The Chocolate Drawer

There’s the Bermuda Triangle, there’s the Black Hole, and then readers, then there’s the Chocolate Drawer. It has been said that in the Chocolate Drawer, a number of pieces of chocolate of various types and sizes have disappeared under mysterious circumstances. The Chocolate Drawer can be found in a part of the world that few dare to travel to for fear that they will never return and readers, that part of the world, is My Refrigerator.

For those of you daring enough to try to navigate the Chocolate Drawer, be warned and plan your trip carefully. You probably want to avoid visiting during, or immediately after Halloween, Christmas, and Valentine’s Day. These are times when the chocolate drawer is particularly treacherous and may even overflow to other regions of the refrigerator that can also be dangerous for completely different reasons. These regions include The Fruit Drawer, The Refrigerator Door, and even The Freezer.

They say there is an evil ogre who keeps guard over the Chocolate Drawer. She is known by several monikers including ‘She Who Guards the Fridge Evilly’, ‘She Who Holds the Key to the Chocolate Drawer’, ‘Satan’s Guardian of All That Is Chocolate’, and ‘Rock N’ Roll Supermom’. (what??) Also, beware her two winged monkeys who can’t seem to keep their grubby little hands out of the drawer, and can become vicious if provoked.

Very few have visited the Chocolate Drawer and returned. While popular culture has attributed various disappearances, supernatural activity, and even the presence of extraterrestrial beings to the Chocolate Drawer, scientific evidence can only support the occasional staining of clothing, chocolate beards and mustaches, and of course, mild to severe stomach aches.

Those of you who still show interest in visiting the Chocolate Drawer should be well aware of all the risks you are subjecting yourself to. The Surgeon General of the Chocolate Drawer (because there is one of those you know) warns: Visits to The Chocolate Drawer May Be Hazardous to Your Health, Side Effects of Visiting the Chocolate Drawer May Include Addiction, Head Rushes, Weight Gain and of course Death, Do Not Make Eye Contact with Rock N’ Roll Supermom, and above all, Do Not Pet or Feed the Monkeys….BUT I SAY…

If you’re going to die of something, it may as well be chocolate.


A Rare Photo of the Chocolate Drawer

Frying Pans And A Knife

It was Emily Anne’s birthday you see
She was such a devoted wife
And though she dreamed of lovely lingerie
Her husband brought frying pans and a knife.

She looked at him in wonderment
And said “What am I to do with these things?”
“Make us a lovely dinner you will
And we will eat like kings.”

The next day Emily Anne slaved away
To make a delicious meal to eat
She admired the weight of the frying pans
The ease of the knife cutting meat.

And so her husband came home that night
To a meal prepared so grandly
And he asked her how she liked her new gifts
“Oh I think they will come in quite handy!”

He retired to the sitting room
Belly full and clear of mind
Never fully expecting fate
To creep up from behind.

The frying pan came down on his head
The cut to his throat so swift
Reminding all men to think carefully
When picking their wife a gift.


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They’ll Probably Kill Me (A Music Vlog Starring Moi)

A music vlog dedicated to all the women who feel like they have to be everything to everyone.

I ain’t gonna do the laundry so there
My husband will probably kill me
He won’t have no clean underwear
I know he’ll probably kill me

What do I care? Not a lot
I’ll just put on something hot
My husband will probably kill me today

I burnt the dinner again today
My kids will probably kill me
It was frozen pizza anyway
I know they’ll probably kill me

If they’re mad or if they’re hurt
I’ll just give them chocolate cake for dessert
I know they’ll probably kill me today

Wrote something dirty on Facebook today
My mom will probably kill me
I’m a big girl but anyway
I know she’ll probably kill me

I don’t know but I have a hunch
If I try to be nice and take her out to lunch
My mom will probably kill me anyway.

I’m Breaking Up With You Because…

This was actually one of the first blogs I wrote and today’s Daily Prompt inspired me to reblog it. (Hope that isn’t cheating.)

Recently, I was inspired by a blog written by new favorite blogger The Office In Betweener ( (If you haven’t read his blog you really should). He said he was trying to follow a blog written by a woman who was trying to go on 30 dates by the time she was 30 and blogging about them.

This does seem like an interesting premise for a blog and it made me reflect on the many, many dates I went on when I was younger. However, being on the rock n’ roll dating scene, they weren’t so much dates as a series of glorified booty calls. Still, my experiences prepared me a virtual pupu platter of men which I sampled without the complications of a full on relationship.

