Pumpkin Spice Blood Sacrifice

I didn’t write a Monday Movie post, because quite honestly I didn’t feel like it. I know you’re crushed. Please try to contain your sorrow.

I stayed at home with Nellie yesterday because she was up half the night with a cough.. Which means that none of us got very much sleep. She was running a low-grade fever when she got up so I decided to keep her at home with me.

A few hours into the day I decided that it was time to pull out the few fall decorations that I have (nevermind the fact that it’s approximately 95 degrees outside right now.. IN MY HEAD IT’S CRISP AND FULL OF AUTUMN MAGIC). I placed my little wooden pumpkins as well as my pumpkin basket and hung my “Welcome Fall” sign on the outside of the door. Satisfied, I went about my day.

A while later, I remembered that I had a pumpkin spice candle stowed away in the closet from last year. I was consumed with candle-lust and excitement as I hurried to the closet. I raised up on tiptoe to see the candle pushed as far back as possible on the top shelf. Of course it was. I gazed forlornly up at the candle and cursed my Hobbit-ness. Suddenly, I had an idea. I grabbed a nearby coat hanger and begun reaching for the candle’s open top. My tongue poked out in concentration as I strained to reach it.  I poked and grunted and reached and then realized that the cap was on top of the candle and was preventing my coat hanger from grabbing hold. Blast! I looked around and spotted  a box that I could climb on. I scrambled gingerly on top of it, reached and snatched the candle. I hopped off the box, feeling victorious. Instead of my foot meeting the ground, however, it met pain and stabbing.
“Fuck!” I yelped. I looked behind me and saw that I had landed on a painted trowel that we have in the closet.

Why the fuck does she have a painted trowel in her closet? You may be asking. Why the fuck don’t YOU? WHO IS THE WEIRD ONE HERE?

But seriously, it was a Christmas gift to my husband from his mother. His father is a brick mason (and so was he), and one Christmas my mother in law had a woman she knows paint a beautiful scene on four trowels – each one my father in law had used in work – and gave them to each of her children. It’s beautiful and was a really thoughtful gift.

It’s also very sharp and stabby.

I hobbled into the living room where Nellie was busy shrieking and destroying things. I fished out an alcohol swab and the only kind of Band-Aid we had: Big Bird. Nellie is obsessed with “bab-abes!” right now, so as I was swabbing my foot and cringing at the coppery mixture of alcohol and blood  wafting up at me she was scrambling and trying to snatch the Band-Aid from my fingers.
“Bab-abe! Bab-abe!”
“No no, Nellie, mama has a boo-boo. See? Boo-boo. No, don’t touch my foot, it’s all bloody. That’s mama’s Band-Aid. Honey. No.”
“BOO BOO. BOO BOO,” she insisted, pointing at the non-existent boo-boo on her knee.
I fought tiny hands and shrieks of “BOO BOO! BOO! BAB-ABE! MAMAAAAA” the entire time I was wrestling Big Bird onto my bloody heel but I eventually got him on,
“There,” I said to Nellie. “Mama’s boo-boo is better.”
“Boo boo,” she said, leaning down to kiss my foot. Then I melted into a puddle of goop.

I hobbled over to the candle happily, eager reap the benefits of my blood sacrifice. At first, I couldn’t get the candle to light. I cursed approximately ten times, then side-eyed Nellie to see if she’d repeat what I’d said. She didn’t. I thought that the near loss of my foot was in vain until finally, after burning myself on the finger – twice – (I REALLY LIKE PUMPKIN SPICE, OKAY?) the candle caught and the smell of spicy goodness filled the air. VICTORY!

In case you’re wondering, the pumpkin spice candle? Totally worth lacerating my foot and bleeding like a stuck pig.

Hellooooooooooo fall!


No, YOU Go Find YOUR Niche.

Find your niche. Find your tribe. Find like-minded people. Niche niche nichey niche Mc Nicherton. If you blog, if you Tweet, if you are friends with other bloggers you know that one of the first pieces of advice you get while blogging is to “find your niche” and stick to it. “Find your tribe”.

What the fuck are you supposed to do if you don’t HAVE a niche? What if you are niche-less? That’s how I view myself and my blog. I don’t have a niche. I’m not crafty, I’m not crunchy, I’m not fashionable and I don’t do a lot of giveaways. I try to be funny but I can’t be funny all the time. I don’t know how humor bloggers do it because sometimes, I’m just not frigging funny. So what the hell is my niche? Where is the place in the blogging world for those of us who are niche-less?

