Too much caffeine, adult acne, and cheeto stains on everything

I’m full of caffeine, but I’ve been thinking. Okay, it may be the caffeine talking here, but I HAVE been thinking.

I literally live my life with Cheeto stains on my clothes. Hell. I will eat Cheetos off the damn floor if the dog doesn’t snatch it up first. Sometimes it’s a real competition to see who can get to dropped food first. There’s growling and biting…and the dog can be aggressive too sometimes.

I cannot compete with Victoria Secret sexy hair and fucking lip gloss. Are you kidding me with that goddess shit?

And the ladies that can put on those fake eyelashes.

rick james bitch.gif

Damnit woman! You are killing it in ways I do not even understand. I have sweat pants with holes in the crotch that I consider part of my casual dress wear. My husband had to take them away from me and explain that you could literally see all of my Barbara Bush before I would surrender them. Then it was only so they could be patched up. I still wear them. Just sans Barbara exposure. She added a little something to the party if you ask me. A pinch of flare! A dash of untamed wilderness.

I tried fake eyelashes once. ONCE. Followed a youtube video and everything. Glued my entire eye shut for three days…but I looked fucking fabulous. I would have banged me. If I could have seen me. I just sat and smoldered like the sexy idiot I was.

I have sat and stared at women for longer than was socially appropriate. Just admiring their make up and hair. I have actually been so caught up being mesmerized by how well put together and beautiful another woman was that I had to tell my husband I was late because I had been watching a breathtakingly gorgeous woman read a book in a Barnes Noble and lost track of time. Do you realize how insane that sounds?

“I’m sorry, dude. Yeah, I know I’m three hours late, but you should see this woman. She’s like some kind of glowing princess. Even the way she reads is beautiful. How can I look like her when I read? I feel like I look like stink when I read. Like, that’s just the image that I give off to people. She looks like she smells like some kind of dessert. Like you kinda wanna take a bite out of her, or lick her.  I mean, I do and I married a dude if that tells you anything. You wanna see a picture of her? I can take a picture and show you….no, yeah, you’re right. You’re right. That’s probably an invasion of privacy of some kind.”

(whispers) “sorry pretty lady”.
And I have adult acne now too. That’s a thing. They should make PSAs about it that don’t involve a famous adult because I tend not to believe that shit. Like, excuse me Adam Levine you gorgeous son of bitch. You look like you are made of 100% rutting bucks, lumberjacks chopping wood, and moist panties. Do not. Even. Start with me.

One day I woke up, and I just looked like the teenage version of me that had lived a really hard life. Like, maybe she had seen some shit, or went to prison and had traded all of her commissary for cigarettes to chain smoke in a cleaning supply closet somewhere.

It’s rough having acne and wrinkles, plus watching what you eat. How is that even fair? It should be a trade off. I thought that was the natural order of things.

Okay,  so I have acne, but I get to pile drive all of these cakes into my face, dive head first into a ditch full of french fries, and not gain any weight.  Who messed things up?! What has happened? You shouldn’t have to suffer with acne, worry about getting diabetes, and wonder if your retirement fund is solid.

I don’t know. Maybe I should not drink this much caffeine at night…or ever.

I’d apologize if I cared. I do not. If I had a mic I would gently place it on the ground and punt it across the room.  Also, my heart might explode soon.


Embarrassing moments: part two

I figured that since I didn’t do very many on Tuesday I would continue this theme to Thursday. If you know me personally you probably know these stories already. Sorry for the repeat, but for everyone else, enjoy. I’m only doing one photo today since my stories are sort of long.


Embarrassing photo:

wendy mixed
Me with my two completely normal cousins.


Look at that perm! That stupid face that almost seems like I’m high! Almost diverts your attention from that ugly ass sweatshirt I’m wearing. Almost. You can’t make it out, but I have a koolaid stache. Yeah, I was one of those kids. I’ve said it many times before, but I was a gorgeous child. GORGEOUS. I illuminated the world with my overbite smile.

This photo has my cousins so that everyone can see for themselves just what we’re dealing with here. Normal children smile like civilized people. They don’t do whatever it is I’m doing in this picture. I was trying to give my much taller cousin William rabbit ears. It was my attempt was unsuccessful  as the ears were nowhere near his head. At all. My tiny adorable cousin Eric was safe from me on the other side of his older brother. Way to take one for the team William.