The problem, or maybe not the problem, but one of the desired outcomes, is that these relationships often fizzle out rather than coming to an ugly ending in which you tell each other how you really feel.  However, sometimes I wish I could tell them what idiots (cute idiots, but idiots nonetheless) they appeared to be at various times. So here I go, vicariously making fools of all of them in open Dear John letters. I will change the names to protect the innocent.

Dear Eddie,

Because you have a mommy complex, because it is not cute to put the adjective ‘Little’ before your name when we all know you are about 5 years older than most of the people in the club, and because 5’2 is definitely too short for a man.

Dear Jamie,

Because I really can’t be with a guy who can’t tear himself away from a mirror, who takes longer to get ready in the morning then I do, who may be gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and if not missed a really good opportunity, and, oh yeah, who has a very obvious nose job.

Dear Marc,

Because you really need to get a car. I simply can’t be driving you home every time after we hook up. Also, the glam heavy metal thing is kind of getting old. I suggest you update your look and seriously look into a day job. You’re really getting a bit long in the tooth for all this.

Dear Tracy,

Because you didn’t take your shirt off when we…you know, but I could still see that your quite overweight. Because you made funny noises when you…you know, and just because you had somewhat of a career back in the 90s, your really not all that.

Dear  Kurt,

Because the 90s are calling and they want their dread locks back. Because you blasted rap music at top volume in the car when we were driving home (and not even cool, rock type rap). Because you live way out in the valley and think it’s cool. Because I don’t like the fact that your huge dog sleeps in the bed. And, oh yeah, because you’re a stupid idiot!!

Thanks. I feel much better now!!




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Sex Dreams

Oh repulsive little man
What did I ever do?
For what crime am I doing time
To be working in an office with you?

Yet it isn’t your revolting form
But a mind that does betray
And keeps my eyes from meeting yours
When I see you in the office today

Is it my extreme hatred of you
That fueled my dream of passion?
I always thought of you as beneath me
But never in that fashion.



You may be in your car
Trying to be discreet
You don’t know I’m watching you
As you hide it beneath your seat

You can say you were scratching an itch
Whatever excuse you plead
I think Seinfeld said it best
“If we pick do we not bleed?”

Some say it is good for you
Others say it’s gross
What your take on it may be
Only the nose knows

You can hide it in the couch
Or in between your toes
Remember you can pick your friends
But you can’t pick your friends nose.

The Lego Movie: Not Everything Is Awesome

So there I was, dear readers, shuffling into the movie theater, with the Weekend Warriors, the yokels and rubes, and the many, many, many snot nosed kids. Obviously I was operating under the false pretenses that, being that the movie had already been running a week, and that we were catching the 10AM show, it would be anything less than packed.

Immediately, upon entering the theater, I broke the second cardinal rule of the Anti-Social Club, which is Thou Shalt Not Sit Next to A Stranger. Fortunately, the stranger must have been an honorary member of The Club as well, as both of us spent the entirety of the movie clinging for dear life to our respective arm rests. Oh, for the price of resting our feet on the unoccupied seats of the handicapped section in front of us…TOTALLY WORTH IT!!

Of course about 10 minutes into the movie I had to repress the urge to get up and scream, “Listen people, if your kid can’t keep quiet for 2 hours, they do not belong in a movie theater!”  Let me tell you reader, it was a lucky thing I suppressed this urge as it was clear I was sorely outnumbered, and probably would have been pelted by a barrage of undigested popcorn, soggy breast pads and dirty diapers.

Now I know that children’s movies can sometimes be amusing. However, if you are over the age of 18, and find yourself guffawing loudly at the jokes, especially when you are the only one in the theater doing so, I sincerely hope it is because you bought a pot brownie at the concession stand. If you find deep social meaning in said children’s movie, I sincerely hope it is because your popcorn is laced with LSD. But, although I unfortunately, had no mind altering substances flowing through my body, I did learn a valuable lesson from this movie.

About two Christmases ago, my daughter was given a Lego set. I don’t know what I was thinking when I agreed to assemble it, but whatever joy was to be given to my daughter by said assembly, was soon replaced by the horror of watching her mother turn into The Green Manalishi with the Two Pronged Crown. Curses were not muttered but bellowed, emotions ran high, and pieces were thrown into the dark depths of my living room only to emerge again when I found they were painfully lodged into my foot. Then, once the assembly was done, my daughter would play with the set, only to have it fall apart again, and so the continuation of the vicious cycle.

And so back to the valuable lesson learned…Krazy Glue….why didn’t I think of that?

Is It? Is it really??

Is It? Is it really??