If you know me in real life, you know that random is kind of who and what I am. I have always had a very random and eclectic sense of humor, taste in movies, taste in music. I like all sorts of different things and I laugh at really off-the-wall shit. My coworkers never know what the hell I’m going to say. I don’t even know what the hell I’m going to say most of the time until it comes out of my mouth and then I’m like, “That was the most random shit ever. What the fuck, brain?” and it’s like “LET’S GO PLAY HOPSCOTCH WITH A WOLF.” and I’m like “…………….”
I consider myself kind of strange and I have a hard time fitting in with real people so finding a “tribe” on the internet? Pffff. What the fuck ever. People probably read this blog and think I’m a lunatic. One minute I’m talking about my beautiful toddler and the next I’m dropping F-Bombs and cursing my fat rolls and mustache. Where the hell is the niche in that?

Maybe my niche is “random”. Keeping you on your toes. Making you feel like you’re trapped in a windowless room with a crazy person and a hungry wolverine. My brain is like a little hummingbird that flits about from subject to subject and I guess all of you reading are just stuck with me and my niche-less ass. Thanks for sticking around through the Crazy. I really do appreciate it.

Climbing the Lion

At our local mall, we have an indoor playground that’s meant for smaller children. It even has a height restriction. Not that other parents always pay attention to said height restriction *coughhackcough*. But that’s another post for another time.

This playground is made entirely of things that won’t stab your kid in the face or cause decapitation. The floor is almost bouncy and everything is made of some special material from the magical land of “no childhood injuries ever”. Really the worst thing that could happen is your toddler tumbles off the slide and bumps their head a little. It’s very safe. We’ve only taken Nellie a few times, because there are usually older kids there and they are running and being rambunctious little kids. We just didn’t feel comfortable with her toddling unsteadily about amidst the rumpus. The few times we did take her, I followed her around; hovering like one of the dreaded Helicopter Parents you read about. And up until recently, my hovering was justified.

We took her last week, and Helicopter Mama hovered about helpfully. The playground was provided by the local hospital in town, so some of the animals that the kids can climb on are in various states of ailment and recovery. There is a lion that is lying on its belly with a hot water bottle on its head. Nellie ran over to the lion and lifted herself onto one of its feet. I was right there behind her, offering to help. “Noooo!” she insisted, shaking her head and backing up off the lion. Nellie is and has always been very cautious so I figured she just wasn’t ready to climb the lion.

Josh waved me over to where he was standing and told me to stop hovering.
“I’m not hovering,” I insisted. He just looked at me. “Okay maybe I’m being a bit of a helicopter but I can’t help it. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“Honey,” he said. “This place is pretty much like playing on a marshmallow. She’s not going to get hurt. Let her play. Let her climb, let her fall.”

Taking deep breaths, I realized my husband was right and I stood by his side, watching our girl run and squeal. Being the careful child she is, she spent most of her playtime running from one thing to the next.The few times she would put a foot up on something like she was wanting to climb, it took every ounce of self-control I had to not run over and help her. But I didn’t. It was really hard, but I didn’t do it.

A few days later we returned when it wasn’t too crowded. There were smaller children there for the most part so we felt comfortable letting her play. I stood back this time, watching my girl run and enjoy herself. I was talking to Josh and when I looked over to check on her,  she was standing at the ailing lion again. As I watched, she put one foot up on his, then the other. I watched my girl crawl, scramble, and maneuver until she was sitting on the top of the lion, looking around with a smile on her face.

My girl climbed the lion. By herself. My breath caught in my throat as I witnessed this “first” for her; my safe and cautious girl had climbed something that had scared her only days before completely unassisted. She did it without my help and encouragement. My heart swelled with pride and love for my brave little girl. She sat atop the lion for a few minutes before deciding it was time to get down. She looked a little hesitant and I felt compelled to go help her but I resisted the urge and of course, my curly-headed adventurer found her own way down without my help once more. With a grin on her face, she turned back around to climb the lion again and I watched her with tears in my eyes. I turned to look at Josh, who was also smiling.
“She did it,” I said. “She did it without my help.”
My voice caught as I spoke the words, because in that moment it was more than just watching my daughter scramble up a playground lion. It was her taking another little step out of my nervous arms and toward independence. It was another moment that I realized my child is growing up and needing me less and less.

