Blogger, Get Your Act Together.

Has anyone else had problems with comments lately? I don't mean a lack of comments because I definitely have no advice on that topic. What I'm referring to is leaving comments.

Ever since blogger had it's little meltdown the other week I've been unable to comment on certain blogs. If the blog comment box is a pop-up, then I can comment without problems. But if it's the kind that shows a static comment box in the blog itself, it sends me through an endless loop of "Must be signed in to comment" and "Type comment here" and "Must be signed in to comment" and "Type comment here". It was bugging my shit and since I was unable figure it out, some of you have gone without my comments. So, what I'm saying is... if you've noticed that your blog has had fewer comments than usual, blame it on blogger. I know I am.

Well, I read online yesterday that this comment problem can probably be solved by switching browsers. I was hoping this wasn't true because I'm a golden oldie and like to stick with Internet Explorer for all my internet needs, but I decided to give it a try anyway. What do you know- it worked. So if any of you have been having problems with the dreaded comment log-in loop, just open the the blog in another browser (Internet Explorer, Mozilla Firefox, or Google Chrome) and you should be able to comment like normal.

Has anyone had this problem? Or am I the only one?

On a totally unrelated note- check out my entry at Sprocket Ink. -Especially if you like breaking news about Tupac being alive and living in New Zealand.

That's right.

TUPAC.

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Three Day Weekend, Mother Truckers.

Derek Fisher says "Have a great Memorial Day Weekend and don't forget to tell all your friends and family to read my good friend TILTE's blog. It's all kinds of funny and if you want to be cool, you better do what I tell you."

Just Kidding.

D-Fish didn't really say that.

What he actually said was "Um........ ......Okay" when I begged to take a picture with him. He was really nice and smiled even though it was obvious he just wanted to get his mail and buy a sandwich. This is why I think he's great.

Happy Memorial Day weekend.

TILTE, out!

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The Time I Went to the Osbourne's House.

The title may be somewhat misleading as I never actually got INTO the Osbourne's house. But at least this way, readers who decide to skip reading my post will think I'm like *this* with celebs. It's a win-win.



Many years ago, when the Osbourne's still had their MTV reality show (2001ish?), I thought it would be cool to track down their house. The show always showed different clips of the exterior of the house, along with major street names in the general vicinity so I figured it was worth a shot. Worst case scenario, I spend a couple minutes driving through a bunch of million dollar mansions.

My friend, Hana, and I were living in Westwood at the time. We were on our way to Disco de Mayo, a 70's themed party at The Key Club in Hollywood. (Tight flare pants, polyester shirt and platforms were in full effect that night.) We were getting closer to the strip when I threw out the idea of looking for the house. I took a turn off Sunset onto another famous Beverly Hills street. We drove up the hill a couple blocks. We were looking left and right at each mansion that went by. And then I saw it...

The giant peach house...

The gate with the gargoyle heads...

I.SEE.THE.OSBOURNE'S.HOUSE.



It looked a lot smaller in person than it had on TV. Hana doubted me and said it wasn't the right house. I pointed out some key elements about the exterior and won the arguement. We decided to pull over and take a closer look. I parked across the street. Hana waited in the safety of my 1984 Volvo while I ventured into the unknown. I tiptoed halfway across the street when a voice came booming out through an intercom: "CAN I HELP YOU." Only the voice wasn't REALLY asking, like in a friendly customer service kind of "Can I help you?" way. It was kind of more along the lines of "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?" I could tell this hidden troll-under-the-bridge security guard wasn't messing around, so I squeeked out "Uhhhhh, no! Thanks!", turned around, and continued tiptoing my platformed ass back to the car.

As Hana and I shit our flare pants and said a bunch of "OMG!!!" while we floored it out of there, we couldn't believe what had just happened. We had just found the Osbourne house.

And then we went to Disco de Mayo.

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Post Rapture Recap.

I'm not really sure how this whole "rapture" thing works, but I know I'm still working a 9-5 and paying bills and bitching about how my jeans are too tight. So I'm assuming it never happened. Unless it actually did happen and I'm in an alternate universe that mimics life on earth, which is just crazytalk so I'm going to pretend I never even mentioned that. But I WILL assume that if I lost any readers over the weekend it was because their asses got raptured. Or ruptured.

Since everyone was all up in arms about the end of the world, I decided to jump on the bandwagon and plan for the end. And by "plan for the end", I really mean "pamper myself and eat a ton of shit".

