Welcome to Snarkfest

Welcome to my snarky corner of the web. Join me as I discuss everything from wine to chocolate. There may be a few other topics mixed in there too. I talk a bunch about my amazing offspring, 17 and 15. I sometimes go on and on about my secret crush on the amazing Mike Rowe. I talk about things that irritate me or things that make me happy. Sometimes I just talk to hear myself talk. Feedback is always appreciated but please make sure it's respectable. No nudity or profanity. I'm the only one allowed to be profane. But any and all snark is welcome and appreciated!

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Win a Blue-Ray/DVD combo pack copy of American Sniper!!

Hey Snarklings, I'm teaming up with Grace Hill Media to giveaway 2 copies of the movie American Sniper, released TODAY!! Check out this extra from the film:

 I've got 2 Blue-Ray/DVD copies of American Sniper to give to two lucky Snarklings!! Here's all you have to do. Leave me a comment below telling me what your favorite movie is. That's it! Could be a comedy, drama, romance, war movie, cartoon, (no porn please) whatever your favorite movie is, tell me in the comments. And on Friday I will announce the 2 lucky winners!!

Here's the really COOL part: Warner Brothers is donating $1 of every copy of American Sniper sold to the Wounded Warrior Project. I've done 2 Tough Mudders and am proud to promote this fantastic organization.

So go ahead, leave me a comment with your favorite movie and you could win one of  two copies of the film!

If for some reason you are having trouble commenting with your name and email and it shows up as "Anonymous" make sure you leave your name IN THE COMMENT so I can count you!!

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Why COPD Can Kiss My Ass....

I never even knew what COPD was until my Mom's diagnosis a few years back. I wish I had never heard of it. It's a vicious, evil diagnosis. And it's slowly killing her.

She's always been a feisty one, my Mom has. Active, slim, always busy, always running from point A to point B. Growing up, she hated driving, so she walked everywhere. Grocery store, bank, 5 & 10, if she had errands to run, she walked there. I remember when I got my drivers license, she pretty much stopped driving and relied on me to take her where she needed to go if it wasn't in walking distance. She was never one to sit still.

A smoker from the age of 13, she has no one to blame but herself. Years and years of smoking have taken a terrible toll on her lungs. She now has 30% lung capacity. Go get a straw out of your pantry. Now put it in your mouth and try to breathe through the straw. Forever. That's how my Mom's COPD is now.

This past weekend I went up to visit with Mom in New Jersey. On Saturday, we walked from her apartment to a little breakfast place about a block from where she lives. When we got back, I took her out grocery shopping, and when we got back from the store, I took her to church. Those 3 tasks completely wiped her out for the day. Thanks, COPD. Thanks for slowly destroying my Mom's life. She struggles to breathe in the hot weather, she struggles to breathe after a trip down the hall to the trash chute in her building. She struggles to breathe when getting into and out of the car. She's on oxygen 24/7/365. She'll miss my daughter's high school graduation because she's paralyzed with the fear that her oxygen will run out and she won't be able to breathe.

COPD, or Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease is an ugly, awful disease and it's slowly taking my Mother away from me, one breath at a time. I don't know how many more Mothers Days we'll have left to celebrate together, but I will cherish every moment I spend with her, every phone call, every precious minute I can get. This disease will eventually take her from me. But my Mom's such a fighter, she won't go easily. She'll struggle, she'll battle, she'll fight to breathe. Until she can't breathe any longer.

I thank God every day that she doesn't have cancer from all the years of smoking. But make no mistake, I hate COPD with a passion, because it's slowly, painfully taking my Mom away from me. So if you are reading this and you are a smoker, for the love of God please stop. The minutes of pleasure you get from smoking now will eventually lead to pain, struggle, suffering for both you and your loved ones down the road.

Happy Mothers Day, Mom. I love you and I wish I could breathe for you. 

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Only Trollops Shave Above the Knee

Here we go!!! This book is NOW ON SALE!! I'm very excited to be a part of this great collaboration of stories compiled from the lessons we've learned from our mothers! My story is one of realization, of surprise to learn that she was right after all! Moms are pretty smart, and mine is pretty freaking awesome. I can't wait to give her a copy of this book. 

How about you? Do you know someone amazing who loves to laugh, cry and enjoy a great book? This will make a fantastic Mother's Day gift, so order now!

Buy it on Kindle here.

Buy it in paperback here.

Want a signed copy??? I'd be happy to sign and send you a copy. Also, if you buy it from me, you get a free Snarkfest bookmark at no extra charge!! Just click this link and fill in the details!

