How my butt nearly ended my marriage

Me: Is this a spider bite or a pimple?

Hubby: Ah babe come on, I haven’t even had my coffee yet, I’m gonna need you to pull your pants back up.

Me: HEY! This is marriage! You said I do to this! Now look at my butt and tell me if that’s a pimple or a spider bite.

Hubby: I don’t remember our marriage vows stating I have to identify strange bumps on your butt.

Me: It has to be a pimple, I mean how could a spider get all the way up my pjs, bite my ass, and then go back out without getting squashed… do you see the squished carcass of a spider back there?

Hubby: I mean there was that part about sickness and health, but I thought that meant making you soup when you don’t feel good or holder your hair when you’re ralphing.

Me: Maybe it’s an ingrown hair, give it a squeeze and see if anything comes out.

Hubby:  I’d like a divorce now, please.


Update: it was a pimple



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Apparently, by being a sane, nice person this Halloween, I’m actually ruining everything for everyone… yay… go me.

Hubby: So what’s the theme this year?

Me: Theme for what?

Hubby: Halloween.

Me: oh… ya… I though we could just skip it this year.

Hubby: Holy Shit. SKIP HALLOWEEN!?! WHAT!? WHY!? You always do Halloween, to the extreme! You come up with some crazy family Halloween theme, spend an obscene amount of money on ours and the dog’s costume, and then force all of us to walk around town, usually in the rain, always in the cold, as people point and laugh at us, while Orko tries to shake off and/or eat his costume and you and I argue about how much longer we’re going to stay out!!!!

Me: I know, it’s awful, and depressing, and exhausting, so screw it!


Me: Kill me.

Hubby: Cool, is that our theme?


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The Martian+Gin+Me = Hubby Asking What He Did To Deserve This Life

Hubby: “… let me just make sure I’m following along with you, Matt Damon’s character would have never gotten off Mars, if it hadn’t been for the NASA guy’s Executive Assistant?”

Me: “YES!”

Hubby: “… how?”

Me: “Oh my god it’s so obvious.”

Hubby: “… is it?”

Me: “You make my head hurt.”

Hubby: “Ditto.”

Me: *dramatic sigh* “Okay that part when he said I need to get on a plane, and then BOOM he’s in California meeting with the Pathfinder crew, past and present, to figure out a way to talk with Matt Damon, which then makes it possible for them to work out a plan for his rescue.”

Hubby: “…ya…”

Me: “THAT NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED WITHOUT AN EA! WHO arranged his travel, WHO contacted all the teams and made sure they were all at the office waiting for him, WHO met him outside the office and directed him where to go, WHO got him badge clearance for that building, WHO set up all the meetings after that first original meeting, WHO ORDERED ALL THE CHINESE FOOD THEY’RE EATING!?!?”

Hubby: “His EA?”


Hubby: “And all of that couldn’t have possibly happened without his EA? I mean what if she was out sick that day, but because of the urgency he took care of all of it himself? Do you think he would have just said ‘sorry guys I had a plan to rescue him, but my EA was out sick and I had to wait until she got back and now he’s dead’?”

Me: “You’re the devil.”

Hubby: “Want me to get you another Gin and Tonic?”

Me: “You’re an angel.”

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I went from telling you how to lose friends and alienate people this October, to creating a new inappropriate for work word… WINNING!

I have a secret.

A secret that could end friendships, alienate me from family members, and basically make me a social outcast to normal society.


*pause for horrified gasps from the reader*


I know, I know, I can’t explain it, but pumpkin and I have never gotten along.  Spices, I have no problem with; cinnamon, nutmeg, Ginger… hold on… sorry getting spices mixed up with Spice Girls, but you get the idea.

I mean it’s a gourd people…. A GOURD!! And if the word gourd was to have a taste that matched the grossness, and slightly eroticness, of its name then pumpkin is nailing it.

Hold on… I may have just created a new word… spellcheck is not accepting eroticness and instead is asking if I mean rotisserie, come on spellcheck they’re not even close, get your shit together man!

I’d use Google to see if it’s an actual word… but I’m at work… and I really don’t want those Google search results to be seen by that IT guy.  You know the guy I’m talking about, the one whose whole job is to sit in a dark office, probably somewhere down by the boiler room, and track inappropriate work computer searches day in and day out.  So let’s just say it’s a new word created by me… YAY!



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I ate my feelings and now I make my yoga pants cry.

“Why are you naked?”

That’s a good question, to be asked in elevators, restaurants, planes, and churches. NOT to be asked by your hubby when you’re standing in your own bedroom.

“Excuse me?”