Embarrassing Story #1:

I was in the grocery store with the kids. We had a basket, laden with food and sundries. Reading between the lines:

I hadn’t shopped in two weeks and my husband’s socks were in danger of being used as a toilet paper replacement in the near future.

As I strolled down the aisle I saw what I assumed was a friend of mine in the distance and waved. Okay, I need you to understand what kind of waving I’m talking about here. Not the miss America polite wave, or the timid “please don’t stonewall me” finger flutter. This was the full on, total body convulsing that you only save for people  you know really well and have no problems looking stupid for. We are talking full stadium wave like people do during sporting events. You know, the kind of wave you reserve for people you know won’t leave you hanging in the “do we or don’t we acknowledge each other” dance we all do in public.

Here I am, full body waving and my friend looks confused. I’m thinking what the hell, friend? Wave back you ungrateful bitch.  I get closer and realize too late that this is NOT my bro, but a complete and total stranger. A total stranger who was almost turning circles trying to figure out who I was flailing at. Of course, in my panic I continued to wave. I mean, I still had a few feet before I was actually face to face with this person. How often do you get a chance to embarrass yourself completely and lose all sense of what it’s like to be a human being? There is a sort of freedom in having nothing to lose.  One of my New Year’s resolutions this year was to go outside of my comfort zone. I couldn’t possibly let this chance go by me without savoring it. Mmm, so much savoring.

I hate myself sometimes.

Then Thomas chimes in just as I’m almost consumed by all the self loathing by asking “mom, do you know that lady?”

I had spiraled so far down the shame hole that I was incapable of anything above a whisper and hissed “NO, I have no idea who that is!”

Swiveling to face me, Molly quipped in a monotone voice, “then why are you waving at her”?

Why indeed you little traitor? Obviously, I’m reveling in this moment of unparalleled dread and humiliation. Duh.

As this soon-to-be new acquaintance got closer I had a clear decision to make. I could be an adult and stop waving, smile, and admit my mistake. OR, I could pretend like it never happened. It wasn’t a choice really. Screw maturity. I scraped up what little bit of self esteem I could and, in an ever so natural looking way, pretended like my eyes were following an imaginary friend as if they had quickly gone down another aisle and slowly put my hand down. Of course I wouldn’t still be waving if “my friend” that so clearly wasn’t this stranger, had walked down an aisle without seeing me. I mean, with all that flailing I had done that was totally possible. I pantomimed the desire to follow my friend and smooth sailed like a villain passed the confused stranger like I had never made direct eye contact with her. She must have been mistaken. I was so clearly chasing my phantom friend down. I was full of purpose. I was a concerned friend. I gave my make believe friend a great back story too. It was dramatic and she needed me. Why else would she dramatically turn down an aisle so fast no one else in the store saw her?

I zoomed down an aisle and stood still until I was sure my ruse had worked. No one came back to accuse me of giving everyone in the store second hand embarrassment so….SCORE! I was the best actor on the planet. My method acting game was just too strong for that store. I deserved an Oscar. A fucking Oscar. Before I got too far ahead of myself both children began questioning why we went down an aisle we’d already visited, and just what happened to that friend?

I did a little razzle dazzle, mentioned candy, and got out of that store as quickly as possible.

Embarrassing Story #2:

One time when I was dropping my daughter off at Montessori school, and I took her into the building. She was tiny and wanted me to walk her to the lunch room. When I came out I got in my car and went to stick my keys in the ignition only to discover there were already keys in the ignition, and the car was running…and I was in someone else’s car entirely. For the first time since I sat down, I looked around and realized that this was a plush Lincoln town car. I drove a Nissan Xterra at the time. How I thought it was my car is still a mystery.

Very quickly understanding that if the owner of this car came out and saw me sitting in the driver’s seat they would assume I was doing burglary. NOT just being an idiot. Which I was. I was frozen in place for a full three seconds with my hands in the air trying to not get my finger prints on anything. Then I jumped out and crawled along the ground as quickly as panic would move my body back to my car, which was parked directly behind this car.

