Sunday, April 15, 2012

The Boy Band Phenomenon: Cheesy at its Finest

It seems that most all of the teenage/adolescent/prepubescent girls I know these days are freaking obsessed with this new boy band called One Direction.  Have you heard of them or seen them y'all?  Watch the video for a quick peek:

Girls have their hormones all in a tizzy over this international band of young boys with skinny jeans and weird hair and as much as I shake my head and *tisk tisk* at their silliness, it totes reminds me of myself at their age when my world revolved around a REAL boy band.....


I was a 13 year old girl obsessed.  On fire.  Infatuated with all of them and their music, but most especially, with Jordan Knight.  And can I just add something right now that supports my early assessment of his hotness?  He's still mothereffing hot.  MORE SO today than back then.  Evidence:

NKOTB was my very first live concert.  They replaced the Corey Haim and Bon Jovi posters on my walls. I cried to all their songs and videos.  I was RIDICULOUS you guys.  Embarrassingly ridiculous.

To me they were the boy band to define the genre.

But there were more to come....

I recall my college years when boy bands such as the Back Street Boys and 'NSYNC were super popular.  I was old enough then not to be swept up by their boyish looks and melodies but my younger relatives weren't so immune.
Are Timberlake's pants really unbuttoned here?  Badass.
The wonder that is the boy band concept has been around for a very long time.  The past decade or so I had thought it fizzled out...until this One Direction kick has fired it back up.

So tell me cheesy friends, did you ever have a boy band crush/obsession?  DO TELL.
Email us at with a post or link up below.  We'd love to share your boy band confessions.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Project Chicago

Well hello again! 

No, this #CheesyChicago thing is totally not going away. It’s real you guys, and its TREMENDOUS!  We can barely contain our excitement around here.


Some of you remarkable and fearless gals have already expressed interest in joining us for our cheesy blogger “conference” (aka pizza and beer fest) in Chicago (described HERE). Because you’re super wonderful and wicked cool.

Some others want to come, but have pesky commitments like their children’s birthdays and weddings and graduations and some such nonsense.

But for those of you who are seriously considering tagging along for this KICK ASS retreat, we’ve determined that airlines are assholes and flights cost a lot of money.

Also, and more importantly, we’ve come to realize how much the opportunity for this trip means to some of us who really, really, really, really NEED A BREAK. Not to mention how liberating/hilarious it is to meet up with other cheeky bloggers like us.

This trip has become a motivation for bloggers everywhere to indulge in something FUN for once.

So, inspired by Miss LACE’s post, here is what we’re trying to do:


GOAL: To make it easier for y’all to join us!  And to support blogger gals all over North America in their dream to break free from the confines of everyday life and TAKE ON CHICAGO!

First, we’ve secured a deal for our Friday dinner in Chi Town. Our Chicago Deep Dish Pizza at Uno Due will only cost $18 per person, with taxes and tip INCLUDED.  We'll get unlimited soda and salad, deep dish pizzas, and CHEESECAKE desert.  Hee yaw!  For an $15 extra per person, we can get beer and wine.  BEER AND WINE, people

Second, we’ve designed all this friggin WICKED swag in our Cheesy Blogger Store.  If you can’t make it to our amazing adventure, consider buying yourself a gift to: a) remind you how you simply must partake next time!; and, b) provide a little boost for others who might not be able to afford it.   All the proceeds will be pooled to support hotel costs.

And by the way, if you commit to our trip now, this week, before Saturday, Miss Sarcasm claims she will BUY YOU one of these REMARKABLE tshirts.  Seriously.  It's like a FREE GIFT or something.  She's generous, yo.  (I mean, there's probably a limit or something, maybe the first 5 people, but still... she's at least a little generous.) 
We're also checking into some sponsors, and whatever else we can get our hands on to make this whole thing a bit more affordable.  Because it's more than just a trip - it's an OPPORTUNITY.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Poor Easter Bunny and his friends can't catch a break

This HILARIOUS post comes from the adorable Sarah Smith-Frigerio from La Casa Di Frigerio. This truly made me laugh when I read it and I promptly shared it with all my coworkers! (No, I wasn't reading blogs at work - I would never do that, I'm dedicated to my job, thankyouverymuch.)

In Which Ant Learns ‘More’ About Santa, et all

Disclaimer: You may not want to have your children read this. Especially if they have not gone through the Santa ‘exploration’ phase that Ant has recently encountered…. Or any other character exploration. Come on, you know the ones. You’ve been warned!