Another good question, to be asked when you didn’t hear what someone said, or you’re trying to get through a crowd, or when you’ve just seen Chris Pine and have followed him into the men’s bathroom to ask for his autograph and also if you can bear his children.  NOT good when asked by a wife to a hubby who has now realized he’s royally screwed the hooch.

“… what I mean… goddess who I love… ageless wonder of beauty and light… is that you should have left for work 30 minutes ago, but instead your just standing in front of a full closet… naked.”

Okay that goddess and ageless wonder thing was good, so I’m going to give him a reprieve, just this once.

“Nothing fits, and I mean nothing, not my super elastic skinny jeans or my always baggy fat pants. In a last ditch effort I grabbed my yoga pants, and I swear I heard them cry out; “Namaste away from that ass”.”

After laughing at my own hilarious joke for a good two minutes, I sat my naked, yoga pant nightmare, ass down and considered how I’d come to this point.  Well I know how, it started one week after my mom died.

I had just gotten some artwork that I wanted to put up on a completely blank wall in my apartment.  Having no artistic vision whatsoever, I grabbed my phone and called mom.  It actually took 2 rings before I realized what I had done. My mom wasn’t going to pick up that call, she was never going to pick up a call, I was never going to talk to her again.  I “handled” this realization with a cake… not some cake… A cake. And it kind of went down the pastry hill from there.

But now it HAS to come to an end. It’s time to actually handle the grief and, per my therapist, writing is my answer.  So here we go, time to come home to my blog, to return to the silly and fun and ridiculous.

When I get sad and want donuts, I’ll instead write about my honeymoon in Ireland and our encounter with the sheep from hell…

When I get depressed and want cookies, I’ll write about the time I accidentally drove my dad’s truck off a cliff, then back home, and he never found out…

When I get to the point where I can’t take another breath, because the pain of not having my mom in my life is so unbearable. I’ll reach for my laptop and write about the first time she and I went to Paris, and we accidentally flashed our hoo haws to a crowd of unsuspecting tourists at the Louvre…

… but that’s for another blog.

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The Squeeze

Hello Strangers,

So I’ve been blog awol for a while. I have to admit it’s pretty hard to come back to this place of fun, silliness, and random fires that, let’s be honest, is my life.

February 14th my mom died.

My mother was an amazing force in my life, she was my cheerleader, coach, backer, counselor, confident, and drinking buddy.  Not having her in my life is crippling.

The only nice thing I can say about all this is… we had time.

We found out about mom’s “probably benign” tumor in February of 2017. We then had months of chemo, a blessed month of “it’s probably gone”, the return, and then the final 3 months of accepting the end was coming.

I can’t even begin to list all the things I will miss from not having my mom in my life.  If any of you have lost a parent you know, for those of you that haven’t, get up, leave your computer behind, and go hug them so hard and for so long.

My mom didn’t hug, she squeezed.  She would come right up to me, nose to nose, take each of my arms with her hands and… just squeeze. It’s like she was sending me all her love and strength and confidence through her hands and into my body.  I loved that squeeze.

The day I said my final goodbye to my mom, we both knew, this was it, we weren’t going to see each other after that day.  My mom got up and took both my arms in her hands.  I was keeping a good, fake, front. Big smiles, false optimism, telling her I loved her and I’d call her when I got back home.  It was then that my mom did the squeeze. The woman in front of me was a mere shadow of the woman she had once been, but that squeeze, that was an original.  It felt like she had gathered all her remaining strength and was sending me her final surge of love and strength and confidence.

It broke me.

I got to my car, drove 2 miles, pulled over, and cried huge, suffocating, gut wrenching, sobs. I had known at that moment that she had given me everything, all of her, to carry forward and keep me strong through what was going to come.

It’s been 3 months and I miss her more each day.  There are some days I don’t even want to get out of bed, or shower, or even talk. But on those days I take each of my arms in my hands and I squeeze, and I remember who’s daughter I am… and I go on.


To my mom, the woman who taught me all the important things in life.





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2018 and people can’t stop giving me money… it sucks.

So I don’t know about the rest of you, but the first day back after the holiday season is tough, especially when you’re someone like me who took 2 weeks off.

Just the fact that I was able to roll myself out of bed, pull on a pair of sweats and sweatshirt from the floor, that had been my main outfit during the long holiday, shove my ‘probably should have washed in the last week’ hair under a baseball cap, and get to work only 2 hours late should be applauded… however my office mate Ciera took one look at me when I walked in, grabbed her purse, and gave me all her spare change…

So today when getting dressed for work I decided that I needed to rectify yesterday’s insult and bring my A game.  And boy did I ever, freshly washed piled high hair, tight slacks, a sexy blouse, and BAM heels… now Ciera’s throwing singles at me…

I’m going home.

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