I’m not saying it was their fault, but I was the only one in the parking lot when I took my daughter into the building. So, you know if that doesn’t say whose fault it was then I don’t know what else to say. Yes, I realize it was my fault for being too stupid to not get into a Lincoln town car instead of my own car which was up off the ground while the Lincoln town car basically scrapes along the ground. Don’t even get me started on those seats either. I felt like I was sitting on pillows. I would have taken a nap if I wasn’t about to catch a case for robbery.

Well, that was fun. I have so many more stories and enough horrible photos to fill a dumpster. Maybe I’ll do this again. Who knows.

Banned books, filthy romance novels, and why it’s all my mother’s fault.

Since it is banned book week, and because I’ve already tattled on my mother once this week I figured I should just go out with a bang. If she finds out I’m blaming all of you. I may be an adult, but I’m still afraid of getting in trouble.

me and books

My mother is the reason I have a filthy romance novel habit.

The summer right before I started high school I decided I was going to read as many books as humanly possible. I KNOW! I was living life on the edge. Really living dangerously. Lock up  your husbands, ladies. I’ll blow that bar code right off your library card.

I told my mother of my plans on the last day of my eighth grade year, so she and I loaded up on books. I had piles and piles of books. I was worried that I had bitten off more than I could chew while my mother started on her pile of curious books with ladies in big dresses and topless men. Hmm, I’d have to ask her about them later.

Halfway through the summer the worst happened. I ran out of books. Out of an undisclosed number of books, I had none left to read. Maybe my mom could be persuaded to take me back to the bookstore? Her nerdy daughter had no other hobbies. It’s not like I was in the backyard  huffing paint out of a dirty sock. She should be thanking me. Yeah, more books could be her thank you present for NOT huffing paint.

I found my mother perched in her favorite reading spot with her books stacked beside her chair, and whispered my question as sweetly as I could. “Hey, mom. I’m out of books, could we go buy some more, please”?

She didn’t even look up from her book. She just simply grabbed the book from the top of her pile, and tossed it to me. “Nah, just read one of mine”. It wasn’t exactly a no. I was getting new books to read. I mean, I wasn’t getting to pick the genre, but desperate readers can’t be picky.

I ran away with the new book, and shouted my thanks back to her. I plopped down in my chair and looked my new book over. It was bright green with a redheaded lady on the cover. She was flashy looking. I nodded. Yeah, I was going to like this book. Redheads were pretty. I always wanted to be a redhead. When I was a kid I had been eat up with envy while watching Little Orphan Annie. I wanted red curly hair and I NEEDED freckles to cover my entire body.

I would like to say that I was a very mature young lady before reading that book, but I wasn’t. I basically went through puberty in 450 pages. It melted the skin off my face, and I swear I was still blushing a week later. I never looked at cowboys, princes, or Regency era gentlemen the same again. They all had devil may care attitudes. They literally do not care.

Don’t want to ride that horse? Cowboy don’t care. Get on that horse, gal. Don’t know how to dance? Prince don’t care. Get in these arms, and stumble awkwardly, madam. Don’t have gloves? SHOCKING, but Regency gentleman still gives no shits. Get over here and hold this hand, and scandalize errybody in this ballroom, bitch.

After that I helped her finish her stack of books. We talked a little about the villains, heroes, and  heroines in some of the books. It was a bonding experience.  I moved on to Jane Austen afterwards and fell in love, but I still have a soft spot for trash bag romance novels.

**I said absolutely nothing about banned books, but because it was banned book week I was thinking about how romance books had been forbidden to me until that point in my life. Yeah, that’s how it all goes together. You just had to be in my brain at the time.

My cat decided to become a hobo, and ruin everyone’s life.

cat in carseat
My stinky bastard of a cat. He sauntered outside and ruined everyone’s day. He’s an asshole.

I had a fantastic post planned for today, but I’m not going to write it now. I can say it was fantastic because you won’t see it today. It could be utter crap, and you will never know. Well, you will when I post it, but you just won’t know if it’s the thing I was talking about today or not. It will just be this golden post full of promise, instead of the garbage that was most likely going to grace my blog.

