525,600 Minutes

A Star Studded Event

A couple weeks ago, Mach One & JillyD attended the annual Halloween Bash thrown by our friends.  The invitation specifically states, "no half assed costumes" which means that your ass better show up dressed up in something.  Or you'll be mocked and ridiculed by nearly every inhabitant of our small town.  You'll most likely be mocked and ridiculed at some point anyway, but who the hell wants it to happen because you were too effing lame not to dress up for a Halloween party?  Not me, that's for damn sure.  So dress up we did.  JillyD came up with the idea and Mach One created and executed the idea.  Which means he made the costumes.  My man ~ he's a diamond in the rough.  Just sayin'...

 

We were candy bars.  You don't go through life as fat as I am without experiencing the pleasure of a candy bar every now and then.  But I'll go on record right now saying that Almond Joy and Mounds candy bars suck shit.  That coconut crap is foul.  I have food texture issues.  I actually have several issues but you already knew that, right?  Yeah, don't answer that.  Let's move on to the rest of the guest list, shall we?

Here are our hosts, Lisa Loopner and Stanley the Scout Master.  A perfect example of why you shouldn't don a Boy Scout or Girl Scout uniform once you've reached puberty.  It's just wrong and creepy.  And it should be against the law.

 

And what's a party without Sonny & Cher?  Nothing, that's what.  Can I just share the fact that Sonny's leisure suit was two sizes two small and required the whole ass to be cut out and re-sewn?  Poor Sonny.  Poor, dead Sonny.  And Cher is looking pretty damn good for an old broad, don't you think?  What is she now?  Like 80 or something?  Sonny's dead and Cher's eighty.  What the hell is the world coming to? 

 

Sarah & Todd Palin took the day off from shooting wolves from helicopters in Alaska to hang out with the homies.  Did you know that they can see Russia from their house? 

 

JillyD caught Sarah having an interesting conversation with none other than....

SATAN.  Based on last night's results, it didn't help her cause, now did it.  Don't fuck around with Lucifer, Sarah ~ just sayin'.  There's Trig in the Trig or Treat bag.  Hi Trig.  Don't make eye contact with Satan, k?

Peg & Al Bundy stopped by...

 

As did our local clergy....

 

And we highly encouraged these kids to steer clear of the local clergy.  Just sayin'...

A lot of networking took place at the party.  For example, Peg tried to weasel a spot on the local bowling team.  She even brought her own cigarettes...

 

But the bowling team is full.  Doris told Peg to back her bitch ass off because Stella is her partner, dammit and she'll kick Peg's ass if she even thinks about moving in on Stella.  Bowlers are very protective of their partners.  Didn't know that did ya?  That's why I'm here ~ to educate the masses.

 

Speaking of educating the masses.  Who doesn't love Sarah Palin? 

 

About 3/4 of Americans that's who.  But I'm not bitter. 

And in case you were wondering about the choice of costumes for Mach One & JillyD, this should clear things up for you.  He was Almond Joy and I was Mounds because ... wait for it ...

The Girl found this highly inappropriate.  I found it funny as hell.  Big surprise.

What Happens in China, Stays in China

Unless of course you're BFF's with JillyD.  If that's the case, what happens in China not only doesn't stay in China but ends up as fodder on JillyD's blog.  Just sayin'.  Such is the case for my pal, Pocket Aces.  Pocket Aces - he's my BFF, Jenni in the Hood's love monkey.  Speaking of a love monkey - and we were weren't we - raise your hand if you know what these are...

 

Anyone, anyone?  Let's work with the monkey theme shall we?  Let's move from love monkey to hmmm, let's see.  How about spankin' the monkey?  What's the main organ involved when one "spanks the monkey?"  Ding, ding, ding.  Or should I say, dong, dong, dong?  Give yourself 5 points if you correctly answered, "Weiner, Alex."  Give yourself an extra 5 points if you answered in the form of a question.  Like this, "What is a weiner, Alex?"  And you'll get an extra 2 points if you actually said "penis" instead of "weiner."  But seriously, penis is so formal, don't you think?  We're going with wiener, because let's face it, we're all friends right?  No need for formal, medical terms here.  Especially ones that involve the word penis.  But back to China.

