I hope you didn't just eat...

And if you did, I REALLY hope it wasn't a plate full of brussels sprouts.  Side note, did you know they were called 'brusselS sprouts' and not 'brussel sprouts'? I just discovered this the other day.

But who fucking cares really cause they are the work OF THE DEVIL!!!!!!!!!

Seriously I consider myself a laid back eater.  I eat just about everything normal.  And my standard of normal is anything below that baby chicken still in the egg that they eat somewhere.  Sorry, that's not normal.  I know it's normal in the part of the world where they eat it but clearly they don't have pop tarts there.

Regardless, I have never liked brusselS sprouts.  I like cabbage.  I like all the vegetables that smell like farts when you're cooking.  But I could never get behind the lowly sprout.  It was sort of like biting into a bitter, rotting marshmallow with some leaves stuck to it.  Blech. I just gave myself a chill even imagining it.

I did recently however find this recipe and it made a believer out of me.  I could eat brusselS sprouts this way every single day and be quite happy. It's loaded with cream and lemon and is just deluscious. It's like someone took brusselS sprouts and turned them into a chocolate dipped pepperoni pizza, deep friend and rolled in buttered popcorn.  You know you want some.

Find the recipe here:

Totally does not taste like rotting flesh brussels sprout recipe.

Don't these look good?  THEY ARE!!!

Alas, I knew a good thing couldn't last forever.

This past weekend my husband and I were at the grocery store and discovered the horrifying truth.  Look away now if you don't want to barf up your breakfast...

I MEAN IT!!!

Dear god what is that thing???

Yes folks, this is how brusselS sprouts actually grow.  On some sort of phallic stalk thingie.  And they are just budding off of it like some nasty, alien, pustules.  Just waiting to be popped.  Essentially they are the genital warts of the vegetable world.

In fact if the brusselS sprouts growers of the world need a tagline, and need to combine both the one good recipe and the fact that they look like a disease you get while in port, I suggest:

BRUSSELs SPROUTS- Hey, there's cream for that now!

And now I'm going to be sick.

Cat and dogs in the hat

Yeah it doesn't have the same ring to it when you put the dog in there.

A great customer of mine told me that she sent a cozy to her brother as a gift.  Said brother assumed the cozy was a hat... for his cat.

Now before you think he must be a total mentalist, I should share that often when I am making cozies in public people assume I'm making baby hats.  It never ceases to amaze me that everyone always guesses the same thing... and that I must have about 85 infants sat at home with freezing heads.

So it's not that much of a stretch to think it could be a cat hat if you receive one as a gift and don't have a baby.

But I digress.  I decided to try them on my own pets to see how it might work.

First, my Westie named Chutney:

Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

Next, my mutt Peanut:

About to go full on Walking Dead and eat my face off.

And finally my orange cat, Mama:

"Of course I look good in this.  I look good in everyfuckingthing. 

Note, I have another cat but amidst the photography of the previous three animals, she realized what a fashion tragedy was ensuing and strangled herself with an Hermes scarf. Not really. I don't even own a Hermes scarf. I'm not sure I'm even spelling Hermes correctly. She is just hiding somewhere I can't find.  And even if I did find her she can evade capture better than Osama.  Before he was caught obviously.

When all is said and done though I think we can agree- cozies aren't just for mugs.  They're for pissed off pets too!

Err, what?

This is a real exchange between my husband and I:

Me: What's that gladiator film with Russell Crowe in it called?
Him:  Uh, you mean Gladiator?

And my friends this is why I am lucky to be married to this man.  Because if I'm honest I wouldn't tolerate such idiocy in my own partner.  Thank god he's more tolerant.  Or maybe me being a moron feeds into his ego? Who knows.  Who cares?  Not me.  Well obviously I do as it's my marriage.  But I don't care about why we're married.  I care that we are married.  Cause if we weren't I wouldn't get an anniversary present.

What was that movie called with Steven Martin where he's the father of the bride?

Yeah, that didn't just happen.  

It's just a shame that as we age our memory fades.  Well, for most things.  

Example where it's sad that our memory fades: I can't remember all the friends I was with at my first concert. 

Example where it's good that our memory fades: it was a Michael Bolton concert.  I don't remember a note.

I'm of the opinion that we forget things because our brains are filling up with info as we get older and eventually it starts overflowing like a pair of Depends on an incontinent race horse.  I don't know if there's any scientific evidence to support that.  But when was the last time I needed evidence to know I'm right?  

Umm... is anyone surprised I don't remember the answer to that question?

So to sum up.  

• Russell is in a film about gladiators named Gladiator.  Ooh, Hollywood, you're always SO CLEVER!
• My husband is a saint.
• They don't actually sell incontinence diapers for horses but I bet they'd need to be prohibitively large.
• My brain used to be a tall glass of water but now, like an overflowing toilet, it's just full of shit.