I’m not posting it because I’m in a horrible mood. I won’t do it justice. I will reword it to death, and it won’t be funny, and I will get even angrier. Then I will blame you. Yes, even you will catch the hell that has been my garbage attitude for the past two days. Maybe it’s the fact that I looked at the calendar and I realized that we only have seven weeks of summer left that started it, or the fact that everywhere I look bitches are selling back to school stuff.

Just let us enjoy our DAMN SUMMER, ASSHOLE!

Gah, I just want to eat ice pops until the corners of my mouth bleed, and watch cartoons with my kids until our brains turn to goo right up until the very last second. Is that too much to ask for? IS IT?! Then there’s my house that won’t just stop. It’s obsessed with me I think.

why are you

Every time I turn around it’s dirtier, stickier, and there seem to be clothes and dishes that I didn’t know we even owned that need to be washed. Who bought this crap? Yesterday was the breaking point for me. I had to run errands, which I didn’t want to do. I wanted to sit and wallow in the fact that summer is slipping through my fingers, and Netflix won’t send my muthafuckin’ movies, even though it’s obviously an emergency. My kids NEED to see those old ass movies from my childhood so they don’t grow up weird, or become murderers. Why does Netflix want my kids to be weird and murder people?

I left my house anyway. I just got grouchier as the day progressed. I mean, I had to put on underwear. I was already in violation of, like, five of my summer rules. By the time I had the pants I had convinced myself that maybe I would find all of the things I needed, Netflix would rain down upon my mailbox, and my kids would be super sweet all day.

None of that shit happened.

Now, my kids tried. When I say tried, I mean they were aware that I am in charge of punishments, and can ruin their lives. That doesn’t mean they didn’t try everything within their power to wiggle as close to my damn nerves as humanly possible without trying to get me put on youtube as one of those, “Look At This Horrible Mom Shaking her Child In The Store Video”. As a paranoid mom, that’s something I worry about. I worry about horrible camera angles catching something that isn’t bad, and turning into something bad. “Oh, you don’t want to finish your candy? Let mommy have a bite.”

Crazy lady posts video with tagline:

“See Monster Mom Eat Daughter’s Arm in Store As Horrified Shoppers Watch” gets three billion hits, CPS takes child, and gets charged with two counts of cannibalism.

Somehow, we made it home. I’m not sure how, but it happened. No one was left behind. I didn’t get the things I needed because I couldn’t find them, but I was capable of doing some deep breaths, and focusing on not driving us right through the Chili’s. You know, the youtube videos.

Once we got home I walked into a dumpster. I wanted to leave, or set it on fire, pack my whole family up, and move into a hotel somewhere. My vacuum cleaner broke, and there are these tiny little centipede bastards that come into my house. They don’t hurt anything, but they are creepy looking. They just come into the house to die, spread their little corpses around and be gross. I refused to cook dinner after that. I was done for the day. I was just done. DONE.

I went to get dinner and picked up some milk candy for myself to keep me from imploding. It erased everything. I was better by the time I got home. I apologized to everyone when I got there for my crappy attitude. I was ashamed of myself for my behavior, but not for eating the candy for just me.

Fast forward to today, and it was great until the cat dropped a giant potato in the crock pot, and then slunk out the front door when my son was taking the trash out this morning. We haven’t seen that furry pile of crap since. My son blames himself, and that is just the worst feeling of all time as a mom. I’ve tried telling him that the cat’s just an asshole, but he’s convinced he did something wrong.

Then there’s my daughter, who is convinced that someone has stolen our worthless cat, and the police MUST be called, and lawyers should be involved. She has been walking up and down the halls of our house screaming about suing since the cat didn’t show up on his own after an hour. I assured her that no one stole the cat. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t trust our shifty neighbors, and that we needed to sue everyone.

I took them to get ice cream. To help the boy cheer up, and to calm her down litigation happy brain. It kind of worked.

But, now the dog has noticed that the cat is missing.

I think my whole family needs a redo day, and I need some more candy.

All of those drunk emails I could have taken back. Google makes it possible with ‘Undo Send’!


I can remember a time when sending an email was a  frightening and humiliating experience. Like, last week when I spammed a friend about my cat. I shouldn’t have. My brain knew better, but drunk me didn’t care and was sure everyone loved my cat as much as I do. Now, with Google’s ‘Undo Send’ drunk me has the chance to ignore the lifeline Google throws out there to keep me from losing friends.