If you'll recall, weiners are served up on a regular basis in China.  As in people eat them.  Raise your hand if you've ever eaten a weiner.  Wait.  On second thought, I don't need to know that about you.  Really, I don't need to know.  Let me rephrase that.  Have you ever eaten a DONKEY weiner?  There, I feel so much better about the inappropriatness of that question.  So, have you?  Personally, I have not.  Because I'd still be puking if I did - just sayin'.  But even though I personally haven't had the pleasure of eating a donkey weiner, I know someone who has.  Guess who that might be? 

 

Oh hi, Pocket Aces and your friends.  How's that weiner tasting?  Pocket Aces is the stud on your right.  I have no effin' idea who the hell the other dudes are.  Fellow weiner eaters, that's all I know.  And I'm I the only one that finds their happiness in said weiner eating to be highly disturbing?  You'd think they would be much sadder at the thought of a donkey weiner heading toward their oral cavity - just sayin'.

So here's the story as relayed to me by my BFF, Jenni in the Hood.  Pocket Aces - who whisked my BFF half way across the fuckin' world, but I'm not bitter - went on some "work" function with his fellow weiner eaters.  Notice the quotations marks around work.  That's JillyD being sarcastic.  It rarely happens, I know.  Anyway, part of the "team building" - there's those quotes again - revolved around an Amazing Race type of activity.  Through fuckin' scary ass China.  Can you imagine?  I'm breaking out in hives just thinking about it.  Apparently part of the Chinese Amazing Race that was taking place under the guise of work, brought Pocket Aces and his partners in crime to a weiner serving restaurant.  Where they had to pick out a weiner to consume.  Do you think you pick out a wiener like you choose a lobster from the tank?  Do you go for the one with the greatest girth?  Or the Slim Jim?  Or the Tiny Tim.  Let's see what Pocket Aces went with.  Here are the options...

 

And the winner is...

 

Bottom row, fourth weiner from the left.  Definitely Tiny Tim.  Smart choice, my friend.

Can we take a brief moment to discuss why the nuts are encased in a clam shell?  What the hell is up with that?  Even the donkeys are worried about protecting the family jewels.  It's like a cup for amputated weiners.  Two words.  Highly. Disturbing.  Highly. 

Pocket Aces and the weiner eaters had their own personal chef.  Pocket Aces and the Weiner Eaters.  That sounds like a band, doesn't it?  I, for one, would buy their CD - just sayin'.  So here's their chef preparing the "chosen one"...

   

Why does the image of Lorena Bobbett keep flashing in my mind?  Because I'm clearly deranged.  Clearly.  But seriously, wasn't she the first person you thought of?  You know you did.

So once said weiner has been chopped into yummy, bite size morsels, they were delivered to the anxiously awaiting patrons.  Who as I said, look pretty damn happy to be eating Eyeore's schlong...

  

Even the chef is happy.  Or is he just mocking them?  I think we all know the answer to that, don't we?

Backwards Baseball Hat seems very interested in fondling the weiner that he's not eating.  What the hell is up with that?  Creeper...

   

Look - he's showing Pocket Aces the length of the weiner.  He's telling Pocket Aces that the poor weiner-less donkey has nothing on him, dammit.  He's telling Pocket Aces that his backwards wearing baseball hat weiner is a helluva lot bigger then that damn donkeys.  Seriously, he is.  I can read his lips.  He's saying, "My weiner is MUCH bigger, Pocket Aces."  At least the other guy has the sense to attempt to cover his eyes since he has zero interest - let's say it again, Joe Biden - zero interest in the length and or girth of Backward Baseball Hat's weiner.

But Backward Baseball Hat won't let it go.  "Look, camera man, my weiner is bigger than this weiner."  And as a side note, is Pocket Aces eating a nut?  I'm sure the delicious dipping sauce has made him completely forget that he's getting ready to ingest a sperm filled nut.  I think I just puked a little in my mouth.  How about you?

And here's the money shot...

