The Funtasian

I had the great pleasure of being a guest on The Chris Monty Show with Host Chris Monty, Co-Host Matt Burke and also Chris Roach.  I couldn't have asked for a better trio to sit in with. They are 3 of the funniest comedians I know & I definitely needed a drink first before going in the studio with these guys. It went by so fast. I can't wait to come back.  

Click the link below to listen to the Po' Pourri Episode 12 with ME...

http://thechrismontypodcast.wordpress.com/2013/07/29/the-chris-monty-show-episode-12-po-pourri/  

We talk deep frying skin, Matt Burke names my first book, my life in the rice patties, why I'm a Minnesota Viking fan, the lovely bar where I met my husband, sperm whales, dung and other fun stuff. 

Recently Chris Monty filmed a funny commercial for PBS called meet the Tanners. Click the youtube link below to watch the hilarity

 

To listen to other episodes of The Chris Monty Show with Chris & Matt: http://thechrismontypodcast.wordpress.com/

Definitely check the schedule at http://govs.com/ for upcoming shows featuring Chris Monty, Chris Roach & Matt Burke. You will not be disappointed seeing any of these comedians. They are all great at what they do. 

Follow Chris Monty on twitter @comicchrismonty 

Follow Matt Burke on twitter @_Matt_burke

Follow Chris Roach on Twitter @ROACHCOMIC

Follow me on twitter @funtasian

Like my fanpage facebook.com/thefuntasian

As always thank you for stopping by, reading my blogs and supporting my dysfunction. MWAHHH! 

Enjoy this little video of me waking the Kracken on her birthday. Yes, I am cruel & enjoy this a little too much, but I love her so. 

Yep...another year has gone by and my Ginger Kracken is 14. I lost a bet to her today because she knew Arthur was an aardvark. I thought he was a fancy mouse in sneakers. She said he was half human and half aardvark. The visual still disturbs me if you know what I mean. 

Let's get back to the birthday girl...

From the moment of conception Sydney was trouble. She was the epitome of a pregnancy from HELL. Ever heard of P.U.P.P.S? No, right? Let me give you a little summary. I am allergic to the paternal cells the baby sheds while in utero. In other words. I am allergic to her father...

PUPPS is a rash you can get from your neck to your ankles. How lucky for me it doesn't affect your face, hands or feet because with Sydney that was the only place on my body I DIDN'T get this rash. 

Now when I was pregnant with Madzilla, I did not get PUPPS until right when I was having her on ONE leg and if you notice Madzilla is more me than she is her father. Sydney is well...more him. Twins...

At just a few weeks into my pregancy the rash had started right by my crotch. Seriously?? Then it spread. EVERYWHERE. Every nook and cranny of my body. Anytime I even got the itching (pun intended) for another child after Sydney, all one had to say was...RASH and it snapped me right back into reality. It was bad. It was crying, freezing cold oatmeal baths, steroids, sarna cream, benedryl every single day. This kid was going to kill me from the inside out. Other than the normal pregnancy issues like peeing your pants, being as big as a whale and I was, heartburn that made me eat tums & prevacid like a crackhead, & rapid tachycardia just to name a few...OK RT is not normal but from my whale size, it could not be avoided. The Dr. even told me to drink wine because she was giving me contractions very early on. Imagine me huge at 7 months having dinner at the Carmins River Inn and ordering myself a big ass glass of wine. Just the look on the wait staff was fun for me. Between the constant Benedryl and glasses of wine I am surprised Sydney wasn't immediately put into a 12 step program at birth. 

On June 30th...The Kracken was born...with a highlighted mohawk, a love for pop tarts, horses & naps. 

So what was the first thing Madzilla did when she saw her new baby sister? Wacked her right on the head. From that day, I knew their relationship would be forged with immense love...yea right. 

So here we are 14 years later and I am still itchy. I break out in hives at the thought of waking her for the next four years of High School. She just doesn't like waking up in the morning and doing so is a fate worse than waving a chocolate bar in my face then walking away with it. 

As a mother you pray for good things to happen for your children. I pray she starts using an alarm clock come September. The Kracken Kronicles do not end here. This year was just the beginning of my morning madness with her. I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoy writing it. Happy Birthday Sydney. I love you more than food. I swear. 