Knowing drunk me, she’ll ignore such help, not know how to function at such a high level, or just see herself as too witty  for fail safes like that. That’s are for stupid people.


But regular me is super excited about the ‘Undo Send’ function. All of the awkward emails this will save me from sending! All of the awkward emails this could have saved me from. I’m actually kind of angry they kept it to themselves all this time. They could have kept me from sending that embarrassing email a really long time ago to an old boyfriend filled with feelings that would be brutally rejected. That email rambling on and on to a friend that was super done with my shit before the first paragraph. That time I sent a bunch of photos to the person that didn’t get invited to the party. An email full of really awesome advice that I should have kept to my damn self because it was unsolicited.

Each one of those situations could have been avoided if, after I had a chance to experience to feel some sender’s remorse I  had  been allowed to get the email back. Nope, my emails of doom were allowed to float away from me to do their damage. At least my children won’t have to go through the same thing. They won’t have to sit there, and explain to their friends why they sent an email a page long about their cat.

cat in the table

I should not have to justify myself. He is my cat. I’m a cat lady. That is all there is to it.

The sexy gorilla could be your boyfriend, but you’d be covered in poop at all times.

handsome gorilla

I was trolling the internet after my husband made me begrudgingly tromp all over the land we just purchased. I was gross, smelly, and I should have been in the shower instead of sitting on the couch, but it’s my house, and I do what I want. An article with the title “handsome gorilla” caught my eye, and I just knew it was going to be wonderful. With my bean soup all over face, I clicked the link and was rewarded with cute pictures of an adorable gorilla doing poses like peoples. Reading the article was not so cute. Apparently ladies were flocking to the zoo this adorable gorilla is located and clamoring over how sexy he is. Wut? I mean, I could see if gorilla ladies are going nuts over him. He seems like he would be hella sexy to gorilla ladies, but not people ladies. What in the world could he offer you? Let’s just SAY he decided to wife you….

Hope you like having all your dates at the zoo. Oh, you were hoping he could take you to that new French restaurant? NOPE. He takes one step outta that enclosure, and he’s getting a whole ass full of tranquillizers.

You decide matching couple shirts are a good idea, so you guys can wear them together you buy some, and take them to him because, you know, he can’t leave the zoo. He snatches them from your manicured hands through the bars and rips them into little pieces, and flings a tiny bit of poop at you. Don’t catch no feelings, girl. That’s only gonna get you a hair full of poo.

He’s already got kids, and three wives. Still think he’s dreamy? Still think it can work between the two of you? He ain’t a one woman gorilla, girl. Don’t catch feelings. Do you really want to be a stepmother to a bunch of gorilla babies? That’s a whole lot of tiny adorable baby gorilla poo being thrown your way, and you know you won’t be able to afford presents to win their affection the easy way after the dry cleaning bills.

Still thinking he might be the one? Go ahead and introduce your parents to him. Of course, you’ll have to drive your parents to the zoo. When your mom attempts to hand over a homemade lasagna, the gorilla slaps it across the gorilla exhibit. There is a tense silence, so your father attempts to smooth things over by extending his hand for a manly handshake. Big mistake. The gorilla feels challenged, and just rips your dads arm right off and chunks it near the lasagna. Suddenly, the sun is blotted out as a storm of poop begins of fall down of all of you.

As you slow motion run past your mom’s ruined lasagna and scoop up your dad’s arm, you send one last tearful look towards the gorilla enclosure. He’s picking his nose…majestically. That’s when you finally realize he was never yours.

No, nu, NOPE: Don’t do it, brain. Don’t you do it! Pay attention.


As I sit here staring at this completely blank computer screen, there are a billion things going through my mind. Summer hasn’t been kind to my motivation. I’m lucky I’m even sitting here in front of the computer, and not somewhere in my house eating. My brain just won’t shut up so I can concentrate.

“How can I get my cat to shit in the toilet”? “I would save so much money in kitty litter”. “I bet I could make a youtube video of Stinky Cat pushing one out over the toilet, and it would get a million views”. “Then he’d be famous, but I doubt he’d want to be famous for taking a shit”.