Share this post with someone you think would enjoy reading this book and when you've read it, please feel free to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Trust me, it helps more than you know!

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Offense: Is it Taken or is it Given?

The internet: It's chock full of information. There is happiness and sadness. It can be a wonderful tool for keeping in touch, keeping in contact with family and friends. And it can be a source of anger and ire where arguments abound. The internet is not to be entered into lightly. A thick skin is a must.

Borrowed from FB Troublemakers. Or Rebel Circus. Hard to tell. Either way, I thank them.

Wow, that's pretty deep stuff for a sarcastic humor blogger, isn't it? Yes, yes it is. And I AM a sarcastic blogger. I rant, I curse, some would say I'm offensive at times. But am I? Do I offend or is it that things I say are taken to heart by sensitive people whose feelings are easily hurt?

It has not now nor has it ever been my intention to hurt anyone's feelings. But sometimes it happens. Sometimes I may say something to offend. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's not. I have a tendency to speak first (okay, type first) and I don't actually THINK about whether what I say could be offensive to someone out there reading my stuff. It's part of my quick wit, I can't help it. But do I intend my words to be offensive? No, I don't. But are they? Yep, apparently, they are.

Take for example, a post made by my friends and fellow authors at the blog It's Really 10 Months. Before Easter, they posted something on their Facebook page about non-traditional Easter basket goodies. If you don't want the Easter Bunny to bring candy, what other items would you suggest. Me, in all my sarcastic wit, jokingly suggested:  "Crack, guns and some clean needles." 27 people 'liked' that comment. One simply posted "not funny" which I totally get. I'm not everyone's cup of cocoa. One person, however, took HUGE offense, replying:  "That's not funny, snarkfest. is that what you give out? Im happy im not related to you."  (HER typos, not mine. Everyone knows 'Snarkfest' is ALWAYS capitalized)

Seriously, people. It. Was. A. Joke. And for the record, I'm glad I'm not related to her either. Typos like that make me itchy. Did I set out to intentionally piss her off? Nope. Did she take offense? Yep. Was that my intention? Nope. Should I care that one person got a hair up her ass over a post I made? If I did, I'd then have to censor everything that came out of my mind. I don't want to have to do that.

Again, I borrowed this from Facebook. Don't sue me

I have another friend who wrote a post about how important it is for businesses to use correct grammar and punctuation. The post, 'Trust me -- it DOES matter..." was a very well-written piece but contained the term "Grammar Nazi". We joked about whether or not some overly sensitive folks would be offended by the term Grammar Nazi. I'm half Jewish on my Dad's side. Should I take offense to that term? No, because in MY opinion, there's nothing offensive about it.

But again, that's MY opinion. I'm entitled to that opinion. EVERYONE is entitled to their own opinion, that's what makes America a great country. If we lose our right to an opinion, the terrorists win... or something like that.

My point is,  people are going to take offense to anything and everything. It's human nature. But do I set out to BE offensive? No. I don't GIVE offense. My friend Fiona, when discussing this issue, told me this: "Offense is taken, not given." And she's 1000% correct.

People like Howard Stern,  Lisa Lampanelli, Andrew Dice Clay and Daniel Tosh are not everyone's cup of tea. If you are offended by something that they say, then don't watch/listen/read. They speak, but not everyone is offended. Some are amused and entertained. But some don't enjoy dick jokes. Those people take offense. They TAKE OFFENSE. But does that mean that those comedians shouldn't say the things they say? NO, because we live in America, land of free speech. If you don't like something that you hear/see but it's not actually causing physical harm to anyone: change the channel.  It's simple really.

I'm going to end with this: I've used the term 'fucktard' a lot. It is NOT a term I use to mock those with Downs Syndrome. It has NOTHING to do with Downs Syndrome. It has everything to do with people being complete and total assholes on a lower than low scale. Some may find it offensive. I can't help that. But my friend who has a son with Downs Syndrome laughs her ass off when I use that term. I've used it to describe her pig scumbag of an ex-husband (actually, comparing her ex-husband to a pig is probably offensive to pigs. Sorry, pigs). So I'm using her, one of my best friends, as a gauge. If she, a mother of a son with Downs Syndrome, takes no offense to my using that term, that's good enough for me. If others take offense to the term, that's not on me. I'm not GIVING it, they are taking it.

If you have stuck with me through this post and will continue to enjoy my stuff, then I thank you. If you have read this blog post and have taken offense to any part of it, then I suggest you and I part ways, because if I censor myself to avoid anyone taking offense, then I am not being true to myself. I don't lie, it's not who I am.

