‘The Walking Dead,’ Season 7, Episode 1 Review (Kinda): Who’s got a pen?

Ok, so you watched the season premiere of The Walking Dead, right? Did you see that crazy scene when Negan was about to force Rick to cut off Carl’s arm and he asked that guy, Simon, for a pen…and he had one!?

Who the fuck has a pen in the zombie apocalypse?! I can’t find a pen in the pen aisle at Staples.

If Negan asked me for a pen in that moment I’d be like, “Ok, wait a minute, hold on. Let me look.” Then the whole time he was crouched beside Rick, I’d be rummaging through my purse pulling all kinds of shit out—like a baby sock, a shower cap, an ticket stub from that time I saw Titanic with my college roommate, a spork, twenty balled up Hersey kiss wrappers, an old scratch off lottery ticket worth $1, an expired hotel key card, maybe even a few ketchup packets but definitely not a pen.

Eventually I’d be like, “How’s eyeliner? Will that work? Oh wait. Forget it. This one needs to be sharpened. Anyone have a pencil sharpener? I can totally fix this.” Then the story would have went in a completely different direction when Negan chopped his own arm off and beat himself to death with it out of utter frustration.

I guess it makes sense to grab a pen in those first moments when the world ends but major props to that guy for thinking of it. I imagine that when everything went to shit and his neighbors started eating each other’s faces, he was like: I saw this movie, I should totally grab a pen just in case I have to write an SOS message from the rooftop of a mall. Or some psychopath with a bat wrapped in barbwire asks me to draw a line on some kid’s arm so his dad can chop it off.

Wow, Walking Dead, I totally wasn’t expecting that last night. It’s obviously going to be a mind-blowing season. In fact, I bet Glenn’s not really dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up next week—with a stapler.




Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

panffle or wafcakes?

Yesterday I asked, “Has anyone seen Alex’s hair tie?” My father-in-law looked down, thought for a moment then pointed to something on the floor, “Do you mean this black ring?”


A few minutes later he held up and Alex’s hair clip and asked, “Did someone lose an earring?”


At first I laughed at him because that’s my natural instinct when people make mistakes but then I thought, holy shit! This is a guy you want around in the zombie apocalypse. 

I like to know that when the beans and franks run out that I have someone on my team who will look at my flat iron (yes, I’d have it with me) and say, “Anyone using this defective waffle maker?” Then we’d all sit around eating hole-less waffles (which I think are just pancakes, right?)

A few minutes later he’d take a sip of my skin toner (yes, I’d have that too) and mix it with some tomato juice he found in a dumpster and say, “Not the strongest Bloody Mary I’ve ever made but it will do. Who’s in?” We’d all chug it and a few minutes later we’d probably die and turn into zombies because I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to drink skin toner. So on second thought, everyone should definitely avoid my father in-law in the zombie apocalypse.

Anyway, if you haven’t heard how excited I am that The Walking Dead premieres tonight then read yesterday’s post, I’m so excited I can eat my own brain.



If you like this post, DON’T FORGET TO VOTE for The Spew by clicking the “I’m Fab” image in the sidebar.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

I’m so excited I can eat my own brain.

You guys, you guys, you guys! It’s The Walking Dead premiere weekend!

In case you’re new here, I’m completely obsessed with this show and the impending zombie apocalypse.

In fact, every time I exhibit bad mom behavior (like forgetting to feed them or something) I justify it by reminding myself that the baby on The Walking Dead can’t possibly eat every day and she seems just fine.

Who’s super excited to find out who Negan kills with that scary bat? I hope it’s Carl. I hate Carl. Or that dork with the mullet. Who’s cutting his hair in the zombie apocalypse, Joe Dirt?

Maybe Negan will bash his own brains in when someone asks, “Hey, aren’t you that guy from Grey’s Anatomy who was crying over Katherine Heigl? Where was Lucille when we all had to endure that?

Or more importantly, who else is super excited for Monday when you get to read The Spew‘s first Walking Dead episode review?

Wait, did I just commit to writing a review of every episode this season?

Crap. That’s gonna be a lot of work.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this incredibly deep thought because as much as I love the character, the plot and the zombies, this is really what consumes me (no pun intended, well maybe a little) as I watch every week.

Share it if you agree.

See you Monday!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

dick holes

Last night I was wearing Tom’s sweatpants because I didn’t want to risk spraining my other wrist (ouch) by jamming my postpartum ass into my own pants.

I had them on for about 10 seconds when I suddenly noticed a cool breeze “down there.” I didn’t even have to look to know what I was dealing with…

A dick hole.