Enjoy these photos of the Kracken I have added...

As always thank you for stopping by! See you on the Flip Side with spotlights on some of my favorite comedians like Mike Keegan and Mel Englert coming soon. 

Follow me on twitter @funtasian and like my facebook page http://facebook.com/thefuntasian

AHHHH the day has finally arrived. I am leaving on a jet plane and I am never ever ever coming back again. Ever. Yes, that was a little bit of John Denver/T Swift right there.

Everybody was crying. There were so many tears. What a bunch of pussies. Just stop...90% of you will be living in my house in no time. The other 10% percent...well there will be blogs for that. Wish I could've seen into the future of all the relatives who were coming to live with us. My house became the gateway to America, land of the free, home of the where the white people at?

Mine of course were tears of joy. I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of there. Yea buh bye...

You can keep your dung ovens, balut, water buffalo, brooms, foods that squirmed, the weird bathrooms, nuns, church, crazy people, dead bodies, edible lizards, snakes and whatever else that drove me crazy...and with that said, they couldn't understand WHY I wanted to come home so bad! 

It was a long journey back to the states. I was extremely squirmy on the plane and couldn't sit still as any child. Could've been my excitement or that fact that a 23 hour journey on a giant tin can built by the lowest bidder is hard for a five year old. There was a little old lady who kept letting me sit on her lap. By little and old, I mean probably 30 & 4 feet tall. I kept telling her I was going home to eat Wonder Bread & bologne with my white Grandpa.

I don't remember my brother being on the flight. I think maybe they finally put his whiney ass in a cat crate in the baggage hold. Thats my best case scenario and all I've got on him right now. Meow...

Unfortunately when you travel in the winter there are snow storms that re-direct your flight. Sometimes you get to go to a nice place and other times...like this time...it wasn't a nice place. It was fucking DETROIT. This was the great blizzard of 1978 dumping two feet of snow in Michigan and forcing us to land there instead of JFK. Why not some place fancy like Paris?

We were hardly prepared for coming home to a blizzard even though it was winter. My dad was trudging through the snow in shorts. Ben & I wore my dads tube socks on our legs. Not ghetto at all, but this is Detroit. We had to stay overnight in a hotel for the night. We took a shady taxi. Thank god my dad relatively knew the area because there was some sketchy business going on in the wrong side of  the 8 mile that night. The cab driver started to take a different route and the lady sharing the cab with us was putting all her valuables into her boots. Sketchy...very, very sketchy. My dad forced him to turn down some road which was better than the dark alley we would've all been left to die in. Afterall, Detroits nickname is Murder Town.  Probably the only moment in my life, I wanted to be back in the rice patty with buffalo dung in my hands, a shrimp head in my mouth & leeches on my legs. Swear...

This wasn't the only scary thing to happen in Detroit. My mom lost me in the airport. Could you imagine? I was only five and my mother whos holding Ben for her dear life loses me. I don't know where my dad was. There were glass partitions everywhere along with escalators. I got trapped and off she went. I was scared fuckin shit. There was a couple that took my hand and asked me if I was lost. No lady, normally five year olds in nothing but a tank top and tube socks wandering the Detroit airport know exactly where they are. They wanted to bring me to lost & found or sell me to thieves. Then just when I thought I would never see my mother again, there she was at the top of the escalator looking for me. I offered them my brother but they declined. ;)

There was a wonderful surprise waiting at home when we got back laying on the kitchen floor. My grandpa got a dog!! He was a big black newfoundland collie mix named Bones & he was the prettiest dog I had ever seen. I thought what a strange name for such a large animal. I turned to my mom and said, "You hear that? His name is Bones, he has no meat, you can not eat this dog!" I hugged my Grandpa and whispered to him to keep a close eye on mother because I had seen things and I was worried for the new addition to the family. Then off to bed I went. I was home...in Yaphank and it felt good. Well, until I had to go back to school and felt like a foreigner once again.

See you next time on Inside the Flip Side...

When I decided to start a blog, my daughter Maddie gasped. Said that old people don't write blogs. I am NOT old. She said she would never read my blogs unless I wrote about how awesome she is.

So here we go...