The shot that ultimately made them victorious in the Amazing Race.  You read that right.  Pocket Aces and his team won the race.  But they ate a weiner.  So are they really winners?  I'm thinking no.  But that's just me.  And he's only been there for a little over a month.  I'm not sure what to expect a year from now.  But you damn well know that I'll share it with you.  Because what happens in China won't stay in China.  It will end up on an American blog near you.  Just sayin'...

She's Gone

My BFF is gone.  And my heart is broken.  I love you Jenni from the Hood.  Don't forget to remember me, ok?

Where in the World is JillyD?

Yesterday morning at 4:03 AM - please take special note of the AM part - JillyD was kidnapped.  Ambushed in her own bed.  And JillyD sleeps naked - so you can imagine the surprise that the ambushers got - just sayin'.  Is "ambusher" a word?  If it's not, it should be.  It's much kinder and gentler then "kidnapper" don't you think?

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to figure out "Where in the World is JillyD?"  Here's a clue:

You'll notice that JillyD is in no danger - that should make your heart sing.  So now you know the kidnappers, um, I mean ambushers were a friendly roving tribe of pygmies.  Or were they pygmies at all?  That's part of the mystery now, isn't it?

Three more clues before JillyD must depart for the day.  She was last seen with this kid - who sadly enough could only fit two fingers up his nose - it's always so much more fun when they try to go for 3 or 4...

And this family wants JillyD to come live with them and be their mother and love slave - er, I mean wife...

What the hell is on this guys head?  Is that a dead beaver?  And do those kids curl those tendril things with a curling iron?  And is JillyD going to hell for mocking people - particularly spiritual people?  I think we already know the answer to the hell question... 

So there you have it - your first set of clues.  If you know where JillyD is - keep your trap shut, ok?  Let the others play along or I'll kick your ass out of the sandbox.  More clues coming to soon to a blog near you.

But in the meantime, please know that JillyD is safe and has the BEST BFF on the planet.

BFFs

One month.  Thirty days.  That's how long it's been since I logged into this site.  The blog started to get on my nerves a little.  And hell, let's face it - if I'm even bugging myself, then I'm pretty damn sure that I'm bugging all of you too.  Except I discovered that I actually wasn't bugging you guys.  You all missed me.  I was getting calls to make sure that I wasn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere.  That was very sweet in a macabre sort of way.

The truth is, I was really tired.  Tired of a lot of things that I carry around on a daily basis.  Stuff that I don't like to talk about but it's there anyway.  It's like the big, pink elephant in the room.  So I decided to take a hiatus from a lot of stuff.  Hell, if the Hollywood writers can boycott life, I can too, right?  I just forgot to mention it to all my faithful readers - most of whom probably gave up on me already.  If you did, that's ok.  If you didn't, thanks for sticking with me.  But I'm back on top now and I have no plans of losing my place again. 

So a new blog deserves a new look, right?  Do you like the purple, Miami Vice theme?  Pretty '80's isn't it?  I like it and I'm keeping it - until I get sick of it.  Which might be tomorrow or thirty days from now.  Who knows?  Not even me - and I pay for this damn blog.  The mystery is part of the fun, wouldn't you agree? 

I also like the Miami theme because it reminds me of my recent vacation.  We spent a fantabulous week in Vero Beach, Florida over Spring Break.  It was like heaven.  There's something very healing about the ocean.  At least there is for JillyD.  Others may find it scary and ominous - with or without the shark issue.  We spent a few days of our vacation with my BFF, Jenni in the Hood and her lovely brood.  We polished off 4 gallons of margaritas and the biggest freaking bottle of Grey Goose that I've ever seen.  Now I know exactly what Fergie is talking about when she sings, "The Grey Goose got your girl feeling loose."  Yes, indeedy - I know exactly what she means.

Here's me and my BFF.  I love her a lot...

I think I should have used a little more sunscreen - just sayin'.  I look like a tomato for shit sake.

And here's the other set of BFFs - that would be The Girl and Jenni's middle child, SammyMaiz.  Or Laverne & Shirley as we like to call them.  Because they really are going to portray Laverne & Shirley in the school's USO show.  You just might get a video of that masterpiece when it happens...

I think someone should have taken a picture of Jenni & JillyD jumping the waves.  In our thong bikinis.  Can you possibly imagine that you missed out on that?

