Accomplishing A Dream In Mimiland

Turning 33 in Mimiland was a big deal. Well, not really. It wasn't a big deal but I wanted big things! I got a black pug puppy (that is coming home very very soon), the most magnificent sprinkle cake every baked and tickets to see my favorite comedian in Chicago. Now, if you haven't seen Bret Ernst, allow me to assure you, your life is fucking lacking major shit. He is HYSTERICAL, pee your pants hysterical, giving you abs of steel hysterical. Take my word for it, HYSTERICAL! Shoot, hold on, watch this:

Watch This RIGHT NOW

Still with me? Go pee? Ready to settle in and read about the most amazing night of my life? So, the four hour drive and ticket prices were totally cool with my dream going experience because, in my head, I had already determined that I would be in the front row, he would most definitely do the "Tony" bit and I would leave Chicago the most fulfilled a woman can be.

I purposely purchased tickets to the late show with the thought that he would surely be around afterwards for a possible meet and greet and *IF* I got my photo with him....this would be icing on my sprinkle covered cake. My boys love him too, I know, at 8 and 10, it may not be the most appropriate comic entertainment but dayum, they have me as a mother, humor is a gift that I must pass along. Both boys were quite envious that Mommie was seeing our dream comedian without them but I promised that *IF* given the opportunity, I would relay the messages of adoration to Bret personally.

Upon arriving in the FAH-REEZING and windy city, and killing a few hours, I arrived at Zanies to wait in line to see Bret Ernst *squeal*. Of course, my front row dreams were dashed because others were way earlier than I was. We quickly made friends with the couple behind us who had never heard of Bret, I gushed about his comedic genius and we youtubed videos until they were almost as excited as I was.

The doors opened at 10:15 and we were shown our seats, second row, still a little disappointed but ecstatic. That is when Andrea and her boyfriend (the couple behind us) turned and offered us their front row seats. Who died and went to heaven, THIS GIRL! I hugged them with all my might and thanked them at least a billion times!

He came out, and WOWED us all. FUCKING HYSTERICAL. We even got to hear a new joke that will HOPEFULLY make his new Comedy Central Special because it is beyond hilarious! I laughed so hard that I lost my voice and now have abs that would rival that of that sadastic wench, Jillian Michaels. Afterwards, I couldn't wait to buy a shirt that said, "F*CK TONY!"

And there he was, greeting every single person leaving the show and personally selling shirts and taking photos. I bought my shirt and he offered to take SEVERAL photos! *swoon*, I fulfilled my promise to my boys to pass along their messages and he gave me a shirt that says,"Bret Ernst" to give the boys. I tried to pay for it and he refused. This man adores his fans. If you have a chance to see him live, GO! I must say, I was just as impressed with his HUGS (plural bitches, plural) AND KISS ON THE CHEEK as I was with his comedy. He is humble and phenomenal.

Mimiland is a place of euphoria!!

Gratitude

It's almost astonishing to believe that a resident selfish,spoiled brat like myself actually has sentimental moments of reflection that leave me absolutely speechless in gratitude. Of course, I never get there in a genuinely warm hearted way, sigh.

Here's how the story goes: a month ago, I fell head over heels IN LOVE. Swept off my feet, straight seventh heaven , love at first sight nonsense. That's right fella's, Mimi got an iPhone 4s. *swoon*

In describing my love for this devise, I may have said that now that I own an iPhone, I feel like before (with all of my other phones) I was like one of those starving Ethiopian children on the infomercials that I can't watch without sobbing uncontrollably and now I'm feasting on the most gourmet, devine foods.

Apparently, that made me an asshole. I was not making light of the starvation of anyone, I'll admit that being hungry is an agonizing feeling and that's just how I feel in the morning *sigh*


I will always remember my high school history teacher,Mr. Tyner, collecting toys for the children's hospital at Christmas time. The same hospital that would save my oldest sons life when he was three months old. Mr. Tyner taught us that you give for the feeling you get inside, not the recognition you get from those observing. I've never forgotten those words. At the time, I worked after school at a petstore, usually wasting my cash on movies,bowling and cassette tapes but that week, I spent my entire check on barbies, hotwheels and art supplies. After school, I carted my purchases up to his classroom and deposited them amongst all the other gifts that he would take to these miniature humans stuck in a hospital on Christmas.