My inquisitive child recently asked me what it was like find out I was pregnant with her. Do I lie and say it was the happiest day of my life? It was not, but it was a day that changed my life forever. I was completely shocked. I cried and cried and cried.  I was young just two days shy of my 23rd birthday and not married. Bad girl. I was not ready. She asked me what I was thinking. My life was over. I told her I went over my choices in my head. She looked at me like, what do you mean you thought about your choices?? We all have choices. It is our right. It is my body. I told her that when I was asked what I wanted to do, I told her the only thing I could and said I was having you. She was shocked by the fact that we thought about it. She said, "Obviously you made the right choice to have an amazing child." This was true and amazing is an understatement.

I have never been one to sugar coat anything. You will never hear me say how wonderful pregnancy is or how much i enjoyed having a child growing inside of me. Being pregnant sucked but I will have a seperate blog about that.

Dear Madeline,

You came to us November 9th at 4:31 pm. I think. One of you was born at this time. Sucked out by a Dyson and you were blue, purple even with the cord wrapped around your neck not breathing. I yelled to make you scream. You were born a procrastinator. You still are...just like me.

Yep, You were beautiful. Just as I had predicted. Big violet-blue eyes that you got from your Daddy. A full head of light brown hair. Grandma thought you looked filipino. Delusional. You were long and not chubby as I had imagined. Then I saw them...Holy Mother of God. Your feet were HUGE and so were your hands. The nurses laughed at you. You held your own bottle at two days old. You were extraordinary, but you didn't like to sleep. What a pain in my ass.

You were easy to raise. I never spoke to you like you were a baby. I always told it like it was with you no matter what your age and I always will. I am not sure why I never babied you, but I hope it doesnt backfire on me. So you called me a bitch at age 3. You are so much like me. Your wit and sarcasm is spot on and I enjoy our daily banter even though sometimes I want to punch you in the uterus.

I love laughing with you and even more so, I love laughing at you. Can't help it, I am mean like that.

As my first born, I wanted to put you in every sport or activity I could. You didn't care for anything really until I put you on a horse for the first time and you were a natural. That's my little panker...

You were such a great little equestrian. A champion really. Our champion. Nobody could touch you in that ring when you brought your A game which was 99 percent of the time. The day we gave you and Sydney your pony Stella was one of the greatest moments of my life. You cried with excitement and happiness. Sydney of course screamed at the top of her lungs with jealousy wanting to know where her pony was. It was hilarious. I am sorry you lost her. She was your best friend and I know her death changed you.

I am so proud of your accomplishments. You had the ability to go into a ring and take it all. You're an artist and a good one. A gift from your father of course. You didn't get that shit from me.

I always had a camera in your face and you were always prepared with a smile. You were and still are very photogenic. I am not saying this because I am your mother and feel obligated to tell you how beautiful you are. You really are. You never look bad. Ok there was that one year when you were very sick.  You could go to the barn with your hair up in a ratty bun and still look gorgeous. Lucky bitch. You have grown up to be a lovely young lady. Im so proud of who you have become. Except the lazy never cleaning your room, hate to do chores, huff and puffing part. You gotta work on that.

Lets talk about your feet. They are no joke. Gigantic. They are why we call you Madzilla. You would trample over everything with your giant pods. Your hands are alien like. Somebody will be shocked when they get a huge bitch slap from you.

In a little less than a year you will go off to college. School Sucks. I am so happy you are taking your core classes at home before you go off to become a large animal vet. I dont think I could ever handle you going away so soon even though I'll have had 18 years with you. You're my daughter and it will never be enough time.

Dont worry there will be more blogs about you and your awesomeness. I am holding out for the good stuff. This was just a special one. Happy Birthday to my spawn of satan. You are without a doubt Awesome, but even more so, you are the heart that beats outside of my body. I chose wisely...

 Love,

Your old, immature & childish mother...

Enjoy some older pics of us. See you on the Flip Side ;)

 

 

 

I have always loved Halloween. Its by far one of my favorite holidays. Simply because you go around collecting FREE sugar disguised as chocolate and Smarties. 

In the Philippines there was no trick or treating. (I can only imagine what they would give out. YUCK!) There was going to the grave yard and having picnics with your deceased loved ones. OOOOH the fun never stops there, but this blog isn't about the Flip side. Its about my disgust for useless Halloween candy. Yaphank is not the easiest place to go trick or treating. I grew up on a Service Rd to the Long Island Expressway. Houses were very far apart and there were not many. It was dangerous and you had to walk a miles for one Reeses Peanut Butter Cup. 