My entire body still wants to Helicopter. I want to hold her little hand and help her climb all of the lions that life throws into her path, but I know that I can’t. She has to do it on her own. I just have to tell myself that even though I have to let go, even though she has to learn for herself, that doesn’t mean that I won’t still be there to help her just in case she needs me, and to kiss away the tears when she does fall.

Pre~Seed Review & Giveaway Revisited

It’s been a while since I’ve done a giveaway. When Amy with Pre~Seed contacted me asking if I’d like to work with them again on a giveaway, I was excited! I did a giveaway for Pre~Seed last year and was happy to do one again.

Pre~Seed is a product that I really love and believe in. If you are relatively new to my blog you may not know that my husband and I tried for almost a year to get pregnant with Nellie. We got pregnant on our first try back in late 2007, but had a miscarriage at 7 weeks and lost the baby. We didn’t think it’d take long at all to get pregnant again, but we were wrong. During our struggles to conceive I tried a lot of things; a particular brand of vitamin, using menstrual cups to try to keep his sperm close to my cervix.. You name it, we tried it. I finally decided to buy some Pre~Seed and the first cycle we used it is the cycle we got pregnant with Nellie!

What makes Pre~Seed different than other lubricants? Simply put, it’s sperm-friendly. Other lubricants can actually damage and harm sperm, but Pre~Seed creates a friendly environment for the little swimmers to do their thing. Some of the other things that make Pre~Seed different:

  • First product allowed to state that it is “safe to use” by couples who are trying to conceive
  • Published studies show no harm to sperm
  • Published studies show less irritating to sensitive tissues than other leading lubricants
  • Numerous US and International Patents
  • Balanced to match fertile cervical mucus
  • Internal application mimics and supplements natural body fluids
  • Contains the plant-based arabinogalactan for antioxidant support of cells, including sperm
  • Recommended by leading fertility and women’s clinics

I had an issue with my fertile cervical mucous; I didn’t make a lot of it when I was ovulating and while I am in no way saying that fertility-friendly lubricant is a cure-all for people trying to conceive, I really do feel that it helped us to conceive our daughter. It is the first thing I recommend to any friend who tells me they are trying to conceive and it’s something that we actually still use during intercourse not because we are trying to conceive, but because I like the consistency and how natural it feels. I also have the tendency to be sensitive to other lubricants and Pre~Seed is completely non-irritating to my ladyparts.

You can buy Pre~Seed in several stores now such as Target, CVS, or Walgreens but one lucky Mommy Boots reader will win one Pre~Seed 40gm tube with 9 applicators! Here’s how to enter:

[Read more…]

Monday Movie Favorite Feature : Insidious

Sometimes, if you can believe it (sarcasm) we don’t get time on the weekends to watch a new movie. When that happens, I decided that on Mondays I would do a “favorite feature” meaning a movie I’ve seen once or twice (or, you know, nine times) to share with you all.

Today’s Favorite Feature is actually a relatively new film and another horror movie. Today I’ll be talking about Insidious.

Okay so for one, it’s got a creepy ass poster. I mentioned before that little kids + horror movies = trauma and terror and it’s true. Look at Children of the Corn. Poltergeist. Village of the Damned. The Omen. Hannah Montana. Terrifying. There’s something about putting children in sinister situations that chills us to our marrow and Insidious is no exception.

Insidious focuses on a family of five; a mom and dad, two sons and a baby daughter. They’ve just moved into a new house and are in the midst of the chaos of unpacking and settling in. Dad works as a teacher and mom stays at home with the children. She notices some books she’s unpacked and put away suddenly have fallen on the floor. As an audience member you’re all like OH SNAP, POLTERGEISTS. But mom blames one of the kids, who insists that he didn’t do it. One evening while most of the family is playing downstairs Dalton, one of the sons, goes exploring in the attic. He takes a fall from a ladder and sees something that causes him to start screaming. His parents rush to him and to their relief, he is fine. The next morning they try to wake Dalton but he is unresponsive. They take him to the hospital where a doctor tells them that he’s kind of in a coma, but kind of not because his body and brain responses aren’t consistent with a coma. Weeks pass with no change in Dalton and the family brings him home. Dad starts putting in long hours at work and mom begins seeing and hearing things in the house that terrify her. A voice on the baby monitor. Shadows and figures.  After one particular scare she insists that something’s wrong with the house and begs her husband to leave. To mom’s relief they do move, and put their ghostly problems behind them.. Or so she thinks. It turns out that the terrifying things haunting their family followed them to the new house. Something is drawn to Dalton, something horrifying and insidious and as it so happens, the scariest parts of the story are yet to come.

