‘Twas the Diet Before Christmas… ~ Alexandra

christmas sweater

This was my plan for this year’s season of gluttony. Something I proudly came up with by myself. It’s called pre-weight losing, patent pending.

My idea was to hit the Foodtober holiday months down 10 pounds, to be at my fighting weight… ready to fight the inevitable weight gain of parties, gatherings, food events and 500 calorie drinks. Enter the ring swinging, get it? Not exit it arms whirling as I try to wrangle my ass into clothes that fit just fine in October but not the months of Foodtober.

It really bugs me to have a big butt for the sole reason I hate wearing clothes that are uncomfortable. That’s the only reason right there. The binding seams, the zippers digging into my flesh, the buttons leaving their imprint down my stomach so I look like Frankenstein. I just can’t deal with the discomfort. And having nothing to wear drives me crazy. And so does not being able to find anything to buy to wear. I mean, at my pre-foodtober weight there are things to wear, but the after holiday bloat weight… nope. After the 18 months it’ll take me to lose these ten pounds that it took ten minutes to put on, I’ll find stuff… but now, what designer wants me advertising their wares across these buns? “Hey! Dying to look like this? Buy our pants!!” I don’t think so.

Also on the list of my weight gain peeves is the way I look like I shoved a pillow down the back of my pants, like I used to do in high school. Except this time I’m not doing it for laughs. My kids think I am and pull out the camera, “Mom! You’re so funny! Let me get this on film!” Turn around and knock over that lamp again!,” but um no, kids… there really is no pillow back there. [Read more...]

Ten Signs You’re This Side of Middle Age ~ Alexandra

signs of middle age

Middle age, halfway through your life. Suppose you live to be 72, divide that in half, and 36 is your middle age. Sounds so young, and yet… you’re not.

You can do the math to figure out if you’re on this side, or that side, of middle age – or take this comprehensive quiz for the answer.

1.  The summer headbands advertised on your Facebook sidebar look adorable on the 18-year-old model, but make you look like Crazy Mary who used to sweep the bridge downtown during rush hour.

2.  Red fingernail polish and red lipstick may be in style, but on you they’re Cruella Deville.

3.  When you walk down stairs in the morning you hear the sound of popping popcorn from your knee area.

4. There was a time when a tankini and skirted swimsuit did the trick, now a berka is required.

5.  While grocery shopping you blissfully hum along with and skip to the piped Muzak version of “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher. [Read more...]

Memoirs of My America – When is Dressing Stuffing?

Thanksgiving is meant to be a celebratory time, of when the Pilgrims were helped by the Native Americans and there was a horn o’plenty of food. It was a good harvest, and along with eating there were three days of games and social cooperation. Peace among the people, eating together and sharing alike. No one cared that you called it corn and another called it maize. The feast was delicious and it filled your belly; and it was a time that would go down in history.

Giving of what you have to others should bring out some warm fuzzy feelings of love for one another. And Thanksgiving can do that, except when someone reaches across the table and asks another to “pass the dressing, please.” And that person a few chairs down sends a bottle of Wish-bone Green Goddess back their way.

“Excuse me, I asked for the dressing.”

“Right. And so there you go–dressing.”

“No, the dressing. The side dish there, the savory croutons drowned in butter. Please.”

“That would be stuffing. You want stuffing.”

“No, it’s dressing. My mother called it dressing. Pass the dressing, please.”

“Dressing is salad dressing. That’s what I gave you. If it’s stuffing you want, I can give you stuffing.”

“I don’t call it stuffing. Stuffing is made inside the bird. This was made on the side. I’d like that bowl of dressing that was made outside of the turkey. Please.” [Read more...]

Memoirs of My America – Dream Whisperer

One of the very first things we had to do when we woke up as little children, was to find our grandmother and tell her our dreams from the night.

She mentally had the Field Guide to dream interpretation as the backdrop of her mind. My Abuela knew it all; the meaning behind the color of the dress you wore, or whether your hair was loose or pulled tight. You’d present the facts, she’d pose a few questions back to you, and there you’d have it: what your subconscious was trying to tell you.

I’m lucky enough to still remember some of her interpretations and now it’s my children who come to the breakfast table and in between spoonfuls of Frosted Flakes, tell me about the mouse in their dream that tried to come in through the wall behind their bed.

I always begin with the first line of action: information-gathering. [Read more...]

Memoirs of My America – The Power of The Bean


I always knew what I had.

Coffee, Ahhh, from that first palate burning sip. The perfect drink. Black gold. Brings you up, yet calms you down.

