Question Time!!!

Good afternoon my Little Peaches!!! Why am I calling you that? Cause I love you & think you're sweet, the same way I feel about peaches, of course!!!  This week I decided to do something a little different with the blog and answer some questions.  Some of you amazing people submitted questions and I have answered them in my own little way!

I have decided to post the questions in two parts for a couple of reasons. One, because I am so very long-winded and the blog was getting going super long, and two, because I am going to switch my post day to Mondays from here on out.  With the podcast coming out on Fridays it was getting to be a bit much doing both the same day.  So, on Monday, you will get part two!

The question is posted in bold and the answer is just in plain ol' text.

If Donald Duck never wore pants then why did he need a towel when he got out of the shower? 
-Question submitted by my very own brother in law, Clay

Donald Duck is certainly not known for his modesty.  I mean, as you said, he marches around proudly without benefit of pants on a daily basis.  Frankly, I have yet to detect so much as a trace of shame on his bill.  So, why the sudden modesty after he showers? Well, I can really think of only one reason.  Perhaps when his feathers are dry, they are fluffy enough to cover his... How to put this delicately? Boy parts.  Though it may seem coarse to discuss a beloved cartoon character in such terms, we have to face reality.  He is a boy, therefore, he must possess the necessary equipment somewhere.  I propose that "somewhere" is underneath his fluffy nether feathers.  When Donald steps out of the shower, his nether feathers are decidedly un-fluffy, as they are soaking wet.  Were he not to use the towel, his audience would be treated to a decidedly un-family friendly display of manhood, and nobody wants that.

What is the funniest movie of all time? Discuss.
-Question submitted by my dear friend Hermione Danger ;)


Oh man... This is a minefield of a question.  I know, it seems perfectly innocent and fun, and really it is, but I also feel like I could end up revealing myself for the ginormous cheese-ball I am.  My taste in movies is not what one would call "refined." Not by any stretch... The movies I find funny are, for the most part, embarrassingly dumb.  There are recent comedies that I'm not ashamed of, like Forgetting Sarah Marshall (this is  my current favorite), 40 Year Old Virgin, Superbad, Bridesmaids, The Hammer, Role Models, The Hangover, Tropic Thunder, & I Love You Man.  However, I feel like to answer this question properly I need to span the course of my lifetime and choose the movie that  warped my fragile psyche the most growing up and thus the my entire comedic sensibility.  I don't know if I can choose just one!!! Really, I don't.  So, I will submit to you, my amazing friends/readers, a list my all-time favorites from my younger years, combine them all together, and that will be the funniest movie of all time.

Wayne's World
There's Something About Mary
Billy Madison
Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery
Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me
The Waterboy
Tommy Boy
Black Sheep
Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (probably the movie I have seen the most times of any movie, sad but true)
Rocketman (in hindsight, this is a pretty terrible movie, but I watched it a bunch of times and died laughing)

Thus, the title of this movie is:  Twatbratab.
That is the funniest movie of all time.

Are you a native to the state if not what brought you to the state?
-Pat from KY
(this is too a fun question, Pat!:)

As a matter of fact, I am 100% Wyoming born and bred... Ew!!! Forget that bred part, I thought about that a little and it was gross. Why do people say that??? Anyway, I was born and raised in Ten Sleep, which had 311 people in it the entire time I was growing up, and now I live 20 minutes from there in the big city, Worland, that has about 5000... Oh, don't go thinking I haven't lived out all of my city dreams... I also lived in Laramie for about 5 years and not only did that have 20,000 people in it, but it also had a Walmart!!! I will say this, I love Ten Sleep more than words can say. That place is just so special... If you ever get a chance, it is a MUST to go there (I recommend during Nowoodstock, our annual music festival).

 Well, that's all for today.  I hope you enjoyed the questions because I thought it was SUPER fun!!! Let me know if you like this little question thing and we'll do it again sometime!!! Stay tuned for Monday, I may or may not be answering a question about MAGIC MIKE!!!  Woooooo!!!

Have a wonderful week, and may the towels of your life ever hide your shame!!!

SUPER HAPPY QUESTION TIME!!!

Hi my dear, sweet, beautiful friends!!! I would LOVE to do something a little bit different with the blog this week, but I NEED YOUR HELP!!! Sorry, am I being too dramatic??? I have a tendency to overdo it sometimes... Anyway, I would love to take some questions for this week's blog and answer them in my own special way!!! But I can't do it unless you submit them!

So, ask me anything!!!

Advice questions, questions about the blog, the podcast, something random that popped into your head, stuff you don't think I could possibly have an opinion about, ANYTHING!!!