Insidious is by far one of my favorite horror films. It has a very old-school, classic horror story vibe. It is very nerve-wracking and scary without resorting to cheap scares and gore. The camera angles and soundtrack create endless tension, making you feel like at any moment something horrible is going to happen but sometimes, the scariest things are the things you only catch from the corner of your eye. The imagery in the film is so creepy and so unnerving, you are on edge the entire time you’re watching. The story seems like one you’ve heard a hundred times before; haunted house, haunted family, so on and so forth but just when you think you have Insidious figured out it grabs you and turns you around and you find yourself facing a whole new concept that hasn’t really been done before in a horror film. I’m not going to give it away because I hate spoilers but it’s a good twist without being outrageous or ridiculous.

From the moment the title of the film comes on the screen to the ending credits, Insidious creates tension and unease that grabs hold of you and is unrelentingly scary.

Rating (out of five *****):
I give Insidious all ***** stars. I am a sucker for a good scary film, particularly ones that give me the chills without having to get gory and bloody. Insidious gives you that cold feeling in the pit of your stomach and stays with you even after the movie has ended, and I love that in a horror film.

Suggestions for Related Viewing:
If you’ve seen Insidious already and are looking for a movie with a similar style and feel, try The Haunting. Not the 1999 version, because that was a piece of crap. Rent the 1963 version directed by Robert Wise. That is to date one of the scariest movies I’ve ever seen.

If you’ve seen Insidious, what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Pee your pants? It’s okay if you did, most of the people reading this blog have bladder control issues anyway after being pregnant.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed this week’s Favorite Feature!


Whose Boobs Are These, Anyway?

I’ve never been big-chested. In fact, I’ve always lamented about how small the girls are. At my thinnest, I was an A cup. At my biggest (pre-baby), I was barely a B. It seemed nature’s cruel joke that when I gained weight, my boobs were the last place to fill out yet when I lost, they were the first place I shrank. WHAT THE ACTUAL EFF, MOTHER NATURE? What kind of wonk-ass logic is THAT?

I digress. When I became pregnant, my boobs grew as tends to happen. Preparing to nurture your baby and whatnot. I went from a 36A to a 36C overnight. Seriously. I went to bed an A, and woke up and my boobies were all, “OH HAI, LOL. WE’RE BIG NOW.” Suddenly I knew the joys of gratuitous boob sweat (because I was also an oven when I was pregnant). Oh happy day. It turns out that having larger boobs isn’t all fun and games. For one, my boobs were sore through my pregnancy and when they got bigger they just got heavier and MORE painful to lug around. They also got freakishly veiny and had random hairs sprout all over them. Weird, right? Aren’t you glad you decided to read this post and learn all about my ta-tas?

So now that I’ve gained weight and am the proud owner of back fat, my bra size has increased yet again. It’s not in the cup so much as it is in the circumference. My chest is now an impressive 40C. The other day I was carrying the laptop into the bedroom. I looked down at my computer and my boob had tried to create a Facebook event. I had to quickly exit out of the event before my other boob decided it wanted to join the fun and ended up inadvertently starting a flash mob or some shit.

I know that 40C is not the biggest bra size ever but holy fuck is it hard to find cute bras in that size that don’t cost the same as a Cadillac. Seriously, bra makers. SHOW THE BIG GIRLS SOME FREAKING LOVE. This is a disturbing trend not only seen in bra manufacturers but in clothing companies in general. They seem to think that only big women with lots of money want to look cute and fashionable; the rest of us are content wearing mumus and t-shirts that are actually made from old plantation home curtains. I have a newsflash for you, clothing companies: PLUS SIZED WOMEN ARE NOT SCARLETT O’HARA. I DO NOT WANT YOUR CLOTHING MADE FROM DRAPERIES. KTHXBAI.

Anyway, my bigger chest would be nicer if my waist were smaller. Now that I’ve been using John Cleese and am trying to lose some weight, I know that my boobies are going to shrink faster than any other part of me because that’s just how it goes. I’ll be a little sad to see the girls go, but the back fat will not be missed.

Monday Movie: Husk

Welcome to Monday Movie with Mommy Boots! The movie I’m reviewing this week I enjoyed a hell of a lot more than last week’s movie (Season of the Witch).

This week’s movie is horror flick Husk.

I wasn’t expecting much from this film, partially because I’d never heard of it before (not that I’ve heard of every movie ever, but my brother-in-law is a horror movie fanatic and I hear about many, many horror flicks) and partially because we’ve had a really bad Netflix track record the past few weeks. We’ve had some real doozies. I was really pleasantly surprised with this one, though. Now if you’re not a horror fan, you’re not going to like this movie. But if you like scary movies, this one is good!

Husk begins with five friends driving down a remote road surrounded by cornfields. Now, cornfields freak me the hell out. They always have. I think it’s because I watched Stephen King’s The Stand when I was about seven, and was traumatized by the cornfields. This is unfortunate, because I grew up in Illinois where there is corn EVERYWHERE. I digress. Five friends are driving down a road surrounded by evil cornfields when something happens and their car ends up running off the road and everyone loses consciousness for a while. I’m not going to tell you what happens because it scared the piss out of me and I don’t like spoiling scares.

Four of the friends wake up in the car to find that their fifth friend is nowhere to be found. They make it out of their wrecked car and look around, seeing nothing but road and rows of corn as far as they can see. They manage to spot the very top of the roof of a house in the midst of the fields, and deduce that their missing friend must have gone there to find help. Two of them go to find the missing person and two stay behind in case a car comes by.

The creepiness begins when the two that took off toward the house come across a scarecrow that is just really effing disturbing. The girl who remains by the car ends up seeing what looks like a little boy in the corn, which is freaky. Kids + horror movies = terror. She then stumbles across someone laying half in and half out of the corn. He’s dressed up like the scarecrow the other two guys just saw and when she pulls back the opening for the mouth, she sees that the “scarecrow” actually has teeth. She freaks out and the other guy tells her everything’s fine. She insists on going after their two friends, and they end up heading through the cornfield toward the house and that’s when things get really scary.

I really liked the storyline. It was pretty original and unique and the acting was tolerable. Many times horror movies with less than a Hollywood budget have awful acting and while this didn’t deserve an Oscar or anything, it’s not the worst I’ve seen. The feel of the house and the inside of it was very reminiscent to the remake of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I felt like the director drew a lot from TCM, but it wasn’t to the point of being a rip-off. There were very tense moments in the film, and several really good scares that actually made me shriek out loud. This film is part supernatural, part messed up hick family, and even part zombie. It doesn’t sound like those three elements would mesh well but they made it work in Husk. If you’re looking for something spooky and different, I would definitely recommend it.

Rating (out of 5 *****):
I’m giving Husk *** 1/2 stars. It’s not the greatest horror movie I’ve ever seen, but it was way better than I anticipated and I would actually buy it and watch it again. The storyline was cool, the imagery was very creepy and it had good scares.

I don’t have any suggestions for related viewing because I really liked this one and wouldn’t suggest watching something else in its place. If you like scary movies this one’s definitely worth a rent. Grab some popcorn, turn the lights off and enjoy!

Thanks for reading. Feel free to discuss the movie in the comments or make suggestions of your own!

John Cleese the Treadmill.

We have acquired a hand-me-down treadmill, which is both good and bad. I hate exercising. I’m not one of those people that’s all, “RUNNING FOREVER. I HEART JOGGING. I CAN THROW A FOOTBALL TO TEXAS! YESSSSSS!!!!” I work out because if I don’t, I get fat and I don’t like being fat. I also want to be hot for Blog Her ’12 which I’m bound and determined to attend. I hate exercising and I hate this fucking piece of exercise equipment. I like the way working out makes me feel but the actual act of working out, I dread. When it’s time to walk I eyeball it and think of various ways I could annihilate it. Lighting it on fire. Throwing it off a bridge. Ding-dong-ditching it on some poor unsuspecting fool’s doorstep (YOUR PROBLEM NOW ASSHOLES! AAAHH HA HA HA HAHA!)… But in the end, I don’t do any of those things because I’m afraid of fire and it’s too heavy for me to carry.