If you have enjoyed my writing, but don't like this particular post, come back tomorrow, when I may have something completely unoffensive to say. That's the beauty of the internet.

Monday, April 13, 2015

A Tale of Two Weeks...

Technically it's only one week. But this is a story of last week from two different perspectives: My eyes and teenage eyes.

Last Monday, I dropped 17 and 15 off at school where they were loading up three charter buses to haul 100+ marching band members plus dozens of chaperones down to Walt Disney World for Spring Break. I was not one of those chaperones. I wanted to be, but the cost was just too much, given the fact that I was sending two kids down already. A third ticket to ride would've meant that some lucky bill collector would be calling us some rude names. I opted not to go on this trip. Here's why I am fine with/hate that decision.

Teenage eyes: Absolutely and thoroughly excited at the chance to head to Orlando for a week of fun in the sun with friends. Getting to spend hours in the water park or the Magic Kingdom meeting characters, waiting on endless lines for minutes of fun.

My eyes: Watching the kids mill around the band room and seeing the chaperones come in with their suitcases, knowing that they'd get the opportunity to watch my children having the time of their lives.  The knot grows bigger and bigger in my stomach. It becomes pure torture for me to watch others loading up while I stand by on the sidelines, not a part of this experience.

Teenage eyes: Dear sweet baby Jesus are we there yet??

My eyes: Thank GOD I'm not on a charter bus driving 18 hours to Orlando, FL.

Teenage eyes: Excitement mounting as they all congregate backstage at the Magic Kingdom, dressing in their band uniforms, warming up, preparing to step off and march in the Main Street Electrical Parade. And after taking that parade by storm, getting to watch the amazing fireworks show afterwards.

My eyes: Looking at the clock, counting down the minutes until 9:45 p.m., which is step-off time for the band to begin the march down Main Street, performing in my favorite parade in Walt Disney World.  Getting chills just imagining how amazing this experience is for my girls, and getting sad that I can't be there to enjoy it, enjoy them, enjoy the experience first hand. Disney is our place, a place we'd go every year if we could afford it. I want to be there so badly that I'm physically aching inside. At 10:30 the first pictures are posted to Facebook and I break down in tears. Proud tears, yes, but also tears of self-pity and selfishness. I should've gone. I should've just said "to hell with fiscal responsibility, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I should be there dammit!" But knowing in my heart (and my bank account) that this week is NOT about me. It's TOTALLY about my girls, and their friends and the marching band. I should be ashamed for being so jealous of everyone there while I sit at my computer looking at videos of my girls and crying. I feel torn.

Teenage eyes: Dread at getting back on the charter buses at 10:00 at night knowing full well how long the trip home will be, and leaving what has been one of the most exciting times of their young lives.

My eyes: At least I can sleep in my own bed tonight and not on a charter bus for 18 hours.

My girls.
Teenage eyes: Oh God I've never been so happy to see this high school in my entire life. Thank GOD I'm off that charter bus and if I never see another charter bus again it'll be too soon. I just want to go home, shower and get into my own bed!

My eyes: Thank God my girls are home safe and sound and I can't wait to hear every detail about their week (well, the details they're willing to share with old Mom). I hope they want to sit and chat with me all day long!

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

I'm someplace else today, come see me!

About a thousand years ago I wrote my very first blog post. It was awkward. But I wrote it and I'm so proud of it. Today, my friend Stacey over at Nurse Mommy Laughs is featuring the blog post that popped my proverbial cherry. Go have a look and leave me some feedback. Tell me I'm pretty and that you want to give my chocolate for being brave enough to write about taking my teenage daughters bathing suit shopping.

Here's a teaser......

Let me tell you about the weekend that I had the pleasure (read: abject HORROR) of trying bathing suits on with my daughters, who at the time were 14 & 12. It was Mother's Day weekend, and I had a 30% off coupon for Kohls. We were planning on a trip to Disney, and we all needed new bathing suits. After grabbing about $145,835 worth of regular clothing we moved on to bathing suits. They went first, and I grabbed a pile and when I walked into our dressing room, I stood with my mouth gaping wide open, staring at these two unbelievably gorgeous shapely, stunning girls and wondered if I had accidentally entered the wrong room.

Read the rest here.....

Monday, March 30, 2015

Mommie Dearest...

Happy Monday, Snarklings. Going through the archives today, and I found a moldy oldie that I had fun writing. It originally appeared on my old Tumblr account but I thought it was worth bringing it back and putting it on this page because it's funny and I'm too lazy to write anything original today.

