“Dear David… I still love you.”

Eye candy can be just as satisfying as eating 3 large slices of pie. In theory, anyway.

This is a call to take actions with evasive maneuvers…

It’s fancy. It’s intriguing. It’s cutting edge ‘n stuff. That boring word “Salad Dressing” must be re-named “Salad Sauce”. Immediately!

I proclaimed this loud and proud on Twitter, but some people whom I will not name out loud (@theantijared & @FatFighterTV) refuse to embrace the Saucy-ness. And I am appalled.

Salad Sauce is a no-brainer. It makes you want to run out and eat those greens right away. “Pour on the salad sauce, baby!” Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? Meanwhile, I have purchased the domain SaladSauceHater.com so that it can’t be used against me.

Whose side are you on: Salad Dressing or Salad Sauce?

I dare good ‘ole MacGyver to escape a hungry situation using only the tools pictured. This purse contains all the ingredients MacGyver needs to build a barbecue grill, fix a faulty freezer, reboot a broken oven, or subdue a herd of kitchen cockroaches.

But if he wishes to escape hunger, his luck just ran out. (or did it?)

Dude, you lose. (finally)

Disclaimer: If you are too young to know MacGyver, I’m not sure if I should congratulate YOU, or feel sorry for my old-azz-self.

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Behold the park that has the 3-mile trail, the tennis courts, basketball, and more. So why did I choose to steer away from that stuff and go off the beaten path?

The sign says “Danger”, but my eyeballs detected no dangerous conditions. Must be an old sign. So I went over there, ya know?

But let me tell you this: when a sign says “Danger” or cautions you in whatever words it chooses for you to stay the hell away. Just do it, dammit.

I thought I was cool. I thought I was adventurous to be posing with a dangerous sign. And you know what happen? That damn sign was mangled all to hell with steel shards sticking out the side, right where my face was.

I got my face tore all to hell. There was pain. Redness. Swelling. The shock of those mangled shards coming into contact with my purr-deee skin is written all over my face. Greedy Kid #1 photographed the actual assault in real time.

FRACKIN’ SIGN!!

I confess to you my disobedience. I should NOT have stepped into Danger. But I did squeeze in a 1 mile walk AND 2-mile run in highly humidified conditions immediately following the injury.

Because I’m tough. I might be a dumb azz. But at least…I’m tough.

This is serious business. This 1-minute video shows the treachery I unleash.

You can also witness more treacherous acts by subscribing to YumYucky’s YouTube channel.

This video was nominated for The Bombshell Award. Because it’s, uh, da bomb.

Oh, how I love me my elastic waist pants.

I’ve got at least 10 pairs.

My elastic pants are good to me. They accommodate my azz and stomachs with zero resistance – no stuffing my thigh into the leg part required.

They’re stretchy and comfy, always so very faithful, whether cheap or borrowed or previously owned. I can wear them to bed. I can wear them couch-azzing. I can wear them exercising or grocery shopping. Why wear jeans with nagging buttons and zippers?

Elastic waist pants are soooo versatile.

Whatever your size, whatever your shape; whether muffin-topped or slim-waisted, elastic waist pants make your body say ahhh when you’re lazy or tired or just home from work.

Give them pants a great big “Thank You”.

Elastic waist pants have got it goin’ on.

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Meet Tori – she is infamous for doing bedtime cardio. So when this chick got the crazy notion that text messaging might burn calories, she let her fingers do the exercising.

TORI’S DAY OF TEXTING

First, Tori called out of work on the busiest day of the month with the false claim that her dog was sick. Then she did a HAHAHA text-exercise because she got off for the day.

At high noon, Tori rolled out of bed to make breakfast. But she ended up doing a SMH text-exercise because there was no bread, milk, or eggs within claw’s reach of the roaches that live in her kitchen. Too bad she doesn’t own a bacon bra.

Tori immediately engaged in a ROTFL text-exercise to hunt for loose change under the couch so she could order up a pizza. This resulted in a ROTFLMAO intensity move when she  found 2 bucks. This was obviously a very big deal, but still not enough to get lunch.

At 4pm, Tori got a call from her boss after word got back that she doesn’t have a sick dog…..or a healthy one.

She has no pets at all.

Tori was fired on the spot. Then she did a FML text-exercise because her job at the weasel farm fell through and she didn’t eat all day.

Tori is a dumb-azz. She should have gone to work. They were giving out free weasel chips that day. Who in their right mind would say no to free weasel chips?

And then her cell was disconnected for non-payment.

Total Calorie Burn = 2,498. Don’t ask me how. It just is.

Text Message Answer Key

• HAHAHAHA  = HAHAHAHA. doh!
• SMH  = Shaking My Head
• ROTFL  = Rolling On The Floor
• ROTFLMAO  = Rolling On The Floor Laughing My Azz Off
• FML  = FRACK My LIFE (except Frack is replaced by that cuss word, ya know?)

…in a serious Josie voice: Please don’t text while driving. I, myself, am shamefully guilty of this, but today I pledged to NEVER do that again.  You could save your life or someone else’s.

You may also need to refrain from clipping your toes with your teeth, talking on your cell at the movies, and picking (your own) wedgies in public. These things are very annoying to witness. So stop that, okay?

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“She fed me Rat Salad”  ….that is what my child-spawn is about to tell you if his smart-azz keeps requesting it for dinner.

This is true, people.

The daycare lady is supposedly feeding Greedy Kid #3 Rat Salad for lunch. And now he wants me to make it at home. He is like a broken record, asking for Rat Salad all the damn time. Are my non-diseased meals not good enough for him? Must he want the infectious Rat instead?

So I wonder. What if I humor this whining child-spawn and really give him what he wants?

RAT SALAD – THE RECIPE

(warning: do not read this if your breakfast/lunch/dinner is NOT fully digested yet)

Ingredients:

1 freshly-trapped rat from the inner walls of my old apartment when I was 24.

2 large handfuls mildew-withered spring mix

1 rotten antelope egg, finely chopped

1/4 cup slimy carrot shavings

1 tbsp rancid Parmesan dust

3 plucked nose hairs from the snout of this man

1/4 cup regurgitated walnut pieces

1/2 cup feet-stomped tomato residue

3 cups boiled vinegar dressing

Directions:

Mix it all up and feed to your child. Purposely withhold barf bag and make him clean up his own mess.

——————-

You see that! My kids are spoiled. They get exactly what they ask for. Its Rat Salad for dinner.

Disclaimer: Rat Salad is NOT to be confused with the Rat Cakes that were for sale. They are actually very good.

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Forget about Mr. Oops. Burping on accident after a greedy-good meal is NOT what I’m talking about.

This is about controlled burps. The kind you conjure up on purpose from the depths of your gut and belch out like a grown man that just drank four beers and collapsed on the couch.

If only once?

But I can’t. I try to burp on cue, but it doesn’t work. I can’t belch by request.

I want my on-purpose burp to be real loud and abnoxious. But instead? Nothin’.

Health-hater Husband burped in my face real loud and he thought it was funny. I want to retaliate with a burping vengeance. Maybe while he’s sleeping in his comfy chair? I could assault him with a big ‘ole burp in face and wake his azz up.

So I’ll keep practicing.

Do YOU know how to burp on cue? I need some advice.

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Can you pu-leeeze explain to me what the hell is going on? My cell phone is blowing up (aka, ringing off the hook) with a plethora of men-folk trying to use their sexy voice. I answer my phone (this is true stuff) and a strange man on the other line says, "Hey baby!"

This "baby" person they are seeking always has a different name. Brenda. Grace. Ellen. Whatever.  But it's not me!

I Twittered about the situation with my best guess scenario, but in a effort to be positive-minded and NOT talk about hookers, I have forced this post into fitness-related submission.

So my second guess is that I popped up on Sexy Woman Radar because of all that heavy breathing I was doing. But it's only because I was running 'round the track. Geesh! 

'
"Dude, you are NOT sexy-ness. You're not even female."

I'm (unfortunately) getting phone calls from the hooker-seekers. This craziness will die down eventually.

So here's a side thought:

Sexy Swagger is NOT determined by a woman's dress size. It's about attitude and confidence. It can be attained at any size.   

How do YOU define sexy swagger?

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