cutting the mustard

Is the expression "cutting the muster" or "cutting the mustard"?
Husband sent me the link to another North London blog and I was really upset that
a.) he'd been sniffing around other ladies' blogs (a bit like having a sexy dream where the object/victim of your desire isn't the one who shared the bed with you for the last 12 years - not that that's ever happened to me, obviously) and;
b.) that her work was probably going to be loads funnier/intellectual/politically-wise/observant/more read/higher-amount of followers than mine, and;
c.) this forced me into a horror Latin class flash-back (GCSE) where the teacher would look at me in pity when it was my turn to answer a question about the River Styx or the declension of idioticum and I'd simply want to melt into the maroon carpet because I was clearly too thick and shouldn't even be doing Latin GCSE - and its that feeling I'm not good enough I'm going to fail again my brain is only semi-developed I'll never know what a noun is let alone a declension my 6 year old is already better at maths than me, and;
d.) that there are more Mother Bloggers in the world than there are £'s what bailed out the bankers in the recent bank-crisis, so who would want to read another anyway?
So now I'm wondering about this whole blog business. Too many bloggers ruin the... ? (Internet soup?)
My life isn't very interesting and my children's lives are quite similar to lots of other children's lives in N8 (well, maybe not quite the same as the children who go to Rokesley or Fortismere...) and what goes on in my life probably isn't even very well represented by the words I put together anyway. Another author could probably articulate my daily angst far more accurately.
And I don't even know if it's cutting the muster or mustard (I always thought it was mustard, because I like the idea of cutting mustard, because, now here's the clever bit, mustard doesn't actually need cutting, so its like a double-bluff? Similar to a Spooks plot line...).
And so I am going to spend some time deliberating my fate. Its a bit like America's Next Top Model and if I fail the next task (um, like, maybe, not gaining another "official blog follower" between now and the next blog I write) then I guess maybe I'll be kicked off the blog-scene. Some other colourful laugh-out-loud kind of blogger can fill in your next spare 6.5minutes while you sit on a loo in your echoey office facilities...
(God, I've just thought of another invention: internet that gives you sensory experiences: if you could smell the farts (click on that link its he he he) that Liz has been letting off whilst I'm sitting here, you'd be laughing/crying/gagging/re-gurgitating your sushi... - its a sensory overload.)
Anyway. Enough self pity.
I've got to go sort out Liz's rear-end, and then think about who is on my Christmas card list this year. And put icing on about 50 fairy cakes for the school Bazaar on Friday.
See? Plain and simple dull dull dull dull (a la Craig off Strictly...).