Saturday morning Boyfriend and I splurged our faces off by going in for a massage. Now, before you say it, I know what you're thinking. Yes, I AM poor and NO I can't afford to live this lavish lifestyle. BUT. My massage was actually paid for by my good friend Kim- it was her gift to me for being in her wedding. And Boyfriend's massage was a birthday gift from me because his birthday was just last week. Anypoor. We went to The Massage Place, which neither of us had ever been to before. If you've never been and you've always wondered what's like, it's totally worth it. The massages are muuuuch more affordable than they would be at a spa. They're inexpensive because they don't splurge on any of that spa-like environment shit. Not in the slightest.

They have several locations, but the one we went to was basically a counter with a receptionist and five separate massage rooms. The room I had was furnished with a heated massage bed with sheets and a blanket, a little shelf-bookcase thing where you can put your clothes and purse, and a boombox playing meditation music. My massuese was a hippy from New Jersey who was shoeless and used coconut oil that left me smelling like empanadas. I wanted to eat my own arm off by the time I was done, it seriously did smell like someone was baking pies. She was very sweet and chilled out when I squeeked "umm... a little easier please...?" My massage lasted exactly one hour from the time she started. It was very relaxing and I could tell when I met up with Boyfriend in the lobby that he was very relaxed as well because he looked like he was crazy drunk.

After our massages, we headed out for a picnic at Malibu Winery. I'd been here once before for my friend Danielle's graduation. I knew it was a BEAUTIFUL location and very popular. And if it's good enough for the rich hipsters of Calabasas and Malibu, well, it's good enough for me.

No children allowed at this rapture party.


They have two of those adobe huts where they offer wine tastings. The one we got consisted of Sparkling wine, Chardonnay, Rose, Merlot, and a specialty wine they created for The Tour of California bike race. Now, I'm NO wine connoisseur. In fact I usually think wine tastes like heartburn. But I decided if I'm about to be raptured, this is probably a good time to check off "drink wine" from my bucket list.


Everyone was out doing pre-rapture celebrations.


With our food from Blue Table, and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, lunch was PERFECT. I had the Caprese panini and Boyfriend had the Italian sandwich. Both delicious, but I think I'll get the Italian next time. We also got chips and a sausage and asparagus side dish. All totally worth it.


Yours truly and Boyfriend. I had to throw this one in.


Coincidentally, I ran into my friend Kristen, whom I haven't seen in years. I say coincidentally because she is the BEST at pimping out my blog. Just the day before this picnic, her Facebook status was a statement about how everyone should "Like" my blog before the rapture comes.


My view once I realized I'd had enough to drink and was ready for a nap.

Boyfriend and I headed back home for a much needed wine-coma.

That night, we met up with my BFF, along with Boyfriend's brother and one of his friends for birthday-week drinks. With this being the rapture and everything, I decided to go out with a bang.

Strongbow, potato skins, and steak salad. Salad because I'm on a diet, you see.

So, that was my rapture weekend. Did you do anything end-of-the-worldy?

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The Rapture: It's Coming, Y'all.

Has everyone heard the big news?

No, I'm not talking about Macho Man Randy Savage, although that was big news too.

Apparently, tomorrow is supposed to be the end of the world.

For reals.



So, I guess that means I should come clean with all the horrible things I've done in my life. You know, just to ensure my cozy spot in Heaven, next to the Golden Girls and Joan Rivers (What do you mean, she's not dead...?)

Let the confessions commence...

One time, I may or may not have stolen Barbie clothes from my best friend.

One time, I may or not have told my mom I hated her because she made me take swimming lessons.

One time, I may or may not have almost strangled a cat to death when I put a makeshift collar (see: Hair tie) around it's neck because I loved it so much and wanted to make it mine.

One time, I may or may not have broken up with a guy because he didn't eat as much as me.

One time, I may or may not have lied to my boss about why I would be missing work, explaining that someone had purchased a Contiki vacation for me as a gift without checking my work schedule, when I had actually purchased it myself.

Fhew! That felt great. That's about it for my confessions. If there's anything you'd like to get off your chest before the big day arrives, feel free to leave in the comments below. We're all friends here, no judgies.

Until the rapture makes its big debut, I can be found eating my weight's worth in Pringles and White Russians. And probably hanging out with my two favorite brothers, Mario and Luigi. (Also known as my "Friday Night Special".)

In related news- I'm really hoping it's not going to be the end of the world tomorrow because I just paid my car registration this week and if it turns out I wasted that $250, I'm going to be pissed.

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Pig Cake: The Vlog.

Just in case anyone was mistaken and thought I knew my way around a kitchen, I decided to post this Mother's Day vlog.