When K was eight,he approached me purposefully after school one day—and never one to mince words—blurtedout the question, “Is Santa real, or is he not?”

Nothing like getting this bomb dropped on you in the carpool line.

K is a no-nonsense kid, and so I retorted, “Do you want to continue to believe, or do you want to help make it happen?” He thought about it for a few moments, and then informed me that he would continue to believe for one more year, and then he would help make it happen with the rest of the enlightened adults. To him, this was one of those rites of passage into adulthood, and since he was born I swear he’s been chomping on the bit to tick all those rites off his checklist.

That was the extent of the conversation with K. I knew that Ant was going to be a different story.

Ant loves being a kid. He revels in it. He’s the oldest soul I know, and yet still innocent, still imaginative, still caught up in the magic. Ant was likely to start asking this year, and I didn’t know if I could handle it the same way I did with K. In fact, I was fairly certain that I would not be able to handle that way at all.

Two weekends ago, Ant approached me. “Well, I want to know,” he stated, “if Santa is real.”I looked at him for just a split second, and he leveled his gaze right back at me. I knew there was no way to get out of this one. So I asked him if he thought he could handle the truth. It was very reminiscent of A Few Good Men. He countered me with something I never thought he would catch on to, but in hindsight, was likely to be our downfall.

“Well, over the years,” Ant explained (and yes, those were his exact words—I kid you not), “I’venoticed that the fonts change.” At this point, I have to admit that this had me scratching my head for a minute. Fonts? What?

“You know the fonts!” Ant’s elaboration here was not helping me. “The fonts! At our house Santa writes in block letters and at Grandma’s house he writes in cursive.”

I get it now,kid. I see where you are going with this. So I ‘fessed up; I told him—about Saint Nicolas and Sinterklauss and how one little idea that shows us all how good we can actually be as human beings took over a good chunk of Europe and then came over here and is celebrated 1700 years later. He loved it. Ant ate it up. As a pure-bred humanist, Ant thought this was one of the greatest triumphs of human existence.Except, somehow, something got lost in the details.

Later that night—as I was out with friends, and before I could tell J about the discussion Ant and I had earlier in the afternoon, Ant decided that the dinner table was an excellent place to announce that he knew Santa was dead. Because MOM had told him. That Santa was dead.

I wish I could have been there to see J’s face. Especially when Ant asked J is Santa’sghost is the one who delivers the presents.

Then, last week, Ant had an epiphany while watching a commercial on TV. I think it’s the one where the kids everywhere are running into their parents’ bedrooms on Christmas morning and waking them up at some ungodly hour. Suddenly Ant exclaimed, “Oh! I get it! That’s why you are always so tired on Christmas! You have to stay up to midnight to deliver the presents.” This was following on the heels of the conversation we had with Ant to detail how Santa’s ghost doesn’t deliver the presents.

Yeah, nothing to do with you being up at four in the morning, kid, or the scotch your father and I drink while wrapping the presents at the eleventh hour (literally) because we don’t get it done in a timely fashion.

Then Ant asked me how many other houses we deliver presents to…You see where this is going, right?

Last night, Ant lost a tooth. It’s the fifty gagillionth tooth he’s lost this year. The kidcan’t eat an apple, for heaven’s sake. He started the tooth fairy preparations(and I didn’t plan on bursting that bubble unless I had to) and then abruptly stopped. “Who really is the tooth fairy?” he asked. I raised my hand. “And the Easter Bunny?” This time K pointed at me, answering on my behalf. “Oh, come on!” Ant replied, disgusted. He walked into the other room shaking his head and muttering to himself about the horror of it all.

To top it all off, I then promptly forgot to do the tooth fairy routine last night once Ant went to bed. Yeah, that’s right: Mother of Year right here. For the second time this year. Email me to get my home address so you can send me my trophy.

Ant woke J up this morning demanding his dollar from the Tooth Fairy. He was unwilling to hand over the tooth until he had said dollar bill in hand. Once the exchange occurred,Ant stared pointedly at J and said, “Thanks a lot, Tooth Fairy.” J then came and put me on notice, given my transgression. The way I figure it, this is a red letter day. Never again will I be stumbling around in the dark, risking a Lego embedded in my foot, trying to find a tooth under a pillow. 