Without further ado......

Image courtesy of: http://www.monologuedb.com/film/mommie-dearest-joan-crawford/

I’m not exactly sure why I don’t like white wine. I just don’t. I like white grapes. I like white bread. I like white cats. It’s just the white wine that I don’t like. I also wonder what the deal is with lima beans. I don’t like ‘em. I like baked beans, I like beans in the bean soup my mother would always make after Easter, I like black beans and kidney beans, but lima beans rank right up there with liver and brussel sprouts on my list of non-faves. Beets, now there’s another thing that I could never sink my teeth into. So to speak. I don’t know if it’s the texture, or their striking resemblance to cranberry sauce from a can, but I just hate the taste of beets. I love cranberry sauce from a can, so maybe it’s just a deep seeded sense of resentment that the beet doesn’t taste as wonderful as canned cranberry. Who knows?

Anyway, my topic today is children and their eating habits. 14 and 12 could NOT be any more opposite in their food tastes and sometimes it makes me meshuggeneh. (it’s a word). For instance, 12 will eat almost anything that I make. Does it hurt that 12 is a tremendous suck up? No, not at all. She is my pleaser. She is my Bill Clinton. She feels my pain. She’d eat a fried tennis ball if I told her it would make me so happy. She eats almost anything that she is fed.  12’s favorite food is broccoli. Now I don’t for a minute actually BELIEVE that, but it’s what she WANTS grown-ups to believe, so who am I to say otherwise? However, 14 is a totally different story. Let’s start with rice. Ew. Rice. Hates the consistency. It’s awful. It’s so, small and…..ricey. 14 wouldn’t be caught dead gagging down even a grain of rice. Why, then, can I not keep a box of Rice Krispies in the house?? Same thing!! Rice Chex? GONE faster than you can say Chex Mix Rocks. But when I make a dish that has rice, she’s always looking for an alternative. “Mom can you make mashed potatoes instead?” No. “Can you make mashed potatoes AND rice?” No. Can you get over your hatred of rice? “No”. Then it seems we are at an impasse.

Let’s move on to anything that grows out of the ground and starts with the letter V and ends in table. If it’s not corn, 14 won’t touch it. I can make a can of peas (Peas!! Who doesn’t love peas?? They’re adorable and cute and taste so sweet!!) and I’ll put 6 peas on 14’s plate. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences should be alerted the next time 14 has 6 peas on her plate, because Meryl Streep has NOTHING on 14 when it comes to best dramatic performance. She chokes, she gags, she spits. You’d think I actually fried up something that came out of our dog Cosmo’s butt and made her eat it. (To be honest, he used to eat his own poo, so if it’s good enough for Cosmo, I don’t know why it’s not good enough for 14 but that’s a blog for another day). 

How about tomatoes? They’re not really a vegetable, right? They’ve got seeds. They’re fruit. Now while I will admit that I don’t personally enjoy the tomato, I will eat it in a dish where the tomato is a key ingredient. I make a delicious Pampered Chef recipe that my friend, the gorgeous and beautifully talented, Jazzy Jen gave to me called Zesty Ravioli. The recipe calls for diced tomatoes but when I make this recipe, 14 always ends up with a pile of little diced tomatoes that she picks out. When I make this recipe and serve it with a bagged salad, she ends up with a plate of diced tomatoes and a salad bowl with all the little teeny shredded carrots she’s picked out and put to the side. I could probably feed a small African village with all the colorful, healthy veggies 14 piles to the side. Call Bob Geldolf, we can do Live Aid 3 and send tons of veggies to those less fortunate. It doesn’t bother 14 that there are starving children in Africa, she won’t eat a pea.

I’ve learned to just roll my eyes and accept it. But let’s make one thing perfectly clear. I am NOT one of those GOOD moms. You know the type. The moms who want to make sure that their children are well taken care of and will make something different for their picky child if said picky child won’t eat what they’ve made. No, quite the contrary, I keep wire hangers in my closets, and I don’t make additional meals if I don’t have to. My kids are lucky I have the time to make what I do make for them. With the sports schedules, band, scouts, extra-curricular activities, they’re lucky they eat anything at all! Now don’t go getting all defensive and calling the mom police on me. My kids don’t starve. If one of my children (14) doesn’t enjoy the delicious delicacies which I have prepared, they are free to open a can of soup, or make some scrambled eggs or eat a hot dog. I’m okay with that. I’m keeping it real. I’m like Jenny from the blog.

Ok, maybe that’s going a bit too far.