A few weeks back I came across a recipe on Robin's blog, Insights and Belly Laughs, for a cake that seemed perfect for my level of baking expertise. Robin's daughter baked this cake for her birthday and and as soon as I saw the photo I knew I wanted to try it out on Mother's Day. There were only a few ingredients AND someone who was NOT the creator of the cake was able to pull it off without a hitch. All signs pointed to my success.

The original recipe was created by Ree Drummond, AKA The Pioneer Woman. Disclaimer: The cake that I made is in NO way to discredit Mrs. Drummond. Many, many, many people read her blog and buy her cookbooks and have great results with her recipes. She is probably a great, wonderful, creative chef/ cook/ baker and obviously I don't know shit when it comes to following directions.



Anyway, I'm totally aware that my cake is all kinds of fucked up. Pretty much everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. And even though there were some off-camera tears, and possibly even an apeshit moment of punching the container of Cool Whip when I realized it needed to thaw for FOUR FUCKING HOURS before use, I pushed through like a champion. And let's go ahead and say what everyone is thinking: My cake looked like a mountain of potato salad. I know. I'm aware. Fortunately, the cake itself was nice and moist and tasted good. The frosting on the other hand... well... I probably won't be attempting that one again. I'll leave that move to the professionals like Ree and Robin's daughter.

I ended up getting roid rage over my stupid-ass loser cake and canceled on my family. But finally got my shit together when my sister sent me a text that read:

"I heard your cake sucks. Come over to mom's before we leave."

In the end, my family ate almost the whole thing. So I guess all in all, it wasn't a total loss.



Hopefully, your Mother's Day plans turned out better than mine.

Oh. And Happy Mother's Day again to my favorite mom/ luchador. Without you, I wouldn't be the Mexican wrestler I am today.



Boner'ppetite.

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Lots of Things That Have Nothing to Do With Each Other.

Once again, I've fallen behind on my blogging and now my head is full of mental sticky notes of things I wanted to blog about.

Welcome to all the Weedies visiting from Joshweed.com. If you've never been to his page, Josh's latest entry is about his recent run-in with a colonoscopy, which was not too dissimilar to my own experience. Josh was kind enough to send you new visitors to my page so we could all become acquainted with each other in a totally-acceptable-on-the-internet way, by talking about our buttholes. Nice to meet you. (BTW Josh, I'm glad your results came back negative. It would have been a real bummer if you'd discovered you have endometriosis too.)

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Things that bother me: Loud ass music blaring from cars. It doesn't matter whether it's rap, country, metal mania, or big-top-circus-style tejano. I don't want to hear your shitty music. I want to hear MY shitty music.

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Boyfriend, Pearl and I recently stayed with Boyfriend's sister for the weekend. She and her husband threw together this hearty and delicious breakfast that I'm pretty sure I had thirds and fourths of. If you're anything like me (lucky you), you like to strap on the old feedbag the morning after you've been out on a bender. And if so, this is just the meal to do it with.

Vicki's Hangover Scramble (I took the liberty of naming it myself.)

Ingredients:
-Eggs
-Cheese
-Bacon
-Frozen hash browns potatoes
-Bell Peppers
-Onion

Directions:
Cut bacon into bite sized pieces and cook. In a separate skillet, brown potatoes. Add julienne peppers and dice onions. If you want to save yourself some time, just use the Ore-Ida hash browns that come with potatoes and onion already mixed in. So basically, this is where things get dicey. I'm not sure if Vicki scrambled her eggs in a third skillet or just mixed them straight into the potatoes. I'm going to say just add them to the potatoes. And throw the bacon on top. And also, feel free to add any leftover meat from dinner the night before (she added kielbasa). Heat until cooked. Then eat the shit out of it.


Boner'ppetite.

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Remember my last entry- the one on the royal wedding? Well, it looks like I did such a fab job on my wedding fashion recap that people from all over the world started visiting my page. That's right, I'm big time now. I got a whopping 316 pageviews for that one entry (of which I'm still getting as we speak), 193 of those being unique views. And as if that weren't enough, the average time spent on that post was 2:14. That means people were actually REEEEADING and looking at shit on my page. I know to most of you all that shit above makes no sense. But to a techie blognerd like me, it means a lot. Ahhh, I'm so proud of myself. Nevermind that I didn't get any new followers or even one comment from a new visitor. I'll save that rant for another day.

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I posted this morning at Sprocket Ink. You can check it out HEEERE. Usually my Sprocket Ink posts are more about current events and less about my life and shit. However, today's post DOES have something to do with food... Two birds, one stone.

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Also, if you haven't joined my Facebook group yet, what are you waiting for?? I'll even make it easy for you- JUST.CLICK.HERE. Thanks! Seriously.

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