The best part was coming home and emptying my pillow case loaded with treats. Ok the best part was dressing my brother up as a girl every halloween. 

Even to this day, I love emptying my little spawns of satans pillow cases on the floor to go thru. I mean steal from. There is always the good pile and the I wouldn't eat this shit pile if it was the last candy on earth. Of course the tootsie rolls get their own pile because there are so MANY. 

You know the candy I am talking about. Here is a list of the Halloween candy that should be banned.

Laffy Taffys - Disgusting, specifically the banana ones.

Flavored Tootsie Rolls - We get enough chocolate ones, just stop.

Mary Janes - I happen to love Mary Janes but they come wrapped in the wax paper. They tend to melt and leak all over the pillow case that you are hiding from your parents candy tax. 

Palmer Chocolates(AKA The Hersheys Imposter) - They suck at Easter, why would they be any better at Halloween. Stop being so cheap. 

Brachs Peppermints & Butterscotch(you've been saving these for a year) - By the time Halloween rolls around from last Christmas, they are melted and attached to the plastic. Useless. Cant even give them to my horse. 

Foil Wrapped Chocolate Coins- Its bad enough when you get real pennies in a ziplock but I want quiet money and until Hersheys makes foil wrapped coins, I dont want to see them in my pillow case.

Dum Dum Lollipops - One or two of these at the yearly well visit is a lot. 53 of them in my treat bag. No thanks

Pretzels - Um no, if I want free pretzels, I'll go to the bar, Unless you want to throw a beer in the bag, then I'm good

Now & Laters - They are much easier to unwrap these days but back then you couldnt get the wax paper off. One thing hasn't changed, they can still pull your fillings out and still taste like you're licking flavored wallpaper. 

Warheads - Simply said, candy should not punish your taste buds

Mad Dogs - Foam at the mouth gum balls should only be used as revenge candy against co-workers (yes I have)

Jelly Beans - At least these arent as old as the left over christmas candy but they still suck the same 

Good & Plenty - I hate black licorice and these are black licorice disguised as pretty candies. I'm on to you. 

As I counted down the days of my return home to the states, my parents got increasingly irritated with me. Of course I was just as annoying and relentless back then as am I now. Probably more now. Definitely more now. I pounced my dad every morning with the magic number til we left. That was so much fun. He would get so mad, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go home so badly.

Every night I told myself this was one less day that I had to spend chasing chickens who were "toys" during the day and dung oven sacrifices at night. I would leave behind the pet turkeys on leashes and the dogs with no names. yuckkkk! The toothless candy lady in the woods would probably go broke without my daily runs to her jungle bunk house. My uncles would have to go back to torturing each other instead of me since I would no longer be there. The mosquito net that strangled me every night in the cage I slept in would be no more. I wouldn't be caked in pig shit mud to hide from mosquitos and my relatives. The lizards, snakes and godzilla size cucaraches would not be running, slithering or crawling up my legs. I wouldn't have to worry about getting thrown in the river by a random Fama. You know who you are...

Going to church with my Lola everyday would be halted for ETERNITY. I mentioned in earlier blogs that I would only enter church if she bought me popcorn. I did enjoy chewing my popcorn rather loudly and for that I got wacked but thinking back, it was worth it. It wasn't that my Grandmother didn't love me. She just didn't know what to do with me. I guess beat me into submission with that damn broom would work for her. I wasn't afraid. My uncles should have never taught me that word....putanginamo....ooooh I said it again. How was I supposed to know I was either saying you are a son of a bitch or your mother is a slut whore. ooops. Real nice guys. Real nice. I love you Grandma broom and all, but your kids are freakin loco.

I wouldn't have to yell "WHAT??" 5000 times because I couldnt understand anybody or repeat myself constantly because they couldnt understand me either. I wouldn't shit my pants purple from eating ice cream I was lactose intolerant to. I was definitely NOT going to see another dead body for awhile or at least one that wasn't embalmed. Dudes, we got a stinker

My sweet uncles and cousins told me I was never going home. Jackasses. They said only my brother Ben was going to be allowed. The little Prince will pay. They told me I had to stay and climb coconut & banana trees for them. They even handed me a machete to wield around. Yes, I was five and I had a machete. They are so lucky I didn't feed Ben to the momma pig for saying that. Im pretty sure I wanted to at that point.

