What’s the Deal Here, Guys?

Dear #%!# Mini B.

Is it because I didn’t write prenatal blogs about you like I did with your brother?

Is it because I threw caution to the wind this time and ate ham and drank coffee and soda and an occasional (late-term) beer with reckless abandon?

Is it because every kick, punch and cervix bounce over these last nine months didn’t earn you praise, recognition and squeals of WTF-induced excitement?

Is it because your room isn’t totally finished? Or that I can’t just say yes to the name?


I will take the blame for the last two. But let me assure you, your room is 90% more complete than your brother’s was AND we aren’t ordering things on Amazon from the hospital AND your crib is built. You’re not even going to sleep in your room for at least two weeks, so STFU about there not being shit hung up on the walls. I hung crap from your ceiling and rearranged it 19 times, that should be enough for you.

As for the name, well @#%$#@!#! deal with it.

And the rest of that crap? THAT’S YOUR BROTHER’S FAULT.

Everything was new when I was pregnant with him so he got prenatal attention all day every day. Except he’s out now and demanding of real life attention and I honestly don’t have the time, energy or attention span to get gooey over your every bout of hiccups. I can ASSURE YOU you will get WAY MORE ATTENTION when you find your way OUT OF MY @#%!@## WOMB.

I drank beer, soda, coffee and ate ham with him, too, so chill out.

And as for the blogging, well. I’m tired. I’m worn out. I was writing freelance nonsense about winter sporting equipment. I had nothing else new to say about being pregnant. And if I did find something new to say, I was just too tired to write it. Guess what – you’ll survive. My readers did. Sort of.

So it’s time to GTFO, you overdue leech.


baby airport

Dear @#$!@$ Body.

Give me a break. You’re at 5cm. You’ve been stripped of membranes which I know I promised I would never do to you again, but you brought that on yourself. You tricked me with back contractions not once, but TWICE and then stopped.

I’m tired of going to the bathroom every twenty minutes.

I’m tired of taking 1.5 mile walks every night because you aren’t cooperating.

I’m tired of the heartburn, waking up every two hours for NO reason and I’m tired of you jerking me around.

I’m tired of the waddle.

We’ve been a good team this second time around. Not as good as the first time, but we’ve been great partners.

I know neither of us like pain very much, but right now we need it. Let’s man up and take it on. Deal with it and start putting things in motion.

Don’t @#$!@ this up.

Your Owner.


Dear @$%!#@$ Hospital.

WTF, man? Your policies were made by assholes.

Halfway dilated and you won’t admit me because I’m not having contractions close enough together?

Even though it’s my second baby and my first labor (though induced) happened super fast and I told you all that and your only suggestions were to walk around Wal-Mart or have sex?!

Yeah, because sex when I’m 40 weeks plus four days, bloated, crampy, hating the world and having some crazy gross discharge sounds like a super fun thing right now. You’re high.

If I have this baby on the side of the road I’m mother@$#%@ suing your ass.

If you “don’t have a bed” for my “scheduled induction” which is still three days away? I’m burning you down.

You’re the worst.

I Hate You.



The Waiting Game

First, let’s discuss some missing details and catch up things because I’ve been absent from this blog, for the most part, for the last nine months.


That’s my Over It face.

I’m due tomorrow.

It’s a girl.

She is still not 100% named.

I have been calling her Mini B because she is baby #2 after Little A and she is showing signs of my bitchiness. Mini Bitch. Mini B. Get it?

I guess that’ll help fill in the gaps. On to business.

With Little A, he came two weeks early as a surprise after I attempted to do a pull up. Though the labor process was not easy, it was pretty much as easy as it gets. Water breaks, go to hospital, get drugs, push out baby stupid fast. All done. Less than 24 hours start to finish, nothing to wring hands about or get all freaked out about. I even packed a Go Bag in less than ten minutes.

With Mini B, it’s a whole different ball game. I’m closing in on 40 weeks so I’m more pregnant than I ever have been ever. I have zero signs of labor, my back aches and waddle are nearing epic levels. The Go Bag has been packed in the closet for awhile now. The crib is assembled this time. This is all new territory for me.

Out of sheer curiosity, I opted for a cervix check on Tuesday.

I was shocked to learn I was at 3cm, thinned out and Mini B’s head was being gently poked by a midwife. I was only at 1cm after my water broke in Round One.

