How helping a friend decide on her family’s first Halloween themed costumes nearly ended an 8 year friendship.

Tracy: I need help coming up with ideas for our Halloween costumes! You’re creative, have any ideas!?!

Me: Wow, the pressure… OH this!!


Tracy:… okay don’t judge… but I’ve never seen this movie…

Me: …let me reply with this…


Tracy: I’ve been busy!

Me: It’s been out for 16 years!!

Tracy: Like I said, BUSY!!

Me: Hold on, I’m trying to take selfie of eye roll, but it’s not coming out right.

Tracy: oh shut up! Any another ideas? Don’t forget about Nigel! They are inseparable.


Me: Shut. Up. That is CRAZY cute… OMG she needs to be a cowgirl and you can put a saddle on Nigel!! AND you and Dan can be cows!!!


Me: HOLY SHIT look what Google image just gifted me!


Tracy: I’m. Dying.  This is brilliant… are we good?

Me: Ya but now I’m scared to even ask about other movies… you’ve seen all the Harry Potters right?

Tracy: … um…

Me: … Star Wars…

Tracy: … well…


Tracy: … busy?…

Me: aaaannnnddddd you’re dead to me.


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“And Then I Died a Little Inside”… not really but that’s a pretty gripping post title, right up there with “She Thought it Was Going to be Just Another Gyno Appointment Until…”

I just had the worlds greatest conversation and finished it off with the most spot on joke that was so freaking funny, I peed a little.

I then turned to see what status of hilarity my office mate was in after the awesomeness that was my story telling, and saw this…


Fucking noise canceling fucking headphones.

He actually had to fill out an extensive hardware purchase order request with our IT department to have these ordered for him. In the section listed “How will these crazy expensive headphones help you to complete your work?”, he wrote “I share an office with Mona.”.

His request was approved 10 minutes later.


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I’m learning to play the ukulele and apparently it’s the cruelest thing I’ve ever done to my dog…

So I’ve been trying to learn how to play the guitar, and like all my past declarations of becoming amazing at something that I’ve just started to learn, I’ve completely given up on it when I hadn’t mastered it after the first class.

I was sad for like a minute until I realized, after several glasses of wine, where I had failed with the guitar, I would truly excel at with the… Ukulele!!

Two days later my Amazon box was delivered and I was once again a musical prodigy.

However, Orko had other opinions… harsh opinions.


Why? Why is she doing this to me? What have I done to deserve this?!?

It got worse later in the night…


Just kill me, it doesn’t even have to be swift, just end my suffering.

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Per Hubby, our marriage is cured, but I still need some work…

Me: Don’t forget, couples counseling tomorrow at 5.

Hubby: Oh ya, I don’t think I’m going to go to those for a while.

Me:… Oh… My… God… is this your way of saying you’re divorcing me!? CAUSE NOT COOL, I MEAN WINE A GIRL UP FIRST OR SOMETHING!!!

Hubby: Easy there crazy, I meant I think we’re doing pretty good and I don’t really have anything to say to her anymore… but maybe you should keep going… because… well… you know…

Me: Why did you just make a hand gesture over me when you said that?

Hubby: Because…

Me: You just did it again, but with both hands. That does not make me feel any better!!!

Hubby: Well now you have something to discuss in your first one on one therapy session.

Me: …dude…

p.s. I did go on my own and it was AWESOME, even better then couples, as I got to do ALL the talking, and at no point was I interrupted by Hubby screaming at me, like he did at last weeks session; “BABE, SHE ASKED HOW’S YOUR POSITION AT WORK! NOT THAT!! GOOD LORD WOMAN, T.M.I. !!!”.

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BOOBS!!!… that is all.

Hubby: BABE!?

Me: sup?

Hubby: Why is there a post it note on the fridge with the word boobs in bold and highlighted?

Me: To remind me.

Hubby: That you have boobs?

Me: No, that’s just silly.  I haven’t needed a reminder that I have boobs since 6th grade when I developed like LITERALLY overnight and the mean girls made poor Brian Cooper go up to me outside school, while we were waiting for the bus, and ask me if I stuffed my bra. And because I was really pissed off with everyone whispering behind my back about that, I decided to put a stop to it and yelled, “NO, I’M NOT EVEN WEARING A BRA!” and then I pulled my shirt up and flashed him and half the school. He was so horrified he turned around and ran straight into a street sign, he ended up having a mild concussion. Not bad for my boys first showing, AND no one ever teased me about stuffing my bra after that day!


Me: What?

Hubby: Wow, and back to the post it?

Me: Oh, ya, it’s a reminder to make an appointment for a booby scan.  Gotta keep my boys safe.

Hubby: And you call them boys because?

Me: Well they get in way more trouble then girls would.

Hubby: Sure,  it’s THEM causing the trouble… make the appointment now I’m taking down the post it, it’s distracting me from the reason I opened the fridge.

Me: Well you’re holding a cereal box so I’m guessing you were going in for milk, if anything my post it note should have helped you remember that!