Plan on seeing more vacation pictures coming to a blog near you.  Or I might switch it up a little and tell you about the freak out kid that showed The Boy his penis during recess at the Catholic school they attend.  It will depend on my mood - just sayin'.

A little bit of Wii (mixed with some hard liquor)

Have you ever Wii'ed?  Not "wee" as in dropping the contents of your bladder.  Lord knows we've all done that.  Some of us in some very inopportune places, I might add.  But I'm not talking about bodily functions right now - although that sounds like a fun topic for another day.  But for today, let's talk about the Wii, shall we?

What the hell does "Wii" stand for?  I have no freaking idea.  Probably because I don't own a Wii.  Nor do I want to.  Seriously.  My extremely high moral standards and ethics prohibit me from falling victim to the Wii feeding frenzy.  You can't freaking tell me that the Nintendo people can't possibly keep up with the Wii demand.  They've been manufacturing the damn thing for a couple years.  Instead, they create this supply & demand fiasco that results in people killing one another over the video game.  That's just not right.  Bastards - all of them.  So while I won't fall prey to the Wii frenzy myself, I have no problem playing the units that my friends fell prey to - I mean purchased for their families.  I told you I had high morals - just sayin'.

Have you ever seen anyone play a Wii?  It will make you pee your pants as you burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter.  Wait - that's it!  That's why they call it a Wii.  Because the spectators wee their pants at your expense.  Damn, I'm so glad I cleared that up.  Are you ready to pee your pants?  Or maybe wee your pants?  Here are a few Wii photos of those I hold most near & dear....

God, I'm fat.  I feel better having said that out loud.  Here's me, JillyD and Carmine Ragusa slugging it out at Yo's house.  Look at my face.  Isn't that lovely?  The nice, demure, classy flower that I am.  I was kicking Carmine's ass.  I could do it in real life too - just sayin'...

Here's The Boy and Mach One.  Same barbaric boxing game.  Father and son going to blows.  Hopefully this isn't some type of self-fulfilling prophecy.  And can I point out my son's sleeve.  What the hell is that all over the kid?  I think it's paint.  On the brand. new. sweater.  He's going to be the death of me, that one...

   

The fruit of my womb.  Beating the shit out of each other - figuratively speaking, of course.  The Boy is still slathered in paint and apparently The Girl felt compelled to put on her best drag queen duds for the Wii adventure.  While a party hat and plastic lei aren't required, they sure make anything a hell of alot more fun, don't they?  Indeed they do...

Everything needs a grand finale.  Including the Wii playing.  I've dubbed this one, "KO" because apparently The Boy really thinks that he's beating the hell out of his sister.  I think this might be a left hook.  Too bad he's right handed.  Maybe somebody should have mentioned that to him so he wouldn't have lost to a girl in a purple, sparkly party hat...

If you haven't Wii'ed, give it a try.  And take pictures.  And send them to me.  So I can Wii in my pants right along with you.

Welcome to 2008 - JillyD Style!

Happy New Year!  2008 - good God, I'm turning 40 this year. 

So I've decided to keep the old blog up and running.  Thanks for all of you who stroked my ego yesterday.  I'm the youngest child in my clan and I'm used to being adored.  So I just wanted to make sure that you did in fact adore me.  Which it sounds like you do.  And I adore you back.  So continue I shall.  Who wants to share in JillyD's New Years Eve celebration? 

This is my friend, Yo!  I heart Yo.  Yo gets me and I get her.  And she cracks my ass up - just sayin'.  Yo threw a bash at her house last night.  We left at 1:15 am and it appeared as though Yo's house had regurgitated its contents in the form of confetti.  Doesn't the word "regurgitate" make you want to gag?  Or maybe that gagging feeling is a by product of the gallons of margaritas that I consumed on the last day of 2007.

Ah yes, here are the said margaritas.  Served up by my buddy, Billy Boy.  Yo sleeps with him.

The pope came to party with us.  Yes, I realize that's he's dead.  But he was there in spirit.  Along with the Madonna.  Not "Madonna" - the Madonna.  What the hell kind of parties do you think Yo & Billy Boy throw?  Good Catholic, margarita drinking parties, that's what kind.  Come to think of it, maybe Madonna would like to be on the invitee list next year.