So, umm, yikes?

For the past 48 hours, I’ve been obnoxiously paranoid about every twinge, movement, pressure, pain, feeling, bubble, punch, kick, booty pop and reaction I have. IS THIS IT? Ok, no. WAIT WHAT THE %^$@ WAS THAT? Oh, nothing. Gas. HOLD UP THE SHIT DOES THAT MEAN? Apparently nothing.

You know that scene in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory where Gene Wilder takes them on the crazy boat ride and goes all demonic and creepy and no one know what’s happening? Yep, me. And that song has been stuck in my head. Because that’s not ominously doomful.

I seriously preferred the spontaneous onset of labor, not this waiting shit nonsense. JUST COME OUT ALREADY BECAUSE I’M FREAKING OUT, DUDE. I’m not sure I’m ready for you, but I am ready to be done, so. Come on out. Your spa vaca is over.

There’s no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There’s no knowing where we’re rowing
Or which way the river’s flowing



What a Week! From HELLLLL.

It started off being exhausted from a weekend in Chicago filled with too much walking, an epic concert, a sorority reunion and a couple otters. Also an amazingly ludicrous meltdown that had a toddler crying, drooling, spitting, flailing and melting from downtown Chicago to Midway Airport, through the baggage check line, past security and all the way to the gate. So that was a fun ending to the trip. But the flight? Mot@#$!f#@$ angel. At least he gave me that.

Cloud Gate, Chicago

Bean there, done that.

Then I had to/was forced to get rid of my beautiful, fun to drive but totally unnecessary and soon to be too small vehicle because the lease was ending and I never went back to work so it wasn’t exactly an affordable option anymore.

Cadillac SRX Goodbye

The End of the Road. You belonged to me.

And my options became a 1996 Jeep that smelled like feet. Or a 2012 $#%$@!$! pimped out vehicle that had everything we needed. Space, convenience, DVD system, comfort, everything.

Should have been an easy choice to make, right? Until you know that the pimp mobile was hidden in a goddamn minivan.

A $%^@#$@ #%^@#%$@ @#$@#$ MINIVAN.

I cried at the dealership when I said goodbye to the old and again on the way home when I had to drive the new.

Because it’s a minivan. I never wanted to be a minivan mom. Even though it’s so practical I want to vomit. It’s perfect. EXCEPT FOR THOSE LAME ASS SLIDING DOORS.

Lame Van

It’s big. It’s hideous. It screams I’ve given up. And that’s exactly what it means. That’s stinky Feet Jeep next to it.

The week continued when we came home from #lamevan purchase to discover a leaking water heater, rendering us cold for EIGHT DAYS because the warranty company ordered the wrong one and we’re at the mercy of property management and the only silver lining is that as renters we had to pay exactly zero dollars for it.

Living like the Ingalls for a week and boiling water for dishes and baths is not exactly on my list of recommendations.

Not enough for a bath, trust me.

Kid was acting his age all week and I just couldn’t. So I didn’t. Which made me feel like a failure. Which made me anxious. Which made me feel more exhausted. Which made me wonder how I’m ever going to make it with two. Which made me feel worse. And I gave up all over again. A couple deep breaths, some early bed times and lots of sugar are slowly making everything feel okay again.

I have to pay a speeding ticket I got in 2003 which I thought I had paid in 2008 but apparently didn’t because there’s no record of it and instead of continuing to avoid the issue because lolololol I’m not a resident of that state and never have been anyway, I now NEED to pay it because in a turn of events I’m going to have to be a resident of that state now and there’s $200 down the drain for going 8 mph over limit coming home from doing laundry and watching Degrassi: TNG at a friends house my senior year of college.

In truth, it really wasn’t that bad. But all smushed together in a span of a few days, holy shit did I feel drained. There were a few good moments, too. I had a great appointment and baby and I are doing obnoxiously fine. We got to see two of our fab friends in a quick visit while they were in town and take the kid swimming in the “BIG POOL!”. I received super wonderful maternity photos that my best friend took in Chicago but my bad mood tainted my view of them and I felt like a Momzilla. I’ll post more when I feel better about myself.


Photo by Melissa McClure Photography

Yeah, it’s the same dress. I didn’t know I was going to post all these pics together when I styled myself for two different days. I also refuse to buy new clothes and this is like, the ONE purchase I’ve made. Sue me.