Evil, thy name is Treadmill.

We took the treadmill that Josh’s parents had in their basement. They weren’t using it anymore and it’s pretty much the temperature of Satan’s asshole outside 24/7 so we needed a way to exercise indoors. Jillian Michaels also comes from hell and I’m not paying money for her to torture and maim me (and I’m afraid to illegally download things because I’m not cut out for prison. I WATCH OZ, I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS THERE) so we got the treadmill. It’s sitting in our living room, mocking me. It’s functional, and runs, but that’s about it. I think sometimes I hear it wheezing when I’m walking on it but that could also be because I’m fat and it’s like “PLEASE NOOOO GET OFF MEEEE.”

I got on the treadmill the other night and took it slow-ish. I’m very out of shape so I didn’t want to hurt myself. About ten minutes into it, I got cocky and was all, “IM’A RUN. WATCH ME Y’ALL” and I cranked it up to a slow jog. Now, I wasn’t even good at jogging when I was skinny and in shape. I have the knees of the Cryptkeeper and they squeak and crack when I get up off the couch so I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I was jogging and feeling very sweaty and productive. I slowed the treadmill down back to my comfortable pace and my knees were all, “AHH. WHY DOES IT HATES US, PRECIOUS? IT BURNS. IT BURNSSSSSS.”
P.S. my knees are also Gollum.

I alternated jogging and briskly walking for thirty minutes until I’d had enough of the treadmill and I hobbled off. I felt good even though I was drenched in sweat. It’s so crazy to think that three years ago, I could take a one hour power aerobics class and still have breath to spare at the end but jogging/fast walking on a treadmill now makes me almost suffocate and die.

Even though I hate working out and the treadmill makes me all *side eye*, I decided it needs a name if we’re going to continue to be friends. I decided to name it John Cleese, because that’s what I see when I walk. We have a Monty Python poster on the wall directly in front of the treadmill. When I’m exercising, I’m staring at this the whole time:



Even though I dread using John Cleese, even though while I’m walking I’m actually thinking about tacos and cheese logs, I’m going to stick with it. I have no excuse. So begins Operation: Fit for BlogHer. Me & John Cleese are going to become well acquainted over the next 12 months even if he is an old, dusty son of a bitch.




The She-Stache.

One of the downfalls of being dark-headed is that hair shows up everywhere. Unless you’re not into the whole shaving thing, you HAVE to shave or else you look like a big, fuzzy bear. I have light-headed friends who declare that they never have to shave their legs and I usually shut them up by “accidentally” elbowing them in the face. Oops, was that your nose? Sorry.

I’ve noticed that on certain areas of my body, my hair seems to be darkening the older I get. Or maybe it’s post-pregnancy hormones. Or maybe I’m slowly turning into a werewolf. Regardless of the reason, I’ve begun to develop more and more of what I call a “she-stache” over the past few years. My “she-stache” used to not be that bad. It was kind of pesky, noticeable to me but to my knowledge no one ever took note of it before. I had tried various hair removals, including one unfortunate incident with a depilatory cream where I left it on too long, burned my upper lip and ended up looking like Two-Face. I also tried that NADS (heh. Heh heh.) stuff that’s like honey or sugar or molasses or some shit that you smear on your face and then rip off. It worked pretty well, except for the fact that for some reason the stuff made me break out on my upper lip. And I’m not talking just a few measly little bumps, I’m talking deep and painful pimples that lasted for weeks. I thought perhaps it was just the brand, so I wisely chose a different brand of skin-remover upper-lip wax and got the same results: huge zits from the depths of hell.

I gave up on removing the hair from my face, resigning myself to my fate. Then I got pregnant and after my first trimester, I looked like a magical glowing unicorn from heaven. Seriously, I looked awesome when I was pregnant. My skin was clear, my hair was great and aside from some massive stray hairs on my protruding belly and boobs (which freaked my husband out) my face-fur was pretty well under control. Then I gave birth and my body was like “WHAT THE HELL? Did you just push a MINIATURE HUMAN BEING OUT OF YOUR HOO-HA? I’m FREAKING OUT. PIMPLES. WOLF HAIR. UNCONTROLLABLE FLATULENCE. BODY ODORRRRR. ” and my “she-stache” (whom I’ve since named Shelly. Shelly She-Stache) came back with a vengeance. I stare at her with loathing each day, hoping that somehow my eyes will suddenly emit lasers that will burn the bitch off my face but that never happens. Because science is stupid and hasn’t invented laser eyes yet. What the fuck, science?