The food was incredible.  A bevy of seafood.  What exactly is a bevy?  I'm not quite sure.  I'm pretty sure it's like a shitload.  And of course, weiners.  You can't have a party without weiners now, can you?  Here's Yo eating a weiner.  She's a natural, isn't she?

Remember that confetti that was puked up over every square inch of Yo's house?  The Girl remembers it.  I think she might be crapping out confetti for the next week or so - just sayin'...

So from our crazy family to yours - Happy New Year!  We wish you all the peace & happiness in the world.  And all the margaritas too...

Party Like a Rock Star - Part II (Finally!)

*tap* *tap* - is this thing on?  Are JillyD's fans still out there?  Sorry about the light years in between posts.  But I appreciate all of the words of harrassment and beratement that you left in the comments.  Beratement - is that a word?  It is now - just sayin'.  Who wants to continue to party like a rock star?  Or at least see JillyD partying like a rock star?  Perhaps I should rename this "crash & burn" since that's where I'm heading.  Join me in the carnage, won't you?

Where did I leave off?  Ah yes, the food.  I'm still damn full and that was two weeks ago.  And I'm a BIG girl - I can throw down on some food.  You don't get this fat just eating salad and shit.  So the food was orgasmic - we've already discussed that, correct?  And booze - have we discussed the liquor intake?  Even Mach One's presents involved a few libations.  Bombay Sapphire Gin, for one.  Apparently Trixe' Shorte is ready to vomit at the thought of ingesting any more gin.  And I'm only guessing this by the look on her face.  Or maybe it's not the gin.  Maybe Mach One has body odor.  What say you?  Does Trixe' hate gin or does she think my husband smells like ass?  Please leave your guess in the comments.

If you guessed that Mach One smells like ass, you're wrong.  And you're banned from the blog.  Mach One smells freaking fantastic.  Even my BFF, Jenni agrees with me.  Or she's trying to put the moves on my man.  Once again, please leave your guess in the comments.  Is Jenni just confirming that Mach One doesn't smell like poop?  Or is she trying to get frisky with my lawfully wedded husband?  All this and we haven't even reached the hot tub yet.  It only goes downhill from here - just sayin'...

Have you ever noticed that a ridiculous amount of liquor brings out the adolescent male in most people?  Seriously.  Too much liquor turns anyone into a 14 year old boy.  Including nuns.  And we all know what 14 year old boys think about 24/7, right?  Raise your hand if you know what this is?

Did you guess Carmine's hairy ass?  If you did, you got the Carmine and the hairy right.  Thank God for small favors that it's not his ass.  Although he wants you to think it is.  I'm almost embarrassed to say that we spent a good 30 minutes taking picture of each other's arms - trying to make them look like asses.  Did I mention that we're 40?  Well, I'm not - but the rest of those old codgers are.  Somewhere along the line, we discoverd that arms looking like asses wasn't nearly as fun as boobs looking like asses.  Like these.  Any guesses as to who these hooters belong to?  I'll give you a hint - they're not mine.  And I'm almost embarrassed to have photos of my friend's boobs on my camera.  Not to mention the blog.  But since they're not my boobs, who the hell cares?

The boobs started to get on my nerves so I decided to take a dive back into my margarita glass.  At this point in the evening, about 3/4 of the gallon had been consumed by me, JillyD.  Singlehandedly.  That's a shitload of dead brain cells.  Brain cells don't regenerate, do they?  Special Olympics, here I come...

After Jenni got done putting the moves on Mach One, she decided to teach us a new card game.  Called "Asshole."  Why the hell would anyone want to play a game called "Asshole?"  Since I ended up being said "asshole" during the entire effing game, I'll answer that question.  Because I had consumed a gallon of margaritas, that's why.  Nothing really seems like too bad of an idea when I'm chilling with my homey, Jose Cuervo.  Here's me, the asshole, and Trixe' agreeing with the fact that I'm an asshole.  What the hell?  I'm just realizing that she's agreeing that I'm the asshole.  Nothing like a delayed reaction.  Now I'll have to kick her ass for something that happened two weeks ago.  I hate when that happens...

Mach One doesn't think I'm an asshole.  He loves me.  Or maybe he does think I'm an asshole and he's just trying to get lucky.  You decide...

Things started to really tank when Carmine started thrusting shot glasses into this asshole's hand - I mean, my hand.  I don't even know what the hell I was drinking.  That's a problem, isn't it - when you drink something that you don't know what it is?  I'm thinking that people are generally advised against that.  But Jenni was drinking it and I was trying to be a good friend.  Yeah, that's it.  I caved to peer pressure.  It was her fault - that damn Jenni.  Trying to corrupt me - and make out with my husband.  It's a damn good thing that I love her - and that she makes an orgasm inducing beef tenderloin.

By 2:30 am there wasn't much left to do.  Except for go in the hot tub.  Mach One & I borrowed some swimsuits in case you were wondering.  Public nudity isn't my thing.  But if I would have had one more of those red shots, I wouldn't have been responsible for my actions - just sayin'.  I'm sure Carmine is making a note right now - make sure that JillyD gets TWO of those shots the next time.  Nice try, Carmine.  But we don't have to take our clothes off to have a good time.  We could dance and party all night - and drink some cherry wine.  Cherry wine - so that's what the hell that red stuff was.  Raise your hand if you're glad that the mystery has been solved.  Raise your hand if you want to see me in a borrowed bathing suit in the hot tub.  It's not pretty.  Don't say I didn't warn you...

Sorry if that made you puke.  It makes me puke too.  But misery loves company.

So there you have it - party like a rock, party like a rock star.  Two weeks later and I'm still recovering.  I'm such a damn lightweight.  Except that I'm fat.  I'm a fat, lightweight.  Which makes me an oxymoron.  But you already knew that.

Party Like a Rock Star - Part I

Guess what time I went to bed on Saturday.  Go ahead, guess.  Would it help any if I gave you a hint?  Ok, here you go.  I actually didn't go to bed on Saturday - technically it was Sunday.  Guesses?  Anyone, anyone, Bueller?  If you said 4:00 am, you would be correct.  4:00 effing a.m.  Who the hell do I think I am?  The last time I was up at 4:00 a.m., I asked the same question.  Who the hell do I think I am?  Seriously.  I clearly don't think that I'm an overweight, damn near forty year old.  If I'm not saving the world from the injustice of little bastards toilet papering the planet, then I'm partying like a rock star with my BFF and the rest of my homies.  I should consider acting my age, shouldn't I?  Don't answer that. 

On Saturday night, my BFF, Martha Stewart threw a surprise birthday party for Mach One.  Actually it wasn't Martha Stewart, it was Jenni in the Hood.  But Martha Stewart's got nothing on Jenni, believe you me.  Except for a criminal record and a girlfriend in prison.  But other than that, Jenni and Martha could be twins.  Did you know that Martha has a foul mouthed daughter who spends obscene amounts of money each month trying to get knocked up?  With no sign of a husband in sight? No shit, I saw her on Oprah.  But back to the party.  So my BFF decides that she's going to surprise my perfect husband with a party for his 40th birthday.  Remember, he turned 40 three days after his colon was tucked back into his abdominal cavity where it properly belongs?  Jenni decided that after all Mach One's guts were tucked away safely, it was time to celebrate.  Actually celebrate is an understatement - we partied like rock stars.  Middle aged, overweight, rockstars.  It was like a Van Halen reunion.  Let's pretend you were there, ok?

Let me introduce you to all of our hot ass husbands.  Mach One, you know.  He's mine so keep your mitts off or I'll have to kick your ass - just sayin'.  Next to him is The Judge.  He really is a judge.  So if I ever get my fat ass into trouble, I know who to call.  And I just happen to be his second favorite Jill.  And I'm only second because his wife is his first.  I'd be the first if his wife was named LuluBelle but she's not.  So whatev.  Then there's Rocky - he sleeps with Yo.  And everyones favorite poker star, Pocket Aces - he's Jenni's bedfellow.  And last, but certainly never least, is Carmine Ragusa.  The Big Ragu - with an emphasis on BIG.  George, Brad, Matt and those other Ocean's 11 dudes have nothing on our guys.  Except a lot more money but who's counting?