I’m gonna go take the longest, hottest shower ever now that the heater has been heating for a little over for the recommended hour and I’m gonna wash this funky smell away and wash the dumb away and soak the fail away. And later tonight I’m gonna scrub the almost-three year old attitude off of stinky, sticky, slightly slimy kid and take some more deep breaths, a whiff of bourbon and start the weekend off so fresh and so clean.

Take this opportunity to hug your water heater, people. It's amazing.

Take this opportunity to hug your water heater, people. It’s amazing.

Also hoping this rant gets me back in the groove so I can fill you in on all the other crazy shit that’s been happening in the Expletive House!

Have a better weekend than I had week and drink one (or several) in my honor. Because I needed them. And you probably do too after reading this shizz.


Irish Cupcakes. Yes, Again.

Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes - More booze than your average recipe means more delicious for your facehole.

Irish Cupcakes, made with Guinness, Baileys and Jameson. More booze than your average recipe means more delicious for your facehole.

Everyone and their dog has a recipe for Irish Cupcakes, aka Irish Car Bombs. But let’s be real here, mine are going to be the best. Because I add extra booze. If you’re going to put booze in cupcakes, you better be able to #@%$@ taste it and the recipes I started with, well, they just tasted like cupcakes. Not booze cakes. I LIKE BOOZE CAKES.

For the unfamiliar, there are Guinness chocolate cupcakes, Jameson whiskey ganache filling and Baileys buttercream to top it all off. Yeah. I know, right?

Let me get the semantics out of the way, I know there’s a bit of cupcake and cocktail controversy around the Irish Car Bomb moniker, but it’s not my fault these are based off the drink such named. I made these for a charity event once and called them Irish Trifecta and no one knew what the F I was talking about. As soon as I switched to Car Bombs they went F@$K YES GIMME SOME.

So. Call them whatever you want. Just make them. 

Coring Cupcakes to Fill

The innards are the best part. They are your reward. Don’t share.

These cupcakes are not complicated, but they can be a little time consuming since they are baked, filled and frosted. Worth it.

These cupcakes are also NOT going to get your kids wasted, but you’re also not gonna wanna to share them anyway. Give them some plain Guinness cupcake innards and tell them to GTFO. (Actually, don’t give them the innards because those are GR8. Make them some box cake and tell them to GTFO). I mean, there’s probably less than a quarter cup of booze in a full batch. I used to get that much Baileys to sip on at age 8 while playing dice at my grandparents house. My family is awesome. Don’t hate.

Let me tell you, the Guinness chocolate cake is easily my favorite and my go-to chocolate cake recipe. It’s super moist, super dark and just a little bitter. The other two elements can be boozed up to taste, depending on how much you love whiskey and Irish cream. None of the recipes I’ve come across call for whipping of the ganache, but  it makes the filling go much further and it’s way easier to get into the cupcakes than it’s unwhipped counterpart. It almost becomes a mousse.

Yeah. Chocolate whiskey mousse. You heard me. If you make mini cupcakes, a half batch will generally be enough if you whip it, whip it good. Regular size cupcakes will usually use a full batch. But who are we kidding, just make the full batch no matter what and hide in the closet and eat the extra. I won’t tell. I’ve been there. Or just frost the cupcakes with this moussey delight and forego the Baileys. No judgement.

Ok. Now that you’ve been aptly warned, primed and you’re @$#%$!@ ready, let’s do this.


Irish Cupcakes / Car Bomb Cupcakes / Trifecta Cupcakes

Guinness Cupcakes

1 stick unsalted butter
12 oz. Guinness
½ tsp. vanilla extract
2 c. all-purpose flour
2 c. granulated sugar
¾ c. natural unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp. salt
1 ¼ tsp. baking soda
¾ c. sour cream
3 eggs

Jameson Ganache

8 ounces bittersweet chocolate
2/3 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons butter
1 to 3 tablespoons Jameson or other Irish whiskey

Baileys Buttercream

1/2 to 3/4 stick of room temp butter (add a pinch of salt if using unsalted)
3 to 4 tablespoons of Irish Cream
3 to 4 cups of powdered sugar
splash of vanilla


Preheat oven to 350°. Make your kid put the cupcakes liners in the pans to give him something to do.