It'll be super fun, I think!!! You can submit them at my e-mail, mfirnekas@gmail.com or if you want to remain anonymous, you can just leave them as a comment below and submit it as Anonymous.  Fair warning: I may or may not be making up fun aliases for everyone who submits a question.

I hope you all get a kick out of this, I'm excited!!! Unless nobody asks anything, and then I'm sad.

Lots of love to you my beautiful angel friends!

Mandy

I Fought the Laundry

***The following is intended to be used for humor purposes only.  Any attempt to perform the acts stated within this blog could result in the loss of a finger... Or worse, your children taking over your home.***

I have recently come to the conclusion that doing housework with a beer in your hand is really the only way to do it.

Oh, don't get all up in arms! I said a beer, not a bottle of gin. I promise I'm not chronicling the stages of alcoholism.

Anyway, I came by the beer organically. I made a marinade out of it for dinner and it only called for 1/2 cup of beer.  That left 3/4 of lonely Michelob Ultra in the bottle, sitting there looking sad on the counter. That is like, 88 cents down the drain, and nobody wants that. So after I got my chicken good and drunk, I snagged it on my way by and went to switch out the laundry. I took a little swig, sat it down on top of the washing machine, and happily started shuffling clothes from one dark metal cave to the other.

Wait!!! Um...  Happily?!? Only an insane person happily does laundry. An insane person, or maybe a person who is using the laundry room as a hide-out because her children won't stop asking for stuff every three seconds. 

In that small "happily" moment, a glorious truth was revealed to me.

A podcast in the ears (and if you're listening to a podcast, why not THE FIRNECAST? *shameful, shameful self promotion*) and a beer in the hand makes the dreaded "laundry day" seem like a mini-vacation.

Okay, it really doesn't.  But it sorta helps. It's like one of those relaxation techniques they teach you or something. Like a sort of 3-D visualization. 

Just looking at that cold beer sitting on top of the washing machine totally Calgon-ed me (kids, for those of you too young to have any idea what I'm talking about, that was a commercial we used to see back in the olden days in which a lady took a bath and declared "Calgon, take me away!" as she poured in her lovely Calgon bubble bath or whatever it was). It was heavenly. Much like the beer that helps you get through a dinner with your in-laws (I am of course speaking metaphorically, as my mother-in-law is nothing short of dazzling, seriously, you should be jealous). It's shiny brown glass winked at me saucily, saying, "This isn't work, this is party time, girl!!!" And then it did a z snap just for kicks.

Ya know what though? That shiny brown bottle had a point!  It's science. You are tricking your brain into thinking that housework isn't the most soul crushingly boring thing in the universe by packing around an adult beverage.

Sadly, I must attach a warning label to my so-called "glorious revelation." This way of life could easily become addictive.  It's one of those things you must relegate to the: "Ya know what? This is freaking amazing. But if I keep doing it, I'm never going to be able to stop. Pretty soon, every time I need to dig a nasty hairball out of the shower drain, I'll be reaching for a cold one and that just won't do.  I mean, there's a reason they don't let you drink on the job.  Plus, the kids could more easily outwit me, and I'm already outnumbered," side of life.  

But from this day forth, I will hold onto the memory of that glorious 3/4 of a beer moment in the history of my house-wifery as the day I beat drudgery.

It's constant presence has a way of constantly looming over me, saying, "Drudge, drudge, drudge. As soon as you think you're done, someone will make a mess and you will have to start all over again. Your house can never all be clean at the same and have the laundry caught up too. Druuuuuuuuudge!!!"

But not today, friends!!! Not today!!! I used my beer as a light sabre of justice, slicing through the gray clouds of tediousness and showing the rays of hope beyond, "This will be over soon. There is an end in sight."

Thank you, beer. Thank you for making this the least boring laundry day ever.

I hope you have a wonderful week, my friends!  And may the drudgeries of your life be crushed 'neath the mighty beer in your hand!  Or, if you aren't into that sort of thing, a nice cold glass of iced tea and a safe place to hide in your laundry room.

Nipple Talk

I've been thinking a lot about nipples.  Not only because I was feverishly repeating the "nipple chunk" (as I like to call it) in my standup set over and over trying to memorize it last week, but also because I have two attached to the front of me.  They are a fascinating subject to be sure.  Thus, the following is a compilation of all of my "nipple thoughts" for the week, as a sort of companion piece to the video of my standup I posted last week.  I do hope you enjoy, and maybe read it with your nipples, and hopefully the three of you can commiserate and get a good laugh.

When you get right down to it, nipples are basically the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae known as your boob.  When you're young, they're perfectly perched atop like a happy little decoration.  As you age, they sort of slide down the side like they've been left out in the sun.