Behind every hot looking dude is a beautifully thin, exceptionally brilliant sex kitten of a wife.  Did I mention thin?  Super thin.  Damn near anorexic thin.  You got the point - we're all thin.  At least we think we're all thin and we try to convince our stud muffin husbands of the same.  I think we've got them convinced.  Either that or they're terrified of a life of celibacy.  Whatever works - just sayin'.  Here are my homies:  The first favorite Jill, Yo!, Jenni in the Hood, JillyD and Trixe' Shorte'.  Here's a question for you - why the hell am I so tall?  Never mind fat but for God sake I'm like a freaking Amazon queen compared to these shrimpettes.  Maybe I should be a model?  For Omar's tent shop, maybe...

Here's my birthday boy. *Sigh* - he's perfect.

Have I mentioned that I'm not very mature?  It's very hard to believe, I know.  This blog just oozes maturity.  Jenni likes to pretend that we're mature and all.  Look at the table she set.  It's like a grown up table.  Set with 84 different forks and real napkins and no crayons.  And little decorative pumpkins with our names on them so that we knew where to sit.  This was especially helpful after I polished off my 4th margarita.  At least I still knew what my name was, dammit.  Give me some credit for that.  I'm a rock star, remember?

Speaking of margaritas, look at the trough that I was drinking out of all night long.  It was so much more than a glass.  I'm pretty sure that Jenni bathed her newborns in it.  That glass allowed me to polish off a gallon of margaritas all by myself.  That's because the other lushes in attendance were mature and all, sipping on red wine.  JillyD hates the wine but loves the margaritas.  Again, that should come as a surprise to you.  I drank a gallon and the other alcoholics polished off 10 bottles of wine.  I think we all may become friends of Bill W's in the not too distant future.  Hello, my name is JillyD...

The meal.  The meal was like a sexual experience and I'm not kidding.  I'll just say it.  It was orgasm inducing.  There, I said it.  It started out with the squash soup with a reduced sour cream cider added sauce stuff.  I don't know what the hell it was but it was to die for.  Never in my damn near 40 years on the planet would I think that I'd like squash soup.  It sounds a little gross, doesn't it?  But it took every ounce of self control that I had to not lick the inside of the bowl.  I started to and then Mach One shot me the look and I wiped the overflow from my chin and set the bowl down and hung my head in shame.  He's so proper, that Mach One.

Next up - the salad.  The salad had glazed apples that were out of this freaking world.  I kept trying to distract Mach One by flashing my boobs at him so that I could snag his apples.  That sounds a little sexual, doesn't it?  Snagging his apples.  Sadly enough, my boobs were no competition for the apples.  He didn't fall for it.  My boobs were outdone by Jenni's salad - just sayin'. 

A party is only as good as the host.  And in this case, the host was doubling as the chef and a miner or a gynecologist.  We're not sure which but all of us gals crossed our legs at the ankles every time Pocket Aces mosied into our personal space.  Apparently Pocket Aces uses this contraption when he's out blasting the shit out of Bambi.  He tried to do that yesterday and as luck would have it, the planets aligned and Pocekt Aces forgot his headlamp during his hunting trip.  So Bambi made it out alive - if only for one more day.  Run, Bambi, Run.

Have I mentioned that I'm an anomoly?  I might have once or twice.  While I root for Bambi to escape the clutches of Pocket Aces, I clearly have no issue with old Bessie's ass making her way onto my plate.  In the form of beef tenderloin.  Which is an excellent segue into our main course.  That would be beef tenderloin with fresh green beans almondine and a twice baked potato.  Sheer perfection...

   

I'll wait while you dab the drool from your chin.  Ok - are we all set?  Good deal.  The tenderloin was complemented by something called "zip" sauce.  Jenni wouldn't share the recipe because she said she would have to kill us all if she did.  And that would have been a lot of corpses to dispose of - just sayin'.  I don't know what the hell was in this stuff but I wanted to submerge by entire body into the gravy boat.  If I find the recipe, I'll be wearing it as perfume from this day forward.  For better, for worse.  For richer, for poorer.  I think I'm planning on marrying the zip sauce.  Mach One won't mind - he's willing to pimp me out to the zip sauce as long as he gets to indulge himself.  The zip sauce was that effing incredible.