“God, is it Christmas yet”? “I have to RSVP to that birthday party. No one ever RSVPs to my things. Why doesn’t anyone RSVP to my things? They show up. Do they just think I love surprises because I don’t. Did someone spread that rumor. I need to kill whoever spread that rumor about me loving surprises and hating RSVPs even though I specifically ask for them on invitations”. “Did I get fatter”? “Man, that friggin’ sessy bikini body just gets further and further out of reach”. “Damn, these chips are amazing”! “I friggin’ LOVE chili cheese fritos, oh, I really need to start typing something soon”.

“Reminds me of high school, and how I used to eat the crap out them”. “I bet they made my breath stink like fart, and that’s why I never had any boyfriends”. “Yeeaah, that’s why”. “Okay, it can’t be this hard to come up with something. JUST START TYPING WORDS, STUPID”!! “That’s it! I bet if I just start randomly typing something will come to me. Damn, I’m a genius”.

I’m a genius. I came up with a great idea. Kittys doing a push on the toilet and chili cheese fritos! I wonder if I could eat my way to a bikini body? Is that a thing? I bet I could make it a thing! I could, and then I could make a youtube video about how I ate my way into a sexy bikini! It’d get a million views. Me and the cat would be youtube famous! Me for the food, and him doing a push! Still, he would object to being filmed while hovering over the commode. I’d have to be stealthy. Would that make me a pervert? I mean, I wouldn’t get any enjoyment out of it. I mean, I might laugh, but that’s about it. But, who wouldn’t laugh at a cat pushing a brick over the toilet? I defy anyone to not laugh! Wait, did that sentence make sense? Nope, not going back. Too late. It’s already happened. Screw that sentence. We don’t go back for the weak here. ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE!!!! What the hell am I even talking about? I’m going to stop, read it, and see if I have any ideas yet………….

That was utter and complete trash. I’m trash. My hands typed trash. My cat should be ashamed to even be apart of that paragraph. I think I might just go eat myself into a fat coma and die. Whose idea was this blog anyway? It couldn’t have been mine. Why won’t my dog stop peeing in the house? Does she hate me? That’s why she does it, isn’t it? She hates living with me just like the last two dogs that wouldn’t come to me when I called when we were at my in-laws. Just hid behind the house like two jerks. They just waited there until I got in the car, and then came out. They liked my in-laws better than me.

My mother in-law called me to tell me I forgot my dogs. I just sat there weeping quietly over the phone and said, “no, they’ve made their choice, and must live with it. God be with them now”. She made me come get them anyway, and had to help me catch them because they didn’t want to leave. Once they saw my car they ran away again. I never wanted to jump off a bridge more in my life than when my shitty little dogs that I took such great care of kept running away from me and my mother in-law had to catch them and bring them to me.

They had claimed her, and marked her as their new mother.

Ugh, I’m just gonna give up now. I don’t have anything, and sitting here with this insane crap typed out is making me want to turn into a human Popple, and roll under the couch. Maybe I’ll watch a whole season of Doctor Who and then binge read a bunch of juicy fanfiction, not that I do that…because I don’t.

Maybe I’ll get one of my kids to type something. They’re funny. Maybe they’ll knock one out of the park for me today. God, that would be awesome. Let me just go ask……

Kid One:

“I don’t want to, mom. I’m playing Minecraft….can you shut the door?”

I hate you, kid. I just hate your face.

Kid Two:

Okay, I got a joke. Once upon a time there was a little boy named Johhny, and he went to an ice cream stand. He asked the lady for a vanilla cone, and make it split. The lady said, “would you like some chocolate with that?” he said “yeah, sure”. Would you like some sprinkles with that? “yeah sure”. Would you like some nuts with that? “Yeah, sure”. Would you like those nuts crushed? “HELL no lady! Would you like your titties shot off”?!

Welp, I did ask for help. I guess that was more help than I got from the other one.

I might try again on Friday. Yeah, Friday. That sounds good. I will probably have lots of ideas by then. (muffled sobbing noises) I’m sure of it.

Jury selection: beyond thunder dome

Compliments of my friend Casey. You have no idea how hilarious this is to me.