Another item on the list I would hope to never witness again in America...You know when they say, there are starving people in Africa, eat your food? Well apparently there are starving people in the Philippines. Want not, waste not was big in this family. Nothing was left to spare or left uneaten. NOTHING. I often heard this sound petewww petewww petewww. The sound of spitting. I never really paid much attention to it til I found out what they were shooting passed me with their forked tongues. Now, I myself have never eaten a chicken foot and never will, but my mom and her family LOVES that wrinkly old cocks nasty ass foot. After you have chewed the meat off its pod, what do you have left in your mouth?  Little chicken toe nails. Petew, petew, petew....ewwwwww.

My nightmare would be over soon or so I thought...

See you next time on "Inside the Flip Side" and find out why I have a fourth hole

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I love seeing your comments so feel free to leave them under the blog post or on my fan page. Thanks for always coming back. The support is a wonderful thing. It almost melts my little icy heart. Almost...

 

 

This isn't my definition. I came across this and it cracked me up...

Asian mothers are the worst of Asian parents. They are the ones, in particular, who bitch slap you if you get a B+ and force you to wear the cheap clothing they buy.

They are the ones, in particular, who ignore all your A's in your report and punish you for just one B.

It is the Asian mothers that usually buy cheap clothing for their kids, and the writing on the clothing makes no sense at all. To make things worse, they put mothballs in the closet to make the clothes smell like shit. So, you're wearing a shirt that makes no sense, and smells ridiculous.

Asian mothers are worse than Asian fathers. At least Asian fathers are laid back a little bit more and can tell properly if your report card is good or not.

 

Stay tuned for some scary food insight of my life at age five tomorrow on "Inside the FLIP Side"

I was starving for real food. Like a pancake or a chocolate chip cookie even.  Of course in the seemingly never ending torture that was my life, I was told I could have a pancake, but they would be made of meal worms. EW! How 'bout I kill your pet turkey & eat that, I know how. 

I was terrified of everything they fed me. I sniffed ALL my food very carefully.  I looked to see if it had eyes or if it squirmed. I would stare at long lengths.   Unless I saw it cooked in a frying pan myself with no weird ingredients I was not swallowing it.  I mastered chewing my food and spitting it into anything that would hold it, feeding it to the pigs later on.  For all I knew they could've been eating their own.  I could've started an epidemic...Mad Piglet Disease.

There was an ice cream man that would cross over the bridge by the river. (You know the river...where my future demise would take place) I wanted this ice cream.  How bad could it be?  Can you really screw up ice cream?  I should've known better.

I made my older cousin take me to the bridge because I knew the ice cream man would circle around ringing his little bell over and over. Im gonna get me some ice cream! <<steals more change & runs>>

Here I am thinking I am going to get some strawberry, chocolate or vanilla. NOPE. No Breyers within an 8500 miles radius.  I would have settled for Pathmarks no frills brand at this point.  The only flavor this ice cream man had was "UBE". Let me give you a little run down on what Ube is. Plain and simple it's a yam.  Not just any yam. This yam's bright purple, like Grimace from Mcdonalds.  What does it taste like? A freakin' raw potato. What kind of ice cream was I getting? Bright purple yam ice cream that tasted like a root vegetable. There were no sprinkles from this ice cream man. No cherry dipped cones either. This was clearly not Carvel.  

I had brought plenty of change so I made my cousin keep buying me more purple ice cream. It was terrible, but I was sure it wasn't cooked on a dung oven and it tasted better than beady eyed shrimp heads on a stick. When my cousin told me she was out of change, I whipped out all the change I had hidden in my pockets. HA HA HA...

Did I mention that I was Lactose Intolerant and only supposed to have goats or soy milk? Purple yam ice cream and my digestive track do not play well together and there was no stopping them. I will never forget being bellied over in pain from the stomach cramps.  Way before there were Skittles, I was already shitting a rainbow of color.  Uhhh.  It was purple and it was in my pants. 