I guess that Shelly and I are stuck together until I find some kind of hair removal that doesn’t peel layers of my skin off or summon forth the Satan Pimples. Any suggestions or helpful tips are welcome but please say them discreetly because I think Shelly’s begun developing intelligence and I don’t really want to anger her. *side eye*


Monday Movie with Mommy Boots

I’m not sure that I’ve stressed enough how much I enjoy movies. Josh and I are both big movie buffs, and back before we had a child we used to waste a lot of money go out to the theater to see movies about three times a month. Now? Not so much. We have seen a few since Nellie’s been born, but for the most part our movie-watching habits happen thanks to Netflix and Redbox.

I’ve decided to start a semi-regular (regular if I can remember/find the time to do it) feature called Monday Movie with Mommy Boots. I’ve found myself giving a lot of movie recommendations to friends in real life, on Twitter, etc. and I figured I’d share the love here on my blog.

A coworker recently asked me what my favorite type of movie was, which is an impossible question to answer. I love all sorts of movies. I love horror, drama, romantic comedies, comedies, cult classics, “guy” movies.. I will give anything a chance once. To get a taste of my favorite movies, I love the Princess Bride, American Beauty, Chicago, Crash, Billy Madison, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Usual Suspects, Mamma Mia!, Gone With the Wind, and a lot more.

At the end of each post, I will rate the movie being reviewed and give some suggestions for related watching. Get it? Got it? Good. Here we go. The first movie up is “Season of the Witch” starring Nicholas Cage and Ron Perlman A.K.A “one of the most unfortunate-looking men ever”. Sorry, Ron, you’re awesome in Sons of Anarchy but it’s true.

Anyway. Season of the Witch is a horror/adventure movie that takes place back when people liked to accuse other people of witchcraft if they possessed the ability to wiggle their ears, raise only one eyebrow, sneeze on cue or if their face was asymmetrical. It sucked to be a woman back then because we got the brunt of the witch accusations. Nick Cage and Ron Perlman play two knights of the Crusades who are all “gung-ho kill the infidel” until they start slaughtering women and children and then killing in the name of God isn’t so cool anymore. They run away and come across this village that’s got crows flying above it in a weird triangle pattern. Because THAT’S not weird.

The town is afflicted by a horrible, disgusting plague and one of the priests in the village recognizes their names because they’ve been Crusading for a long time and are really famous and stuff. He tells them that the plague is because of a witch (ooooof course it is) and would they please take this witch to this castle-place filled with monks that’s beyond a bunch of dangerous woods, through a treacherous mountain pass, through a pit of vipers, across a bridge under which sharks with lasers attached to their heads live, that no one knows the way to (kinda makes you wonder how the hell the monks get supplies there, eh? Daddy Green told me to ask that.) They have this super-old and special witch-killing book that they need in order to vanquish said witch. Oh by the way, if they don’t do this they’re going to be hanged for desertion. Nicholas Cage shows off his acting chops (*coughhackcough*) and tells the priest off and they get thrown in the dungeon. Then he has a change of heart when he sees the woman accused of witchcraft, who is kind of cute despite the fact that she’s dirty and probably smells like a sewer. He agrees to take her on one condition: that she gets a fair trial. D’awww.

That’s the basic plot of the movie, there is some cool stuff that happens and then the end sort of goes down the crapper. The girl stares creepily at them from her cage, they get attacked by wolves with scary death faces, and she tries to seduce Nicholas Cage which doesn’t work… Because she probably smells like a sewer.

There’s a lot of  creepy imagery and spooky moments but overall the movie was kind of lame. Nicholas Cage has very cheesy lines that rival “Put the Bunny back in the box” from Con Air.


How do I live without you?


It’s worth a rent at the Redbox if there’s nothing else interesting but I wouldn’t invest too much money in this movie.

Rating: Out of five *****
** 1/2 – because the imagery and creepy feel of the movie redeemed it somewhat.

If you’re looking for a good witch movie, rent The Crucible. If you’re looking for a movie with a similar adventurous feel that takes place in the same time period, try Black Death.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the first Monday Movie! Feel free to ask any questions about the movie, give your own recommendations, or discuss the film if you have seen it for yourself.