Just when we were certain that we had died and all of us had actually escaped the burning fires of hell - big surprise there - dessert showed up.  In the form of a layered, trifle thing that has been dubbed "Better Than Sex."  I've had sex - and I've had this dessert.  If I could have this dessert while having sex my life would be complete.  Actually, if I could have this dessert while curled up on the couch watching Grey's Anatomy, my life would be even more complete.  It may even be more complete then the sex thing - but don't tell Mach One, k?

So there you have it, the best meal that I've ever consumed.  And I didn't get this chubby by not eating - just sayin'.  After we managed the roll ourselve out of the dining room, the fun really kicked into high gear....

Part II of Party Like a Rock Star will continue tomorrow.  Hot tubs and hooters are on the agenda.  Be here or be square.

The Perfect Day

Yesterday was a perfect day for JillyD and her spawn.  Perfect days don't happen very often.  There's generally some fuckwit who has to damn near run into you or call your kid a jerk - and poof - there goes the perfect day.  Bastards.  But every now & then, the planets align and a sense of peace and perfectness prevails.  And I caught damn near every perfect moment on the memory stick.  I present to you "Our Perfect Day" courtesy of my BFF, Jenni in the Hood and the fruit of her womb...

The day started with a perfect water fight.  T-Rex & The Boy ooze testosterone.  All boys, those two.  And what better way to control that surge of testosterone then to try and drown your buddy?  Chicks have no concept of this.  Why the hell would we throw water at each other and run the risk of messing up each other's hair and/or makeup?  Dudes, on the other hand - it's like a term of endearment.  If I try to drown you man, it means I love you.  Boys are weird.  I love them and wouldn't want to live my life without them.  But they're a little weird - just sayin'...

In less then 30 minutes, the boys had enough of trying to drown each other.  Who would be the next easy prey?  Thinking, thinking.  Ah yes - their sisters.  What better way to express your sibling love then to douse your unsuspecting sister with a bucket of water over her head?  Why would she be pissed?  I can't imagine.  So the boys turned on the girls and the whole debacle turned into basically, a debacle.  I love the word debacle.  It's right up there with buffoon.  Back to the perfect day.  Here are my two perfect children.  Aren't they lovely?  And so deeply compatible...

In the midst of the war, I spotted this little fella in all of his perfectness.  Of course he was nearly drowned by the tsunami that was created by the spawn.  But I managed to capture him before his ass was damn near swept away.  And he did manage to escape, just in case you were uber-concerned about him.  No animals are ever harmed in JillyD's blog.  Unless they're sparrows - but they don't count.

Once the thrill of trying to drown those who share your same gene pool was over, the brothers & sisters decided that they could cohabitat with one another as long as it was on an oversized air mattress that was drug (or is it dragged?) behind a speeding boat going 50 mph.  What better place to profess your sibling love?  Notice how the girls are in the front and the boys not only get to look at their sister's booties during the entire ride, but they get kicked in the head by their flailing legs as well.  Birth order - it's a bitch. 

The perfect sky - it went quite well with my perfect margarita, my perfect children and my perfect BFF and her perfect kids.  While we're at it, let's just say that I have the perfect figure too.  Ok?  Work with me, people.  It's my perfect day, dammit.  And on my perfect day, I have the perfect figure.  My day - my rules.

And every perfect day should end with a popsicle.  That should be a law.  Somebody needs to send a bill to the Senate or something.  My perfect day ended with a popsicle - and a margarita.  But since anyone over the age of puberty looks obscene eating a popsicle, I decided to spare you the photographic evidence of me devouring mine.  But since The Boy is still in the pre-pubescent phase, he can pull it off.  So just pretend this is me.  Except that I'd be wearing a shirt to cover up my perfect boobs.  Remember my rules about my perfect day?  Right-o - perfect boobs it is.

Thanks to Jenni & The Jets for setting the scene for our perfect day.  Next time, maybe you'll see Jenni and JillyD on the tube.  We look perfect in our bathing suits - just sayin'.