Like a good Colombian family, our day began with a silver pot percolating. In fact, I received my own first percolator at age three; my Spanish grandmother would fill it with the real bean, and my brother and I would sit and slurp up the steaming sweet smoothness. We would masterfully stir in the cream until it was the perfect caramel brown. We just knew how much cream to add, it’s part of the Andean DNA we came with.

Since age three, I have known of the power of caffeine. I have forever understood the coffee jokes, I got them – I’d even poke fun at my own left twitching eye. [Read more...]

Memoirs of My America – Death at the Hand of a Skeleton Key

funny key storyGrowing up in a small house as part of a large family means one thing: never any time alone. There is always some sibling in your business, some person taking you on for that last fish stick. Solitude and silence become the things you pray for at night, forget world peace in your whispered requests — it’s a piece of time to yourself that you want.

When I was eight years old, I saw a chance to be alone and took it. Blinded by the too good to be true opportunity to be somewhere with no one else around, I stepped through that open door and went for it. Literally.

My grandmother was giving lunch to my two younger siblings. My three older siblings were out grocery shopping with my mother. I was alone in the hallway, and I — for the first time ever –  noticed the bathroom skeleton key sticking out of the keyhole. How had I never seen this? I could be in the bathroom, alone, I thought. I just have to turn that key and take snacks in with me that I don’t have to share. I can take in the crayons and not have to fight anyone for the black everyone wants. [Read more...]

Cheeeken in a Can and Butter Cookies

BITE ME! Food and Whine on FnS

My mother was a fancy lady. She never cooked, nor cleaned, nor kept up a home. She had grown up in South America, with “servants.” That’s the word she used for the help they had around her house. They had a servant for bed making, sweeping, cooking, market shopping, and small child watching. They even had one to feed my older sister’s pet howler monkey.

When she moved to the United States, that all had to stop. No maids here, but at least there were appliances. Still, the shock of do-it-yourself life along with the unwilling attitude on her part to have to learn how to do for herself, birthed a lot of meal time horror stories.

She couldn’t cook worth a lick. [Read more...]

The Most Handsome Man in Milwaukee

I wish I could tell you that throughout my life, I have made only wise, non impulsive, emotionally free decisions.

Ha!

There have been decisions made where I had no other choice, where life decided them for me, or where I did the best I could do at that time.

And there have been the decisions where, having made them, we can call ourselves graduates in the school of hard knocks: Lessons Learned The Hard Way 101.

Nothing brings these technicolor flashes of memory of some of the things I’ve done to the forefront of my mind, quicker than a blast from the past song on the radio.

While driving from one place to the next one day, with my three children in the car, the radio on good and loud in celebration of summer, Funky Cold Medina snuck on and slapped me between the ears like a wet fish.

I had to stifle my laughter as that awesome three beat intro began. I did not want my three baby boys in the car to ask, “Mom? What’s so funny?”

Because then I’d have to tell them the story of when I decided to try and get the The Most Handsome Man in Milwaukee, to like me. [Read more...]

We’re Back to the 80s on Funny not Slutty

Hello, and welcome to Back to the 80′s on Funny not Slutty. We have what I feel is the funniest week in the history of FnS, and that’s pretty funny. Look for original and classic 80s videos, 80s themed memes, blog posts and even a fab 80′s jukebox procured by our graphic designer, Lakia Ross.

Special thanks to Killy Dwyer, the Funny not Slutty Fairy, and her crew, Bill Chambers and Craig Schober for producing 3 vid promos.

The contributors who made this week happen are: [Read more...]

Memoirs of My America – Chewbacca’s Daughter

by Alexandra

Enter our FnS contest to win a free copy of My Memories fun and easy to use digital scrapbooking software! UPDATE – We have our winner, Francerants!

I was not a good looking kid. Not an ugly one, just one that should there be a talent scout for Models R Us hanging out at the local mall, they wouldn’t be pushing their way through a crowd to get their card to me.

My arms were just as long as my legs, and both were like sticks. And, as true today as it was back then, my feet were too big for my height. With the flat black Sponge Bob shoes my Doctor told my mother I had to wear to fix my pronated gait, I looked like a capital letter L.

I was skinny with eyes that took up half my face. The cherry thrown on top of this flamboyant creation by Mother Nature, was that I was hairy. Eyebrows that began everywhere and extended to my temples, hairy arms, hairy legs, and a hairline that begged for a Ronco at-home electrolysis kit. Had you shown me a picture of Chewbacca back then, I may have very possibly shouted, “Daddy!”  [Read more...]