About two weeks ago I participated in a source of community pride: jury duty. I had received my little card in the mail and by God, I was gonna get picked this time! I was gonna be good enough. I had a nice blazer and everything. I woke up early and wore my most adult looking outfit, complete with said blazer. This was gonna be my day I just knew it. Who could say no to my blazer from Target? Shut up, don’t answer that. I looked good.

Two men enter, one man leave.

There was a swarm of people in there. Competition was going to be tight. Everyone was pairing off with a jury selection buddy, and I noticed that those around me weren’t trying to make friendly banter with me. Why in the shit not? I mean, I had rolled the sleeves of my blazer just like Don Johnson had taught me when I was a kid. Was I just too Miami Vice for these dirtbags? In an effort to not be left friendless like sixth grade science lab, I tried talking to those around me. The guy to my left must have been deaf because he kept his eyes straight ahead, and never turned towards any of the witty observations I was saying, and I was on point. I tried my luck with the lady to my right, and I found her to be slightly more receptive, but only slightly more so. I’m still not entirely sure if she was laughing at what I was saying, or the phone that she never looked up from the entire time we were “talking”.

Two men enter, one man leave.

When the attorneys came in everyone snapped to attention, mostly because I think they knew they had to put their phones away. I appreciate it when at least one attorney looks like Matlock, and the defense attorney had the decency to look like a chubby Matlock. The other one, let’s call him “Not Matlock” was doing most of the talking because, as we all know, Matlock has manners. When we were allowed to ask questions,  I realized people were asking stupid questions. I knew I had this in the bag. Victory would be mine. Who cares if they were throwing the match, the point is, I was going to be a jury winner! Now, if I could just make a jury buddy.

Two men enter, one man leave.

We finally broke for lunch, and ran as fast as I could to my car to get lunch. Fast forward ten minutes, and plenty of food on my nice shirt (none on dat Miami Vice blazer doh) and someone had snaked my parking spot. Hmmp. It’s going to be like that is it? Jury treachery abounds even in the parking lot, then does it?  I decided to try my luck in the parking lot designated for the jury people. I felt very special as I pulled into a parking spot, and was just about to turn my car off when a dude knocked on my window.  It took a moment to ascertain that I had not, in fact, peed my drawers. Once I was secure in that knowledge I rolled my window down. He politely told me I couldn’t park there. I gave him the most blank stare I could and responded with a very witty, “wut”? He smiled and said I wasn’t allowed to park there. Since we are a small town with finite amounts of parking I figured he thought I was a parking spot poacher. I smiled back and very courteously stated “Yes I can, I had a jury summons”. I was about to roll my window up, sure we were done talking when he stopped me. “No, we’re doing construction and you can’t park here.” I looked around the parking lot. It was a sea of cars. Apparently, they were doing construction on my parking spot because there was a car parked in all of the spots around me, but I was not allowed to park there. Either that, or he just didn’t like my blazer.

I sighed, and gestured that I believed it to be the stupidest thing I’d ever heard in my life, but I would move.He gave me a thumbs up and smiled. A gesture that I took to mean, “go to hell”. I circled around forever because, as previously stated, we don’t exactly have a ton of parking everywhere. But I found a parking spot eventually. I shook the food off of my shirt, wiped the sweat off of my face, and wobbled toward the courthouse. And I’ll be damned if I was going to be a Master Blaster. I was straight up Tina Turner in that piece.

It was fucking Thunder dome out there, but I got picked to on the jury, and I had some stuff to listen to.

Two men enter, one man leave.

It’s not considered stalking if it’s your own husband, right? Right?

I like to sit in the closet and sniff my husband’s shirts.

I met my husband when I was in high school, and without going into all the mushy details that will inevitably make you want to barf, he’s the best. I didn’t date him in high school. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with how much of a nerd I am, but I wasn’t cool enough to be dated by human beings in high school. We had one class together, and I stared at him. My gross eyes practically swallowing him whole as I sat across the room with the other uncool kids. He was funny and cool. So cool. That was basically all I knew because I wasn’t about to come out of hiding and speak to him. everything in my past had taught me not to talk to good looking guys. You only ogled them from a safe hiding place like a troll, or if you were brave you could sniff them while walking past on a pretend errand for something on the bookshelf behind them. I may have sniffed him. I couldn’t say.

