No Drool Zone

LP wanted cupcakes for his birthday cake, so I made vanilla cake with cherry icing. Ick. It wouldn’t be my first choice but he got to choose. They turned out okay, but I think canned frosting tends to have a slick shortening aftertaste.

I went to Hobby Lobby and it was packed. I bought Christmas wrapping and a huge ass spool of wire ribbon that was half price…from $7.99 to $3.99. Good deal. I like wrapping gifts using wire ribbon. I also bought a generic looking HAPPY HOLIDAYS oval tin sign from our front door. I’m going to jazz it up with some greenery. They also had Halloween stuff off 90%! Jeez. So I bought some slick ceramic ghost “BOO” pins for next year (If I put them somewhere I can find them.) I buy crap on sale and pack if away for next year and then can’t find it when needed. Somewhere down in BP’s basement are boxes of Christmas cards I bought years ago.

There was this woman shopping with her two young boys. One was sitting in the cart being an angel, while the oldest one scrunched up his face and tighten his fist in an “I’m going to hit you” manner to every other kid passing by. Tis the season.

As many of one know I occasionally buy a National Enquirer and read it. Janie Jord and I used to discuss the stories in the Shelf. We especially liked the articles/pictures of big time celebrities with cellulite! JLo=cellulite (big surprise). Kate Hudson=cellulite.
Teri Hatcher. Britney. All possess wrinkly cottage cheese. Donatella Versace? Ewww…big time.

Anyway those rat bastard motherfuckers did it this time. They made me feel sorry for Rachael Ray! They ran a story on how her husband’s is cheating on her with this nasty, drug whore, ugly ass woman—complete with pictures. He pays her to spit and drool on him. Blech. I hope you’re not eating your breakfast as you’re reading this because it may put you off your Captain Crunch. She set him up. She passed a polygraph test the Enquirer gave her ( That must be the standard procedure in celebrity tell –all stories) So this guy ole Rach married apparently has this spit fetish. Ptooey.

Enquirer, stick to stories about red carpet fashions, what stars buy on Rodeo Drive, and old stars on their deathbeds (Schell alert: Put Dead Pool money on Charles Nelson Reilly!!) and deep six the hocker-chat. Thank yew.