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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Does this make me quirky or deranged… it’s a fine line… plus I’m pretty sure my officemate has super powers.

It’s quiet at work…
too quiet…
quiet enough for me to hear my thoughts…
and not the normal thoughts…
like, what should I have for lunch, did I turn off the iron, is that smell coming from me…
I’m talking about the other ones…

What if my officemate Adam can actually read minds and has never told anyone because he’s afraid he’d to be taken away by the men in black… ADAM I CAN SEE YOUR PENIS!!… okay I thought that as loud as I could and he didn’t even flinch. So he can’t read minds… or he’s really good at acting like he can’t… WELL PLAYED SIR!!!

If a gun man burst into our office right now, what would I do? I would throw my vase of flowers at him, as he steps back to dodge the vase, I’d leap out of my chair and do a round house kick to his face!… but I’d probably forget to take my headphones off and the wires would yank my head back causing my kick to JUST miss… and as I fell to the ground, the now really pissed of gunman, would shoot Adam in retaliation… SORRY ADAM!!!

I should throw out the flowers in my vase, they’re getting pretty wilty.  I wonder if flowers can still speak to each other after getting cut. Can they even speak to each other before getting cut? Great, now I feel like I can hear them moaning as they slowly die on my desk… geez this is getting dark, I need to snap out of this weird train of thought… ADAM BREAK THE TENSION!!!

And people I swear to Crocodile Dundee, after I thought that… Adam burped… I’ve never laughed so hard in my life… WELL PLAYED INDEED SIR!!!

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Either working for Macy’s is like working for the CIA… or my friend’s an ass…. she’s an ass.

So I was at Macy’s trying to find a replacement for my favorite bra that after years of faithful service attempted to assassinate me in it’s final hour by impaling me with its underwire.

While walking through the maze that is Macy’s, I couldn’t help but notice all the Friends and Family Sale signs that were posted at every entrance, exit, cash register, and general eye level location throughout the store.

I then remembered that I had a friend, Molly, that worked in the SFO Macy’s headquarters and decided to give her a quick, “Hey remember me, we’re friends, give me your company discount.”

As you can probably guess the texting did not go the way I had planned.


Molly: I have no idea who this is, but the only person I know with a Portland area code that would call me that is Mona.

Me: IT IS ME!!! I’m at Macy’s and I want in on the Friends and Family discount!!… cause ya know… we’re friends… obviously not friends that save names in their contacts… but friends none the less!!

Molly: LOL. Of course you can be in on the discount, just say you’re a friend, it’s not very exclusive.

Me: Really?? Isn’t there like a code word or something?

Molly: New England Clam Chowder


Molly: You know that I’m joking right?

Molly: It’s been a few minutes and I’m getting concerned you didn’t get that last joking text.

Me:… you’re an ass…

Molly: Please tell me you used the code word.

Me: OFCOURSE I USED THE CODE WORD!! And I totally tried to act all cool and kept saying New England Clam Chowder under my breath and winking.  The lady wasn’t sure if I was hitting on her or having a seizure.

Molly: But did you get the discount?

Me: Yes, but only after I explained to her how my “friend” is an evil ass and lied to me.  Then she said New England Clam Chowder was last weeks code and it’s Tomato Bisque this week.

Molly: Yessss! Macy’s employees are universally cool, obviously.

Me: except for one.

Molly: Harsh.

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It only took a mummified dinasour to make me the smartest person in my marriage!

Me: Oh babe look, this article says scientist found a mummified dinasour and there’s pictures!!

Hubby: But who wrapped the mummy?




Hubby: Oh my god.

Me: Oh my god!

Hubby: I can’t believe I said that.

Me: I can’t believe you said that!

Hubby: That’s something you would have said.

Me: Thats totally something I would have said… but I didn’t… you did!!!!

Hubby: Kill me.





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How a majestic fucking eagle tried to kill me but then killed someone else… because it looked so damn majestic.

So while driving across the 520 bridge into work this morning, I saw a huge bald eagle sitting on top of a light pole up ahead of me. I decided I had to take a picture as he was looking majestic as fuck and it needed to be captured and posted on my Instagram page stat!  But then Myself butted in and ruined it… and saved my life… but whatever.

Myself: What the HELL do you think you’re doing?

Me: Dude, look at it! He’s majestic as shit!

Myself: You are currently driving at a lunatic 60 miles an hour in bumper to bumper traffic with a bunch of other lunatics.  If you attempt to find your phone in you purse, then get to your picture app, then somehow zoom in, and take a focused picture of that eagle… you will die.

Me: Well that’s a little extreme.

Myself: Well it’s the truth!  So forget it and keep driving with both hands on the wheel you idiot!

Me: You know what?! You are ALWAYS ruining things for me and you NEVER let me have any fun!

Myself: Yes, and you’re still alive, so you’re welcome!

Me: Whatever I hate you and I’m not talking to you anymore.


About 5 minutes later, and still not talking to myself, the radio went to a traffic update and announced that there had just been a multiple car accident on the east bound 520, shutting down the bridge and causing extended delays.

Myself: Mmmmmmm, looks like someone was an idiot and decided to take a picture of that eagle… AND DIED!

Me: …

Myself: Anything to say??

Me:… ya… I bet that was a fucking awesome picture!!

Myself:… I hate you…

Me: Ditto.

(side note: no one died in the telling of this blog post, it was just a fender bender)



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