Areolas are alive, ever-changing creatures.  As you grow in life, so do they.  Exponentially.  With each child you have, they will start claiming more territory on your overall boob.  You may start out with a 90/10 boob to nipple ration, but I promise that's not how you'll end up. You've been warned, young ladies. 
 
If my body were an army, my nipples would be the recon guys because they go in first during every mission.  Only problem is, they're terrible communicators. They have neither mouths nor hands, so even if they sense danger my body has to wait until the eyes reach the situation to find out about it.  By then it could be too late.  I'm thinking about trying to train them to communicate through a series of tingles.  That way, if the sh*t's going down, I can quickly back out of the room before I get into an awkward encounter.  Yes, my life is such that the only "sh*t" that goes down is an awkward encounter.

 At one time in my life, my nipples sat at the front of my body proudly, like the prow on a ship, pointing my way through life and letting me know when it was cold.  Now they're just sorta sad.  Like little arrows that can only point at my feet.

I've come to think of my areolas sort of like the rings inside a tree... Just as the rings of a tree store its entire history, so do my boob halos store mine. The older I get, the more of my rich history is played out in the seemingly never-ending expansion of my nipples.  Each year, I get to look in the mirror, and ask myself that age-old question, "What the hell??? Are they getting bigger???" and each year, the horrid, resounding answer is "Yes, yes they are."

Well, my wonderful friends/readers, that is all for this week.  And may the areolas of your life never be described as "pepperonis."

Open Mic, Open Heart

You know that whole dream bomb detonation I've been talking about for months and months...? Well, I totally blew that thing up!!!  I went and did my open mic night at Manny's in Billings!!!  I wish I could say I remember every detail, but honestly, it's kind of a blur.  The one thing I remember very clearly though?  The feel of that sweet, sweet microphone in my hand.  Ah, it was a.m.a.z.i.n.g.!!!

I was so nervous beforehand, it's the one time in my adult life that I could honestly see myself wetting my pants in fright.  My hands went numb and my arms were tingling, but I didn't drop the mic, so I'm pretty happy with that.  I'm posting the video below, and I hope you guys enjoy it.  Please keep in mind, this is the very first time I've ever done anything like this... So be gentle friends, be gentle.

My wonderful friend Gina came with me and video-d for me, and since she was watching, my head got cut off a time or two.  Which actually, I think is a good thing.  With this face, a little goes a long way.

At times you can barely hear me over the talking of the crowd... I went on 10th out of 18, so by the time I was up, I think everybody was sorta drunk and reeeeeal bored.  But actually, it went better than I ever could have hoped for.  People even laughed! I didn't trip or accidentally break wind so loudly the mic picked it up, which were my two greatest fears.

Whew, it's over, I did it, and I am so so happy!!! I reached out and grabbed my dream and damn near strangled it to death.

Anyway, here's the video.  I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think!!!

Countdown to Standup, T-1

Panic.

Setting.

In.

Insides.

Mush.

HELP!!!

Countdown to Standup, T-minus 2

Remember how I told you, my beautiful blog readers, about how I'm going to Billings June 6th to try stand up comedy at an open mic?  Um, well, it's June 4th right now... You know what that means???  That I'm typing this instead of practicing like I should be???  Well, yes, but that's not the point. 

I have two days left until my big debut...

Two.

Days.

How do I feel???  I am alternately excited and so scared that I almost cry a little. 

Oh, I know that sounds a little sad, but my tear ducts are directly connected to my every emotion, so that's really very normal.

I'm planning on having my friend record the whole thing for me, so if it goes well I'll post the video for my blog on Friday.  If I crash and burn, I will be burning the evidence of my humiliation in a ritualistic fire situation.

Anyway, I just thought you might like to know that I haven't chickened out. Yet. I'm comforting myself by saying that I still have some time to be a chicken if I really must.

Aaaaaah!  So please, say a little prayer for me, your dear friend, who is freaking out just a little.  Or a lot.  Depends on the moment.

Fight Opera

It is a truth universally acknowledged that there is nothing more irritating than the sound of your children fighting.  That sharp keening screech that digs directly into the annoyance center of your brain, that sound that sets your eye to twitching... That sound that can literally make you feel like the hairs on your head are turning gray one by one.  Fingernails on a chalkboard would be a welcome relief compared to that wretched sound.

It's normal for siblings to fight... Or at least that's what the front of Parenting Magazine says. Which, incidentally, I do NOT have a subscription to.  It just started showing up in my mailbox two months ago and won't go away.  I would never willingly have a subscription to that magazine.  I feel like since I've been doing this whole "Mom" thing for over nine years now the only possible thing that magazine can do for me is make me feel bad about myself.  Ah yes, I remember wanting to be a perfect parent.  Ha. Ha. Ha. Now I'm just happy to be clinging to a last few shreds of sanity.  I'm not sure exactly why it started showing up, but I feel like it was intended as either a hint or an insult and I am accepting neither.  