In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the butter, Guinness and vanilla. Stir occasionally until butter is melted. Stir in cocoa until mixed and set aside to cool for at least 10 minutes.

In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sugar, salt and baking soda. Using an electric mixer or your badass stand mixer, gradually combine with the Guinness mixture in three additions. Add in the sour cream, then the eggs one by one. Mix until thoroughly combined. 

Pour the batter into the prepared cupcake tins, filling each cup about 2/3 full. Bake for 22 to 28 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cupcake comes out clean. Mini cupcakes take about 12 to 15 minutes. Leave in the pan to cool for 5 minutes, then finish cooling on a wire rack.

If you’re all fancy like, chop your chocolate and put it in a heatproof bowl. If you’re lazy like me, pour chocolate chips into a bowl. Heat the cream until hot (simmering hot, not boiling) and pour over the chocolate. Let it sit for a minute and then whisk until smooth, heating on a double boiler if necessary to finish the melting job. Add the butter in small pieces, add in the whiskey and continue to whisk until combined. The amount of whiskey used is solely depending on your love of the stuff, so taste and add as you see fit.

Let the ganache cool, stirring every so often. Once it’s cool but still soft, you can use it as is or whip the shit out of it with a mixer until fluffy and it lightens in color a bit. It won’t take more than a few minutes.

Filling mini cupcakes is easiest with a giant star tip. Just stab-jam it in there and squeeze until starts oozing out the top. With normal size cupcakes, coring them works best. With a paring knife, take the middle core out and set aside to eat later. Then fill it in with filling, obviously. Regardless of cupcake size, I always add a little extra ganache to the top anyway and cover it with the frosting. Because why the %$@! not.

Time to frost, bitches. With a mixer, beat the softened butter, vanilla and about a tablespoon of Baileys. The Bailey’s flavor is fairly strong in this stuff so start there and you can add more as necessary. Slowly start adding the powdered sugar so you don’t create a snowstorm. Continue adding Baileys and/or milk to thin as needed and to taste, add powdered sugar to thicken to whatever thickness you prefer.

Pipe or spread or smear on the cupcakes and you’re @#%!@# ready to go. I love to use that same giant star tip to frost – it makes pretty swirls and quick work of the job.

I know the frosting recipe is pretty…non recipe, but it’s really a by feel thing without measurements, based on how much Baileys flavor you want and how thick you’ll need it, so. Deal with it. You can do it, I have faith in you.

*recipe components adapted mostly from Smitten Kitchen and a cupcake recipe I’ve had for years, pre-Pinterest, so I have no actual idea where it came from.

Any questions? Call your mom. That’s as good as I get when it comes to writing recipes. If you make these, I’d love to know what you think!

Just get ready to do a lot of dishes. Sorry.

The Aftermath. Doesn't even include the cupcake mess.

The Aftermath. Doesn’t even include the cupcake mess.

Photo Friday: The Announcement

Well, my $%!#!@ loyal readers who have stuck around, it’s time you knew about what I sort of alluded to with “having much to say this year” in my last post that was forever ago because that’s how I roll now.

Chalk Baby Announcement

Promotion or Demotion? YOU DECIDE.


!#%!#$ Baby Round Two. Electric @%##!ooo. Or something. I don’t know. I only get a half cup of coffee every morning so my creativity is about as awesomely creative as dryer lint.

We announced to our families at Christmas, wrapping a framed picture. Let me tell you, the photo turned out to be not as straightforward as I had originally thought and it took some dear family members way too long to figure it out.

Who know who you are.

Others screamed like banshees before the wrapping paper was off.

You know who you are.

So far the second pregnancy has been much like the first, except with some extra added heartburn and a few nights of not eating dinner after I cooked it because it smelled like feet.

Let me tell you something, however. I do not look like I did before. I’m 18 weeks as of today, and I do not look as glamorously fashionable as I did at 17.5 weeks last time. And it isn’t just because I spend all day in pajamas now.

Just be advised if you only have one kid so far and will someday have a second, people DO NOT LIE about the second popping sooner. It pretty much pops when you conceive. So that’s neat. You almost don’t need to pee on a stick.

I’ll try to get some comparison shots, but that requires getting dressed. And pants. Probably a shower. And makeup. #%$!# you guys, that’s a lot of work.

There you have it.

Is the world ready for #%!$ Baby 2.0? I guess we’ll find out somewhere around July 31!