Hubby:  And there’s the imagery… I’m just gonna have some toast.


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Okay I know there is LITERALLY a day for everything, I mean seriously, here’s just a few I found with a quick Google search:

  • Answer Your Cat’s Question Day (but just the one question and try not to freak out that your cat can now apparently talk!)
  • Waiting For The Barbarians Day (are we still doing that? wow those dudes are late!)
  • Tapioca Pudding Day and Respect Canada Day (it doesn’t feel respectful to make Canada share their day with tapioca pudding.)
  • Relaxation Day and Failures Day (which are perfect together because if you fail to relax you’re still succeeding!)
  • National Cheese Sacrifice Purchase Day (I don’t understand, is there a certain cheese called Sacrifice that I purchase, or am I sacrificing a cheese!?)
  • Be Late For Something Day (the best part is the following day is Fight Procrastination Day. HA!! I see what they did there!)
  • Gratitude Day and Banana Day (… I’m not touching that one…twss)

However, Courtesy Flush Day… I can STRONGLY stand behind that day… lol… behind…

But seriously people, when I’m sitting in a stall and I hear the unmistakable sound of a solid landing splash, followed quickly by a courtesy flush from the stall next to me, I think, “you sir, are a gentlemen.”, or, “you mam, are a lady”. I mean these days you never know, but as long as they courtesy flush, I’m cool with whoever is over there!

I’ve never actually participated in a courtesy flush myself, as my bowels are not designed to work in any other bathroom than my own. I am not kidding, I seriously wish I was, long vacations ARE MURDER.

WAIT! I LIED!! I did once courtesy flush, well technically Molly did the flush for me. In fact funny enough it was Macy’s Molly. But it wasn’t for a Mr. Hanky.  Let’s just say New Orleans, Girls Trip, Hurricanes (the drink, not the weather), and me mistakenly thinking that I could totally lay down on the bed for a minute and be fine… I couldn’t… and I wasn’t.

I don’t know how but Molly miraculously got me up and to the toilet a second before I gave back everything New Orleans had given to me that day. While I knelt in the worshipping position I remember Molly say softly, as she leaned over me while still holding my hair, “there ya go sweetie, now how about a nice courtesy flush?”, which made me laugh, which then made me give all over again… aaahhhhhhh memories. 


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This started with me wanting to tell you about how my daily drives across long bridges has caused me to create Jason Bourne like ultimate escape plans if things every go bat shit crazy and me and Silvie go overboard, but ended with a chronological recap of all my cars names… and how I killed them… awkward.

Silvie is my car, her name is Silvie because she’s silver. That’s why I don’t spell it Sylvie, so all you English majors, spell checking Nazis, can just take a step back… I’m talking to you dad.

Now that I think about it, she comes from a long line of cars that got their names from their color.  It started with my mom’s little Mazda, whom I called Ruby.

She was burgundy and sparkly. She was the sweetest little car.

I feel really bad about all the crap I put her through. I mean number one crapper is me learning how to drive stick with her, that’s a lot of bunny hopping down streets that did nothing for her suspension. Also the fact that I constantly dropped her into reverse when trying to shift into 4th.  That transmission never really stood a chance.

The craptastic thing of all was the time I took a corner too tight and popped her up on two wheels. You have to understand the situation, I was deep in to a radio sing along of Kissed by a Rose and I was so invested in my solo that I flew pass our turn causing my friend to scream “THAT’S OUR TURN” and me to hit the break and crank the wheel. When she finally, and violently, came back down to 4 wheels, I thanked god and Meatloaf, my friend threw up… luckily outside Ruby.

For weeks after our 2 wheel adventure I kept waiting for something to go wrong with Ruby and when my mom took her to the shop the mechanic would be like… “whelp, the only thing I can think that would cause this to happen is if the car was on two wheels!”…

Oliver was my very first car of my very own, he was light green, like an olive.  I loved Oliver, he was sweet and fun and kind and to this day I feel really bad about never putting oil in him, in the 4 years I owned him… but now I know what a seized engine sounds like when you’re speeding down the highway… death… it sounds like death…

Oliver was followed by my hubby’s truck, Blackie, no real explanation there on the color. And I’ve already told you the story of when me and Blackie tried to kill each other all while Hubby suffered a minor heart attack while watching us from the Uhaul truck rear mirror. Also Hubby never called Blackie by his name, which I found rude.

Then there was our first joint car, Emmy, short for Emerald, she was SO green and sparkly. I believe I also told you about her sudden end when she met that garbage truck… literally.

And that brings us to Silvie. My little silver convertible.  She was an impulse buy after losing 10% of my nose to skin cancer. Nothing says “FUCK YOU SUN, YOU DON’T SCARE ME!” like buying a convertible… in Arizona.

Wow this car name rambling went long, so I’ll save my brilliant Jason Bourne escape plan for another blog post… although now that I think about it… the escape plan is really just for me… sorry Silvie. But you’ll go down with a long line of great cars! Whose only really fault was having me as an owner…

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