Dick holes are zipper-less slits in the crotch of men’s pants so that they can more easily relieve themselves. They’ve been around forever but, as of late, every time I encounter one I think the same thing: What the fuck! A surgeon sliced open my abdomen and ripped a human out of my uterus (twice) and these assholes don’t even have to unzip their pants to take a piss!

Tom swears that no one ever uses the dick hole. But the fact that they still make pants like this tells me that a least a small percentage of the male population think they need it.

I’m sure it’s the same population that think they need the shit flap.

And the beer helmet.


And I bet they also invented the UroClub. (Remember this? The golf club that discriminates against all women except Caitlin Jenner.) They were probably sitting around one afternoon sipping Budweiser from their helmets when one said to the other, “I’m so glad we don’t have to hold those heavy beer cans anymore. If only there was a way for us to discreetly piss ourselves while we play golf…”

Wow. Imagine coming home to a dude wearing a beer helmet relieving himself in a golf club after he just used the shit flap?


I think I dated him. And he probably makes more money than me now.

Ugh! What a dick hole.


Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments


I sprained my wrist. For days I had no idea how and I swear the memory loss was from sleep deprivation and not vodka (this time).

I assumed it was from lugging around a 35 pound toddler and a 20 pound 4 month old. (My pediatrician says they “don’t call it fat at this age.”)

But this morning I discovered the sad truth: I sprained my wrist trying to get into my fucking jeans. And now I think I broke a rib too.

FML (that’s text language for “Fuck My Life,” not “Fat Mother Load” like I assumed the first time someone sent it to me. Though both seem to apply in this scenario.)

If you like this post, check out 21 Things Your Pre-Pregnancy Jeans Would Say If They Could Breathe, and of course, DON’T FORGET TO VOTE for The Spew by clicking the “I’m Fab” image in the sidebar.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Women don’t belong in the kitchen. They belong at the bar.

I want to know the name of the very first woman who watched her husband leave for work then plopped down on the couch and said, “Women should go to work too!” Then I want to build a time machine and punch her in the face. But not before I tell her off:

Listen bitch, all you did was double our work! We’re supposed to be the smarter gender, but when was the last time you saw a man picketing for his right put in a full day’s work for less pay then come home to do the dishes, fold the laundry and stay up all night breastfeeding a newborn?

Take a cue from the insect world. Do you really think the queen ant would argue with the worker ants about who gets to troll the picnic scene for crumbs? Like she’s going to crack open a beer for them and say, “Hey guys, sit back, relax and let me carry that peanut home on my back. And whatever they’re paying you, tell them I’ll do it for less. In fact, I’ll even clean this place for free every day because, shit, we’re ants not pigs!”

What the fuck, Lady! Is an ant really smarter than you?!

What you should be fighting for is your God given right as a woman to use men as slave labor. They were obviously built for the part with those big hairy arms and legs. We all know that anything they can do we can do way, way better. But let’s chose wisely and make them schlep back and forth to work every day. And just for fun, let’s make them do it in heels!

Or maybe you should be fighting for a woman’s right to free daycare (run by men, of course) because it’s nearly impossible to enjoy an afternoon cocktail with a house full of kids. This is something I wouldn’t know firsthand because, thanks to you, I’m always at work!

Maybe you don’t see it this way because Netflix and social media haven’t been invented yet. I can understand how bored you might get not being able to binge watch Friends or turn yourself into Kylie Jenner on Snapchat.


And yes, I totally agree that a woman’s place is not in the kitchen. But shit, it’s also not behind a desk or on some smelly commuter train!


A woman’s place is on a balmy tropical beach while the men are at home funding her wine habit and cleaning out the fridge.

So the next time you get the urge fight for something, just remember these very profound words that Blanche Devereaux once uttered to a male suitor, “I don’t want to be your equal. I want to be treated a lot better than you!” Then use your womanly power to manipulate men into doing all the grunt work you’re too smart (or too drunk) to do yourself. It’s what She intended.


Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

5 shades of coffee

I take my coffee beige. Not brown or ivory or that awful cadaver gray color you get when you use skim milk. And certainly not black—Jesus, who do I look like, Vin Diesel? I assume he takes his coffee black since his name perfectly describes the way it tastes.

Nope. I take my coffee beige—like if Bambi were a cup of coffee I’d enjoy her with a Krispy Kreme cruller in the morning.

But you might be asking, “Isn’t all coffee beige?”


Well, maybe. But not all coffee is Bambi Beige.