I’d feel some sadness about losing this piece of childhood with my kiddos if it wasn’tso comical. And it is comical—especially when you consider that I might have a future in ruining those magical moments from childhood.



Thursday, April 5, 2012

A disgusting poop criminal

Hello cheesers.  Our darling friend Sherilin has shared this hilarious and disturbing "Kids are Weird" story for your enjoyment.  It's a must-read.  We can always count on Sherilin for distubing

Do you have a weird story too?  Send it to us at


we still carry a potty in our van. actually, we took the backseat out of the van so that we could fit some big stuff in there at christmas time; it's never gone back in, so brooke likes to think of that space as her own personal room, including toileting facilities. there have been many, many times when it has saved us, like when we're at a park where the bathrooms are locked or non-existent. or when we go to the grocery store in july, get everything loaded into the van to go home; then suddenly she has a desperate need to pee that didn't arrive until just that second. or when we're in a traffic jam on the highway; need to go; can't even get off an exit. this potty has saved us from many, many moments of peepee panic. (i wish i could use it since i'm often just as guilty as brooke about needing to go when there are no facilities available. i haven't tried it yet, but one day i may be desperate enough. i'll let you know if it happens; how it turns out.)

one time, i was loading some stuff into the van at toys-r-us; while i was doing so, brooke crept around to her potty and went. i think she secretly holds it sometimes just because she likes using it more than public bathrooms. maybe it feels scandalous or exotic to pee in the car. i don't know.

anyway, she calls out, "mom, i used my potty!"
me, "okay, fine. let me come around to the back so i can dump it in the back of the parking lot. you didn't throw the tissue into the pee again did you?"
brooke, "weeeelllll.... noo.... i didn't put the tissue in."
me, "so what's the problem? what did you do?"
brooke, "uummm... i.... pooped."

i closed the door and mentally had a mini tantrum. we were just inside a store where there was a flushing toilet. and plenty of toilet paper. but did she use it? NO! she'd rather take a dump in the hot van in august and then put the soiled tissues into the little van trash can.

ok, too late to be mad. at least she didn't crap herself. now, what to do with it. normally with a pee pot i'd find a grassy spot at the edge of the parking lot or at least the far back of a parking lot where people generally don't go and pour it there. this was a different situation. i couldn't very well toss the log into the toys-r-us parking lot and i didn't relish the idea of carrying it up to the building to where there were trash cans and disposing of it in view of other customers. so i can't get rid of it here. what other options do i have? we're not heading home yet where i could dispose of it properly and since it's august, i don't want to cart it around with us where it will get really ripe sitting in the car during our next few errands.

maybe i could smear mud over my license plate and put on dark glasses and a hat and sling it out the window while driving to our next stop. but with my luck, i'd throw it into the open window of a car next to us and then be hunted by an angry, poop smeared ex-con. or i'd chicken out at the last second and sort of hesitate in mid-throw, causing it to mostly stay inside the van, sliding down the inside of the driver's door, splattering me in the process.

or it might just slide down the outside of my van and i wouldn't know and i'd go through the drive-through at taco bell and the person working would be like, "ma'am, is that.... poop stuck to your door?"
or it would splash while sitting on the passenger seat before i found the perfect pitching moment and then i'd have to clean the seat. or before i had the chance to pitch it, someone in a taller vehicle than mine would drive up alongside of me and look over and spot the hot pink poop-filled pot and then look at me in horror and realize that they know me and actually they're one of my customers and then i lose my job. or i'd be holding the pot in my hand, waiting for the perfect moment to roll down and toss and i'd get rear ended and it would all go up in my face and i'd have some explaining to do when an officer showed up on the scene. "yes officer, that is feces on my forehead.... yes, it is pee soaking my shirt. no, i haven't been drinking. i was just planning to throw a bucket of shit out the window of my moving vehicle when there was a gap in traffic. no, it's not my own shit. no, i didn't collect it from someone else... it was in the back of my van... no, i already told you, i haven't been drinking!"

eventually i found what seemed like an acceptable solution to me and i pulled into the back of the target parking lot to one of those places where there's a bit of grass and a tree between parking spots and i crouched low, walking stealthily and poured out the mess into the wood chip area at the base of the tree. i know, it's gross and horrible, but i thought at least there's a possibility that whoever finds it will think that it must have been a dog who left that deposit. i mean, who would have ever guessed the truth?


OH  MY GOD!  NO!  THIS STORY UPSETS ME!  Sherilin!  Damn, kids are WEIRD