That moment, that feeling, I still have when I donate time or money. You can't help every cause or every event but if you do what you can, it's magical.

You can volunteer at a pet rescue, help transport fur babies to their new homes or sponsor a pet still searching for their family. It's hard to choose your charity but follow your heart and you will realize, it's more rewarding than any material item you may acquire.

Pugarazzi

In pure Mimi fashion, I harass my children and flat faces with less than Kodak quality photographic assault. It's what I do. These are a few of my favorites from the past week or so :)

UNTRUSTABLES! I Blame Laura!!

I recently discovered that I'm not quite the perfect pug mom. Truly, I thought I was golden, after all....pugs don't repeat the foul language that flies out of Mom's mouth at a speed that would rival a cheetah on Red Bull. However, after pugsitting my flat faced pug nephews Salinger and Toby Stripey nose, I felt inadequate at best.

Allow me to tell you about my darling Laura. To know her is to live the ahit out of someone and know that only this other person will make you a fucking gift basket when you spend the night! Martha Stewart has *nothing* on her! She is impeccable in the kitchen, the perfect hostess and has the most giving heart in the entire world. Um, if she's reading this she knows I'm secretly calling her a DOOSHBAG out of sheer love and adoration for her. We can have full conversations at length using only profanity. Seriously,without an ounce of sarcasm, I do aspire to be more like her. Truth.

That being said, she's also a magnificent pug Mommie. She makes her boys scrambled eggs in the morning, yummy homemade food with their kibble at lunch and dinner and devine homemade treats. While feeding my curly tailed nephews, I realized that this level of momminess *might* be attainable for my crew of untrustables!

I've started making them scrambled eggs in the morning and for this, they adore me more. After ONE meager attempt at lopsided and hideous looking homemade treats, they appreciated my effort and gobbled them up.

With my momentum growing, I was determined to try again. I even bought cookie cutters. *sigh*

With flour in the kitchen, my lovely Bella climbed up Sophie's stool, knocked the flour over and proceeded to silently signal to her cohorts that shenanigans were now available to be had.

Mimi The Great was unaware until Trudy walked into the bedroom, hopped on my king sized hug from Jesus and looked up at me with innocence in her eyes and flour covering her mother f*cling face. Oy flippin vey dudes. Once she made her entrance, the other three felt pretty dayum confident in making their presences known. Flour faces and all.

This is kinda a sign to me that I deserve people to do this nonsense for me. Wouldn't you agree??

I'll confess

I'm not a gardener. In fact, I'm the antithesis of a gardener. My favorite pug rescue has a Flower Power fundraiser and me, in my typical deluded fashion thought to myself,"who says you can't plant a garden!"

I'll admit, this was after a RedBull or two so I was clearly over zealous in this thought process. Feeling all holy and charitable, I *almost* couldn't wait for these magical blossoms to arrive. Well, Fed Ex arrived and my ego was still fairly balls to the wall. I borrowed a shovel and changed into a tank top,jeans and Vera Wang sandals and the nonsensical belief that I had this shit under control. Seriously, if 80 year old women do this for fun, surely I can too. Right?

W R O N G

I went outside with shovel in hand and realized quickly I'd have to perform manual labor. While I excel at so much in day to day life, I will never accept that I'm capable of manual labor. Bribing myself with wine, I dug *A* hole. Good gawd, this is taxing and I'm parched....where's the wine?

I dug one more small hole, this dumb ass shovel flipped back and got dirt all over my mother effin Vera Wang sandal and I look down just in time to see a gdayum worm and a scary as hell centipede. Um, f*ck this noise. Do I appear to you like I require a garden to fulfill some whimsical dream? Why no, no I do not.

Suddenly my detailed dreams of a tiny "pug garden" are dashed in my vain attempt to stay dirt free. All the while, my flat faced crew of untrustables stand at the door and watch, toss each others salad and lick the damn window.

Long story short, these magical flowers are planted, I'm slightly dirty and super thirsty for a multitude of alcoholic beverages. Please don't expect some flowing garden of sweet scented loveliness, at best I'll spray you with febreeze just before you walk outside,deal?