Confessions of Non-foodie-blogger

The mommy-blogger letter seemed to be relatable… and after a rough couple days  wrestling with cauliflower pizza crust and concocting a stir fry that tasted like ferret food, I decided this post was unavoidable.

Confessions of a Non-foodie Blogger

Dear Foodie-bloggers,

* I tried to make your cauliflower pizza crust (which you swore was “sooo not nasty”) and what I got was a personal pangea pizza, which I ate alone.
….Correction, E took one bite.

it didn't taste bad... it also didn't come off the foil. #sprayorpay
it didn’t taste bad… it also didn’t come off the foil. #sprayorpay


*  I made these apple muffins once and now I’m afraid to be alone with them.

* Kale is the devil’s lettuce. You can’t make me; I won’t touch it.

* Sometimes I wonder what kind of body-shaping spanx hide under those aprons. Not sayin, just sayin…(i would be grossly overweight if i were you)

* True or False…Confessions by Usher… playing in my head right now.

* I added flour to homemade broccoli cheddar soup once (to thicken it a bit, of course.) But then I added a lot… It was so gross. I asked you how to fix it on twitter and you actually tweeted back… which didn’t make anything better because all you said was, “You did what?”

* The great all-seeing-eye of Michelle Obama watches you…

* I know you secretly make bank despite giving away all those recipes. (thanks for the recipes, btw)

* I can’t ever spell recipes right the first time.

* When I take pictures of what I bake on my iphone, it looks like I’m using a photo-filter titled “dog-pee.” I’m jealous of  your shinning photos.

* Squash soup is weird. I know it; you know it. Moving on.

* Tony Chachere’s Original Creole Seasoning… you neglect its spicious mastery. #payhomage

* True or false, Confessions by Usher… still in my head.

* Lastly– I’ll admit– I like you.
Yes, yes, yes… you and the mommy bloggers. You make the interweb world a more wonderfully mouth-watering place to be. So keep showing “the man” what’s what and making money off of giving away those delectable dishes. We’re all a little fat & happier because of it.

Here’s to hoping some crazy huge person doesn’t sue you,

~ Meg


Dear Mommy Bloggers

First things first…(for those that don’t know) what are mommy bloggers?
Mommy bloggers are basically any woman who blogs and at some point mentioned her child. Lots of people do it. It’s a thing.

… As I typed in “What are mommy bloggers,” to give you  a simple definition of the term, here’s what popped up on Google. It was too lol (laugh-out-loud)  (or, for you moms, lots of love) not to share.

mommy bloggersMy favorite is “what are mommy arms?”

I digress.

Dear Mommy-bloggers,

I’m not a mommy.  I openly admit that I “just don’t get it” cuz I’m not yet a sweaty, sleep-deprived, unconditionally loving (with bouts of logic),  breast-milk-benefit-preaching parent… yet.

I am, however, a person with ears and eyes, which sometimes work coherently enough to send little electrical signals to my brain (which I first spelled as brian….).

See? I’m poking fun at myself too!–While still tickling the flabby (or Michelle Obama-fierce) under-arms of all you mommies. Let’s laugh together! Let’s sip margaritas! (Okay, I’ll sip a margarita and you can have your homemade sugarless vodka lemonade.)

…Did I mention you’re great? loved! and paid by all those diaper-ad people!
Bravo! Keep it up and stuff! Meanwhile I will write too– but probably less about diapers and my awesome homemade quiches and more about… other relationships, mini-revelations, and simple or hilarious anecdotes.

In true-serious-earnestness though, without the stories from women like you, the web would be a little more convoluted with pictures of insanely skinny, yet large-breasted women and those adorable cat memes (see below).


Thanks to you, instead we have a lot more  kick-a** recipes and well-written monologues about loving little, stinky, messy humans. Thank you. We like what you write; we really do.

I just hope that even though us other women are not quite yet in your club– you’ll still read our stuff once and while, still offer your insights and learn from ours. I even hope that sometimes you’ll read our blogs and articles and books for the pure enjoyment of sharing in something bigger than being mommy. For the beauty of sharing in the experiences of hurting, loving, healing and all the in-between that comes with being human.

Stay cool, mommies.
Sending big love to you (& the hubs, kiddos, and quiches)

~ Meg
(and the other non-mommy-bloggers)

The Beer Store & Other Short Stories


The Beer Store

Walking into a beer store* and asking where you can find one single can of beer is kind of like walking into Burlington Coat Factory and asking where you can purchase a mitten. One  mitten.  Oh, there are the looks as you roam aimlessly through aisles of whisky and vodka, then stare shivering into coolers of 6-packs. Finally, your helpless eyes meet those of an employee. One beer?  Upon consenting for help, the employee– who happens to have koolaid-orange facial hair– starts yelling across the store to the other, somewhat haggard, hippyish employees about where to find ONE beer. Now two of them  stand on either side of you telling you, yes, Surly is surely the answer. It’s the best. I’ts MN beer for Paul Bunyon’s sake. So you take it. (All this for beer cheese soup, you think) And you take another bite of your apple because you are starving for dinner, and you and walk up to the counter. You fiddle with your purse, trying not to ooze apple juice onto the counter and you hear the cashier say, “so it’ll just be the one beer and an apple?” And you look up, maybe half-expecting a judgmental smirk,  to see something like acceptance–in a stranger’s smile….

*I prefer beer store over liquor store. the word liquor seems nasty and harsh and looks kind of ugly and nearly threatens to infuse you with guilt or that gene that supposedly makes you susceptible to Alcoholism.

The Pocket Knife

You are hungry. And it’s never good to grocery shop when you are hungry. Even  beef-flavored tea begins to sound good by the time you pull (not push) a staggering, on-its-last-wheel cart up to the cashier. You unload your cart methodically– dry stuff and cans,  eggs & dairy, veggies and fruit.  All the while you look sideways to the man in front of you, who’s very bushy head is leaning deep into his shopping cart’s belly. The cashier-boy waits patiently. Then you notice it– something in Bush-man’s hand. He is making little jabs with it. It’s a pocket knife. He is trying to cut out his coupons with a pocket-knife dull enough to clean your ears with. It takes nano-seconds for your brain to jump all over the place. How will this young, pre-pubescent cashier react? Will he ask Bush-man to put the “weapon” away? Is there such thing as grocery-store security? Are pocket knives legal to display in public?
Cashier boy leans out of his little cashier cocoon. He says, sir, If you’d like I can scan them right from the book. Bush-man grunts in acknowledgement. You smile. Cashier-boy  scans flawlessly…

Guilting Grandma

It’s been a long week. You come home to the smells of fermenting garbage and a chill that says your furnace is still not working properly. Usually, you loosen your stuffy dress clothes while leafing through a pile of bills. Tonight though, one lone letter has the familiar slant of grandma-script. So you open it, feeling the corners of your mouth lift a little at the lightness of thoughtfulness coming to rest on you.

Dear________ you read, 
I am disappointed in you. I have not received a thank-you card from you for sending you a  birthday card or Christmas card,..and I was not included in the thank-you for the wedding gifts from _____relatives . I write this only hoping to teach you a lesson….

You stop, pick up the phone and dial your grandma. You mention the letter, apologize for your lack of thoughtfulness (recalling in your mind the very in depth hand-written thank-you,  sent for her wedding gift).

You know, it’s not only you, dear. She is saying, I won’t say names,… but your two brothers… Oh the tact! You mute the phone. You laugh. You let out all the tension like a balloon. You are practically snorting and your grandma is saying … And your cousins, all of them male, … You laugh a bit more…have also forgotten to say thank-you. You take a deep breath, take the phone off mute, apologize again. You are smiling now, telling your grandma you love her. And, at this moment, you are thankful.

It’s little stories like these that I wish to put in my zine. Nothing necessarily profound, but hopefully all very real. I will also be critiquing our local “pastry” shop’s donuts. (which may or may not include gas station donuts.) In this way the zine will have something consistent with a spattering of short stories. I want to hear from you! What do you think? Did you like/dislike the 1st person?  Should I start a new blog for the zine writings only? Is the donut idea totally loco? (A little loco is okay with me.)