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The Man Crush

What’s up with the man crush? First of all, let me say I am the least homophobic person on the planet, and indeed, I think the more liberal America has become, the more okay they are with the man crush. However, I am not okay with the man crush!!

When men crush, they crush hard. They wrestle each other, they exchange adorable witticisms, and to be sure, they act, well not really adorable at all.

Maybe I am just bitter and jealous of my husband’s current man crush. The two exchange witty banter on Facebook ad nauseam, and I am really tempted to add my comment, “Why don’t you guys just get a room already?”

When my son did his latest School of Rock performance, Man Crush came. He did not sit at our table but hovered by the bar sending drinks over to my husband. I guess he did not want our ‘fierce competitiveness’ to get in the way of his good time.

Of course my husband spent a good portion of the afternoon at the bar entertaining Man Crush. My daughter kept asking me, “Where’s daddy?’ to which I answered, ” At the bar making out with Brian.”

Today is Valentine’s Day. My husband posted a very nice comment to me on Facebook along with a YouTube link to a Paul Westerberg song. I thought this was all very nice and sweet, and commented in that vain,  but I did wonder, why Paul Westerberg? I don’t really like Paul Westerberg. Within minutes I say that Guy Crush commented on the post as well. ‘Paul Westerberg, awesome,’ he said. Ah, it is all becoming clear to me now!


Valentine’s Day Blows: Death to Cupid

Valentine’s Day sucks. At best it’s a holiday manufactured for the sole purpose of a couple meant to conspicuously exhibit their sickening, undying love for each other in such a way that deepens the pockets of jewelry stores and chocolatiers everywhere. At worst, you’re single.

There’s really no way around Valentine’s Day for one who is single. I mean, you could call your best FWB, but that might make him think that you’re actually into him, and one would not want that to happen. You could go to a club and try and pick up a random stranger. But again, the significance of the date will always somehow put weight on the hook up. Or you could go to one of those single’s mixers. But that just reeks of desperation.

Trust me, I know. Even though I have been married for quite some time, I have spent more than 50% of my Valentine’s Days as a single girl, and it is not pretty. That is why, to this day, I try to see Valentine’s Day for the miserable facade it is, rather than trying to be all googly eyed and mushy with my husband. (Although a great big box of chocolates it always completely acceptable, thank you).

Here is a poem I wrote for my husband last Valentine’s Day. Keep in mind that he is a huge death/black metal fan and this is meant to be a spoof on such. In fact, on the card it says, “to be sung to the tune of your favorite death metal song”.

Black angel soaring swooping low
Carrying his evil bow
Blackened wings, piercing dark
Training arrows at my heart
Demon creature taking aim
“Cupid,” speak thine enemy’s name
You will not threaten me tonight
Grab my weapon, I take flight
With my shield his darts deflect
Then I wring the cherub’s neck
And wrestle to Hell’s fiery floor
St. Valentine shall rise no more.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all you single people and just so you know, if I wasn’t married, I would definitely sleep with you on Valentine’s Day!


On The Off Chance I Offended You…

I am writing this in reference to the blog I wrote yesterday, ” Singing the Blues at the School Music Recital” and the lukewarm reception it received. (And also to thank the few brave souls that did actually like it.)

Of course no one really knows why a blog is ignored. In fact you could actually be thinking to yourself, “Did Marissa blog yesterday? I didn’t know that!” But I am going to work on the assumption that it was a bit harsh, especially for some of the mommies out there. And though I would have rather received hundreds of scathing comments, promoting my blog to the controversial masterpiece it deserves to be, I will have to settle with what I got. But maybe what I am about to say needs to be said anyway.

After I wrote that blog, I was unsure if I wanted to publish it because I thought it might come across as a bit insulting. So I did what any woman does when she is indecisive. I called my mother.

My mother grew up in a different time, when things were not as politically correct. Children did not get medals for losing, and sometimes they were told that they weren’t the best at everything, maybe if only in the hopes that they would then focus their attention on something more worthy of their time.

I know some of you have children that are younger than mine, some older, and some of you may not yet have kids. But I can guarantee you that if child rearing is, or ever was, or ever will be, a part of your life, you will find yourselves spending a weekend in a dank auditorium or a hot baseball field, where there will be screeching violins, a game prolonged because one player does not have a good understanding of the rules, or a recital practiced for months only to be ruined by a little girl with two left feet. You may react with a suppressed giggle or a discreet eye roll, and indeed this may be better etiquette than writing a blog to live forever on the pages of the internet or until such a time when you hit delete.

The point is, we all love our children, and we all make sacrifices for them. and not every weekend will go the way we want it to go; and sometimes the best thing we can do, is laugh.