See you next time on "Inside the FLIP Side" ;)

 

 

 

  

I often think I suffered from some form post traumatic stress syndrome after I came home from the Philippines.  I mean how else could I remember every little detail of my dreadful time there?  I have had nightmares for years that I am drowning in rice patties, eaten by carabao, strangled by snakes, squashed by the piglets mother and eaten all the pets I have ever owned.  I swear, I am NOT bitter...

My brother would never remember being in the Philippines.  I am not sure whether to feel sad for him because of all the wonderful (gag) culture he missed out on or joyous that he wasn't tortured in such a way that my life was changed forever by the experiences back home.  He never left my mothers lap in the Philippines...oh those damn shackles & springs on his legs.  They saved his ass a whoopin, although I doubt anyone would wack a little Fama prince.

I couldn't wait everyday to sneak off to the candy lady.  I would steal all the change that fell off my dresser and rolled in between the bamboo before anyone else could.  I was closest to the floor besides my brother and he never stepped foot on the ground so I got first dibs.  Plus, if I was going to get a broom whoopin everyday, I should at least get paid for it...in large amounts of sugar.  Grandma knew all my hiding spots anyway.  My cousin ratted me out.

Waking up tangled in a mosquito net every night and not being to able to go pee because I was terrified of what was lurking on the floor are what those nightmares were made of.  The gigantic cockroaches bigger than my face & creepy little lizards who ran up, down & thru the bamboo.  I am sure Godzilla, Mothra and Gamera were also close by.

The river outside my shanty had no guard rail and it was a long rocky way down.  If you fell off the edge, the giant crocs were going to eat you.  At least thats what I was told.  My Uncles threatened to throw me over the edge numerous times. The crocs had laid their eggs on a big pile of crap in the middle of the river. I tried to hit the eggs with rocks to kill the baby beasts that may or may not be having me for lunch.  I tried so many times and never hit them once.  My Uncles continued their scare tactics.  Ok fine, you full breed mofos, two can play at this game.  So, I grabbed a piglet and brought it over to the edge as leverage against my would be assasins. If I go the little piggy goes. If the little piggy goes, you starve.  MUAHAHAHA.  What a smart little half breed I was holding that piglet over the edge until...

You see your Grandmother holding two brooms and yelling your name.  Who the HELL gave her back up??

Til next time...I'll see you on the FLIP side...

When I was younger, my brother Ben & I never wore shoes. I hated them. My father said we had "Rice patty feet".  I could walk on rocks, climb trees, anything and I never flinched.  Must be an Asian thing.  I couldn't tell if he was insulting me or he was just jealous that his feet were too soft.  Must be a white thing.

Ben was too young to remember our time in the Ghetto Jungle.  He couldn't run anyway because he was strapped to a board and had Forest Gump shackles on his legs.  All I did was run. Run away from the broom, run from my Uncles who tortured me daily, run to the candy lady, run to my mother begging not to leave me with her broom wielding mother.  So one day, I ran all the way to the beach.  To get to the beach though, you had to run through the rice patties.

There I was, five years old standing in a labyrinth of rice patty squares that led to a beach.  Only problem was the Water Buffalo were always in my way.  They would just stand there dropping their swirls and twirls shit on the pathways that led me to the beach.  If I wasn't hopping buffalo shit, I was crawling under the buffalo itself. How I wasn't kicked in the head, knocked into a patty to drown, or impaled by a horn is beyond me.   

My mother would tell me stories of her childhood and how she had to collect the hardened buffalo chips for the family. She told me how sometimes it didn't always look hard and she would wind up with buffalo shit all over her because it was soft and would fall apart after picking it up. My poor mother.   When my uncles found out I was running through the rice patties, they would tell me another story. How my dinner every night was going to be cooked on a buffalo dung oven.  OMFG! This is why my mother collected dung?!  I chose to starve to death from this point on.

Being five, full of imagination & a will to survive in this god forsaken land, I decided that if there was no dung to be found, there would be NO OVEN MADE OF SHIT. So I ran barefoot to the rice patties as often as I could sneaking buffalo dung back into the rice pools. I was NOT eating off a shit oven! I'd rather die, but I bet they had really good crops of rice that year...

 See you tomorrow on "Inside the FLIP Side" ;) <----------- not a winky face, that's half a chinky face!