Anyway, I didn't really need Parenting Magazine to tell me about sibling fighting because I have a fair bit of experience in that particular department.  Oh yes, I do.  In fact, I have a long and storied history of fighting with my very own baby brother.  Well, he's not a baby now, he's only 17 months younger than me.  I wasn't  fighting with an infant, that would just be wrong.  Unless the baby was as annoying as my brother.  Then I would have had every reason.

Even though I know we fought all the time, I can't remember for the life of me what it was about.  So, because I do so much careful research for this blog, I asked my very own baby brother for help remembering what we used to fight about.

He claims it was my being "bitchy" all the time (obviously untrue) and that one time I stabbed him in the butt with scissors... I have no recollection of this event, so I'm sure it didn't happen.  The way I remember it is that he was super annoying and I was the innocent victim in the situation (obviously true).  Plus, he hit me in the head with a glass jar one time.

You would think that with my vast experience in sibling rivalry combined with the knowledge I gleaned from the front of Parenting Magazine, I would know exactly what to do with my own kids when they fight... But really, I am totally baffled.  Baffled and more annoyed than can be accurately described in actual words (though I do feel that I could accurately describe it using a series of keening wails if given enough time).

It is driving me CRAZY. Or, more accurately, crazier.

The thing about my kids is, they are not normal.  Don't get me wrong, I love them dearly, they're my reason for living, and they're just the coolest little people in creation, yadda yadda.  But normal?  Absolutely not.  These kids exchange blows on the regular like decent people, but their preferred method of sparring is much, much worse.  In fact, I almost prefer actual blows to what they usually do, which is verbally drag me behind the runaway train that is their arguments.  It's a form of mental torture that again, I would have to use an invented language of keening wails to describe.

So, I know it still seems fairly normal, the arguing and whatnot... But again, these children are weird.  Or maybe not, I just have to know for sure.  So I will pose this question to you, my dear and beloved readers.

Do other people's kids get in sing-fights???

What is a sing-fight, you might ask...? Well, it is a fight in which one child sings something quite rude.  Then the other sings something rude back, until you are listening to a sort of discordant opera of childlike insults.  I will give you an example of the latest in a long series of these particular types of brawls:
 "I-hi-hi-hi am theee be-hes-t!!!"
"Oooooh, no-hooo yo no-hot!!!"
"Daisy is me-hean!!!"
"No-ho she's no-hot!!!"
"Yeah-aaaa!"
"No."
"Yeeeeees!!!"
"No."
"Mooooooom!!!"
"Mooooooooom!!!"
(altogether now)
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!"

Oh sure, it sounds pretty amazing.  It sounds hilarious, even.  But I assure you, no song is funny when it involves crying and name calling.  Well, I suppose it would be funny if I weren't the "Moooooooom" involved in the situation.  I  mean, you tell me how to resolve a fight that is being sung to the tune of "Barber of Seville."  Do I just jump in and start singing, "K-i-i-idssssss, if you don't stooooop fighting nooooow, you'll have to gooooo cleaaaaannnnnn!!!" ? Should they even be in trouble for singing mean stuff to each other?

See what they're doing? It's diabolical!!! Singing is so very innocent in and of itself, but they've added the fighting into it, so when I tell them to knock it off they both turn on me together and say, "But we weren't fighting, we were just singing."

The Weaver household:  Home of the Fight Opera.  Performances at 7:00 & 9:00 nightly, with matinees added throughout the day as needed.

Well, I hope you all have a wonderful week, and may the scissors of this world never make contact with your figurative behinds.

Extension Request

Hi friends!!! Yes, I said it, I'm claiming it as my own, you are my very own blog friends!!! I know I'm late getting the blog out... And, in fact, the blog really isn't even out yet.  I've mostly got it finished, really I do, but I have a problem. 

I decided to have a dumb yard sale tomorrow and spent most of my blog time today getting everything ready for it because I'm greedy and I want that money.  It is now 12:20 and I've been working on finishing my blog but I'm so tired I can't tell if it just sounds like the ramblings of a crazy person now. 

I cannot in good conscience post the thing because I'm so looped with exhaustion.  So I'm not posting it until I can look at it with the eyes of a person who has had at least 1/2 a pot of coffee...

I swear, upon all that is holy, that I will have my blog out for you tomorrow.  A day late, yes, but more glorious than you could ever imagine.

Wait, scratch that... That's maybe overstating it a bit. 

It'll be good though, readable at the very least...  Really will. 

Love you friends, and goodnight.  Also, if I spelled something wrong, please forgive me, I'm not my normal good speller self tonight. 

Muah!!!! Muah, muah, muah. MUAH!!!