We started dating in college, and it was everything I had ever dreamed of…but with a real boyfriend. He turned out to be intelligent, and as nice as I had imagined him to be. He was respectful to his parents, and considerate towards those around him. I practically swooned every time he walked into the room. And he had curly hair! I grew up being obsessed with boys with green eyes and curly hair. Unnf, that mess is my jam. I swear. I had outgrown my love of boys with braces by high school, so his lack of orthodontia didn’t count against him. Some people can’t help having straight teeth naturally.  He didn’t have the nerdy glasses that I had always wanted either, but nobody is perfect, and I could always buy light bulbs with a low wattage and ruin his eyesight myself.

Turns out he liked messy girls that eat like men so well he chose to marry me of his own volition. No one had to force him into it.

I swear.

Fast forward a billion years, and I still act the same way when it comes to him. I stare at my secret pictures that I took of him while he was sleeping. It’s okay, we’re married! I’m allowed. I think. Just like I’m allowed to get in the closet, put on his clothes, and sniff them all I want. It’s not a violation of personal space! He agreed to it when he married me. Like, not with his mouth in words, but it was implied. I write steamy fanfiction about us, and read it. It’s not gross because he’s my husband. I even draw husband fanart.

My grodie drawing of us as cats with a double rainbow and unicorn in the background. There’s a story that goes along with this, but that’s for another time.

Sometimes I think I have a problem, but I’m not sure. I have nothing to compare it to, and he doesn’t seem to mind. But he hasn’t read any of the fanfiction, and I haven’t offered it up.  Then again he doesn’t know I cut off one of his curls while he was sleeping, and keep it in a little envelop.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, or get me arrested.

Five things I promise myself everyday that I’ll stop doing, but keep doing anyway

I’m an adult I swear. Honestly, no I’m serious as balls, but I have a problem with telling myself no. The following is a list of things I can’t stop doing. I’ll probably still be doing them when the sun explodes, or reptiles take over the planet.

1. Reading books until the sun comes up. I have good intentions. I tell myself I’ll go to bed, or that I can speed read through the next seven chapters, but somehow I end up reading it slowly and then BOOM! It’s 8 a.m., and I hate everyone. I’m a grown up.

2. “I’ll just have two servings of that then stop”. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Never in my life has this ever happened. It’s a fun idea in theory. I like to pretend that I’m a dainty lady with a waif like appetite that makes me seem cute instead of the monster hole in my stomach that scares people, and has them loudly questioning whether or not I have a tapeworm. I don’t…..asshole.


3. I won’t forget to check my beard area for strays. Every damn time. Every. Damn. Time. It never fails that I leave my house thinking I look cute with a long as hell Rapunzel hair, whipping gloriously in the breeze. Why didn’t my mom prepare me for this? Why didn’t someone tell me I would spontaneously become a man in my thirties, and have to cry in my closet with a vat of wax?

4. I will maintain my dignity while reading fanfiction.  I would like to say that this one is a slam dunk, but I’m sorry, mom. Your daughter is a trashbag. A greasy, crazed bag of trash with food on her shirt, and sometimes wailing loudly while reading the fanfiction.

angry gollum

It’s even worse if it isn’t finished yet. Once again, I’m an adult. (sobs) I’m an adult, and I don’t read fanfiction based on the works of Jane Austen….I don’t! Don’t even ask me about good Henry Crawford/Fanny Price fanfiction because I wouldn’t be able to give you AMAZING recommendations.

5. I won’t yell in the car while driving. I have good intentions, I swear. But somehow between the driveway and the actual road those intentions disappear and morph into supreme road rage. I don’t flip anyone off or anything rude. I just say shockingly awful things about them in general that I would never say to anyone’s face. Take today for instance. I asked one lady if she had,

“lost her shitting mind?!”

Why? I have no idea. It didn’t help with the driving situation, I mean, it made it more fun, but I probably shouldn’t do it. It made it a lot of fun.

I would like to say that I have learned my lesson and I will stop doing these things as of today, but I probably won’t. Actually, I know I won’t.