To prove this, I made this chart called 5 Shades of Coffee. It’s like the working mother’s version of that erotic romance novel/movie, 50 Shades of Grey—because, sadly, once you have babies, the most erotic moment in your life is that first sip of hot, steamy joe after pulling an all-nighter with a sleep-confused infant and a toddler who’s afraid of her nightlight.


But the real question is: Can you identify the one that’s Bambi Beige? Here’s a hint: It’s the second one in from the left. More specifically…


Did you guess it? Probably not. Coffee color blindness is the #1 cause of imaginary murder in the United States. I mean, who doesn’t spend all day thinking of ways to kill the pimply teen at Dunkin’ Donuts when he fucks up your coffee?

So, consider this post a PSA.

Below is a perforated version of The Spew’s 5 Shades of Coffee for you to print, laminate and keep in your wallet. Every morning as your buying your coffee, whip out this color chart and see if the coffee they hand you matches your version of the perfect cup. If not, throw it in the face of the person who poured it for you. No, don’t do that. I’m totally kidding. (Kinda.) Instead, use it to point out the person’s mistake in a really obnoxious, condescending way until they pour you a new cup and apologize for almost ruining your day… or until they spit in it (you weren’t going to drink it anyway). Either way, you’ll feel vindicated that you stood up for your coffee preferences.


You’re welcome America. And, you’re welcome pimply teen at Dunkin’ Donuts. I just saved you from getting imaginary killed at least 50 times today.

Oh, and because my husband insists that not everybody always needs to agree with me and that I should open my mind to other people’s opinions, here’s a poll for you:



Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Do two-year olds go through cannibal phases?

Last night, I asked my two year old, Alex, what she ate for lunch and she said “Layla.”

Admittedly, she probably spends way too many hours a week at daycare and I should definitely know what they’re feeding her for lunch.

I’ll work on that.

In the meantime, someone should check on Layla.


If you like this post or you’re the FBI, check out Do two-year olds go through murder phases?, and of course, DON’T FORGET TO VOTE for The Spew by clicking the “I’m Fab” image in the sidebar.

Posted in random shit, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Horror movies don’t happen in open floor plans

Tom and I were watching American Horror Story: My Roanoke Nightmare when suddenly a creepy-ass, knife-wielding guy wearing a pig head jumped out of hiding and scared the shit out of Sara Paulson.


We both peed a little (or at least I did) and Tom suddenly declared, “Horror movies don’t happen in open floor plans.”

My gut reaction was to instantly shoot him down then make some comment that only I think is hilarious about how stupid he is for saying that. But since I recently read a well-crafted Huffington Post article about why that behavior might not be the best thing for a marriage, and may even indicate that I’m a sociopath, I reluctantly did the unimaginable—I thought before I spoke.

This was a new world for me so I really took my time with it. In fact, I spent about twenty minutes mentally reviewing the interior of every house in nearly every horror movie I have ever seen and…

Fuck. He was right.

I hate when he’s right. So to win this argument (that Tom doesn’t know we’re having) I came up with this list of horror movies that technically (if you open your mind really, really wide) take place in an open floor-like setting…ish.

Saw I
One room. One really disgusting floor! Seriously, I’d cut my foot off too if I had to endure that.  


The People Under The Stairs
This movie about a bunch of murderous, incestuous adult siblings living in the walls may have actually started the open-floor plan trend. And, that counts.


The Nightmare on Elm Street movies
I once had a dream that I was being chased by an army of face-eating bologna sandwiches. I’m not sure what that means except that the dream world has no walls. Wow, that was deep.

Open Water, Jaws, It Came From Beneath The Sea…(you get where I’m going here?)
The ocean is a wide-open place swimming with genetically mutated sharks, vicious extraterrestrial life forces, giant pre-historic lizards and hairy Italian dudes from North Jersey. And technically it does have a floor so it counts.

Do you know why  no one can hear you scream in space? Because space is literally, the biggest open floor plan in the universe.


That’s all I got but think I’ve successfully proven Tom wrong…and The Huffington Post right. Actually, screw you Huffington Post! I may seek to dominate and win at all costs but at least I’m highly intelligent and incredibly charming. And, obviously, that’s all that matters.


Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

The vajay is the way!

It’s working! Your votes pushed The Spew to #5 in the humor category on Top Mommy Blogs but it’s still not #1. So please keep voting and as a huge thank you I’ll leave you with this incredibly clever meme I made. Feel free to share it everywhere. Even if you don’t agree because I need exposure and nobody really gives a shit about your political views anyway.

And don’t forget to click here to vote!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment