’m unmotivated. I’m not excited about anything.

Depression? Or Laziness?

I’m on the magic piss pills, so it shouldn’t be The Sadness.

I have a good life, so it shouldn’t be The Sad (like Oprah says… *stab*).

I have you peoples, so I can share my Doubt in the Happy.

I hope I don’t bring you the Downs, but I need to know what helps you.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 23 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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The week started off innocently enough.

I went out to dinner with my skank-whore friends to one of my favorite cheesecake-themed restaurant. I ate too much, took stupid pictures, and scared a cute waiter boy into being gay. Pretty much a normal night out with the teacher-friends.

I woke up Monday to my credit card number being hacked by some jackhole on the internet. I spent the morning begging asking for monies from my mama to cover me while I figured out the logistics of paying for stuff and closing out the card. The perfect Monday, I’d say!

Tuesday was normal-ish, until I realized that my heart had been going pitter-patter since the night before and not for any good reason like Edward swooping me off to the woods to make out. I’ve felt the flutter and strong heart-beat before, but not for this long and not coupled with dizziness. So, like any paranoid idiot trying to prove she’s not a hypochondriac, I didn’t say anything. Until I did when I mentioned it in passing to my personal wet nurse, Aunt Becky.

She, of course, went ape-shit and told me to call my doctor right away. Me being the eternal optimist, refused because THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?!?

Then she threatened me with hot pokers to my eyeballs over the internets, so I called my doctor. Mind you, this was 5 minutes before I needed to leave to be only 2 minutes late to pick up my girls from summer camp. The doctor says “OH, YOU’RE A LOSER AND WE CAN’T SEE YOU UNTIL TOMORROW, NERD! Go in to the urgent care clinic, asshole.” Or something like that.

We’re lucky enough to have an urgent care clinic that will notify me when the doctor is ready to see me (SCORE!), so they called me when I was in the car on my way to them anyway after I got the girls. The nurse on the phone freaked the FUCK OUT when I mentioned anything heart-related, so she said her doctor is telling me to go straight to the regular ER.

“But I don’t waaannnaaaa…” I really said that to her. I’m a grown up, I swears.

So, with my girls begging for ponies or some shit, I drove to the nearest hospital with my wonky-feeling heart, and thanks be to the wee baby Jeebus, they saw me within 5 minutes of us arriving.

Something about “heart attack” and “arrhythmia” or other life-threatening terms were being thrown around while I’m all, “I’m sure it’s nothing. I can be going home now, yes?”

I was starting to think I wasn’t a hypochondriac after all. Hooray! Also, wait… that means…

The nurse asked if someone could come get my girls. Because THAT’S always a fun call to make to your husband: “Oh, by the way, I’m in the ER and you need to come rescue your children from the bleeding and the heart monitors and the urgent care happening around here. kthxbai.”

I kind of got alarmed when the one nurse whispered something to the other nurse when she showed her my EKG results. Whispering when you’re in a medical crisis is never a good thing.

Long story short, I was admitted for observation and tests to make sure I wasn’t having a heart attack (I wasn’t) and to try to figure out what was the cause (never happened). We figured I’d only be there for one night, but because of an asshole cardiologist who didn’t want to take his sweet time looking at my echocardiogram results (that, by the way, I was awoken at 3 IN THE FRUCKING MORNING TO GO HAVE DONE), he booked me for a second night of hospital bed vacation.

The outcome? After 48 hours in the hospital that included a moaning patient roaming the halls being coaxed by a kazoo at 7am, I have no actual diagnosis and no plan of figuring out what the crap is wrong with me. I’m still having the same symptoms as what put me in the hospital, but since Dr. Cardio-Asshole only spend 2-1/2 minutes with me during my 48-hour stay, I have no concrete direction for how to help myself.

I do however, at the behest of my on-call doctor at the hospital, have a new cardiologist I’m scheduled to see on Wednesday. I hope to get more of an answer than the “it’s not diagnosable, it’s “just” an irregular heartbeat, you won’t pass out” information Dr. Cardio-Asshole gave me.

Until then, I’m laying low and feeling wonky, but that’s typical me.

OR, you can just think of my fluttering heart beating irregularly for you (yes, YOU, not THEM… YOU).

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 63 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: heart, hospital, wonky

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Who the crap cares about basketball?

OK, so maybe some of you crazies do, just like I care about football, but since I’m not a fan of any basketball unless it involves Dwight Howard cradling me like his sweet, sweet baby, I did my own bracket.

CAKE VS. PIE

Over at Jezebel (I’d never heard of them either), they’ve set up a very scientific system for determining the all-out winner of the age-old battle between confections. (I know that the uber HIGHlarious Hyperbole and a Half did her own cartoony Battle of the Noms last week. She is Awesome. I bow to her Awesomeness.)

Personally, if it were a “baked goods” battle, the brownie would have won out. But since this is Cake v. Pie, I had some more thinking and painful decisions to make.

There’s not an all-out winner. I can’t make my final decision.

Here are my thoughts on Round 1:

Clearly, someone lost their brains when they included Funfetti on the list. They already had Birthday Cake. How is Funfetti NOT Birthday Cake. stupid.

And Fruitcake? I guess they figure my grandmother may do a bracket.

So far, easy choices.

On to Round 2:

Come on. Wedding Cake? Sure, Wedding Cake is technically “cake,” but you can’t go to the store and BUY Wedding Cake. It snot It’s not available on any given late-night run to the bakery. That alone should kick it out of the running.

And Rhubarb? Without strawberries, there would be no Rhubarb Pie. They didn’t even list “strawberries” as part of the ingredients. Am I to assume make an “ass” out of “u” and “me” and pick Rhubarb because I think there MIGHT be strawberries? I SAY NAY.

Note regarding Pecan Pie: My mother makes the best Pecan Pie in the world. No competition. None. I don’t care what you say about your own Mama’s Pecan Pie, my Mama’s Pecan Pie is better. I’m going to go ahead and imagine the Pecan Pie to which they are referring is my own Mama’s. That will make a big difference in later rounds.

My belleh is growing into Round Three:

The choices are more daunting than expected. I’m a girl who needs details. SPECIFICS.  What FLAVOR Bundt Cake? What FLAVOR Cheesecake? This makes a huge difference. You can’t put up a chocolate Bundt Cake up against a German Chocolate Cake. The clear winner is chocolate Bundt Cake. But if it’s vanilla Bundt Cake? The clear winner is German Chocolate Cake. Just for the lack of specifics, I had to choose German Chocolate.

I can’t willy-nilly pick a Cheesecake over Cherry Pie. There’s only one “flavor” of Cherry – DONE. There are kajillions of Cheesecakes. Just look at any Cheesecake Factory Cheesecake menu. It’s a Book of Nom. Again, just for the lack of specifics, I had to choose Cherry Pie.

The Pumpkin Pie v. Pecan Pie battle came down to one factor: my internal excitement for said pie. I love them both. Both are made from scratch by my Mama. But if a gun was to my head, and that’s what it took, I’d pick Pecan Pie.

Fatty McEatsalot Round Four:

It comes down to

In the Cake arena: GERMAN CHOCOLATE v RED VELVET

As I age into a mature woman of 33, I’ve come to appreciate German Chocolate as a moist chocolate cake topped with gooey coconutty goodness. When done right, the German Chocolate cake can be an all-out winner. HOWEVER, if the cake is dry, it’s a complete fail.

90% of all Red Velvet cakes and cupcakes I’ve ever eaten have been yumyumyumyumyum delicioso.

In the Pie corner: PECAN v CHERRY

This is definitely a difficult decision. I get to have my Mama’s Pecan Pie twice a year, but when I do have it, it’s beyond.

Cherry Pie is for sure a good-to-eat dessert year-round, and with the right flaky crust, heavenly.

Sooooo…

Finally, Round Five:

WHAT GOES IN MAH BELLEH???

I CAN’T DECIDE!!!11!!ONE!!!

RED VELVET? OR PECAN PIE?

Seriously.

Friends, I need your help.

WHICH ONE DO I CHOOSE?

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 59 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: cake, dessert, fat, food, pie

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