I Suck at Twitter & Other Shortcomings….

“It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s that I just don’t care.” ~Peter Gibbons, Office Space

This past November, I was laid off from my corporate job where I had worked in a  management level HR position for a million years.  Actually, it wasn’t quite that long, but trust me, it felt that way.

But before you feel sorry for me, please know that my termination was not abrupt.  I was made aware that my time was coming a full year in advance of the hatchet officially falling, so I was prepared.

I was grateful’ish for the head’s up, but I also felt a bit robbed by the anti-climatic end of my career.  In the years before my own fall from the corporate ladder, I had witnessed the lay-off of dozens of co-workers and their responses had varied from peaceful acceptance to fury.

Typically, the news would be delivered and the displaced party would be offered the opportunity to clear out his desk of personal belongings before being escorted from the building; stripped of his Amex, laptop computer and key card.

Most took only their personal photo’s, kids artwork and personalized coffee mugs; abandoning their certificates of achievement and leaving their plants to die….like their careers.

Sometimes though, people would storm out the door shouting, “Burn it!”  

Either way, once they were gone, I would casually rise from my desk and head toward their abandoned offices, so that I could loot them for the good stuff before anyone else got a chance; extra laptop power cords, the good stapler, gel pens, an oversized computer monitor.

Sometimes, the seat of their ergonomic office chair was still warm from their body heat when I settled myself into it in my own office.

“He doesn’t need this anymore,” I would say as I slipped my own family photographs into some else’s picture frames.

Then, I would sit back and wonder which type I would be when my time inevitably came.  The type who would haul my belongings out in a Staples brand cardboard box that had, moments prior, contained reams of paper?  Or, the type who would shout “Burn it!” as I stormed out?

Maybe I’d give them a one figured salute out of my car window as I peeled out of the parking lot, George Michael’s “Freedom” blaring from the speakers.  You know, the stuff of legends.


But alas, I will never know.  I was given the news at a Starbuck’s….after I’d already paid for my own coffee….and a full year before my last official day.

However, I took comfort in knowing I could slowly clear out my office before the end.  So that when my co-workers made their way in to scavenge through my belongings after I’d left at 8:15am on my last day, they would find only some hooks and some wire.  Just like the Grinch when he left Who-ville.



But now, here I am, like six months since my lay-off and I am finally going through the boxes of office crap that I didn’t want anyone else to have, but that, for the most part, I don’t want anymore either.

Among other things, the boxes contain literally dozens of small notebooks.  I do love notebooks.  I’m a list maker and a jotter downer of stray thoughts.

So the notebooks are full of things like daily To-Do’s, (work related and not) grocery shopping lists and random sentences that sprang to mind for who knows what reason.  Deep thoughts, like, “You can’t breath and swallow at the same time” and “The mouth of a jelly fish is also it’s butthole.”

Also, the notebooks contain my honest answers to questions asked during group team building exercises and ice breaker activities.

“Tell us about your greatest achievement” and “What do you feel are your top three strengths and your top three weaknesses?” and “What are your five year goals?”

In my notebooks there were always two sets of answers to these questions.  What I had to say and the truth.

Actual Examples:

Question:  Tell us about your greatest achievement.

What I was supposed to say:  My greatest achievement to date was my promotion into a corporate leadership position at the age of 25, because it ultimately led me to this opportunity and the privilege of working with this team.


The Truth:  My son.  I gave birth to him au natural.  No epidural, just a stick to bite into.  (The stick part isn’t actually true, but I like to over-exaggerate).

Question:  What do you feel are your top three strengths and your top three weaknesses?

What I was supposed to say:  

Strengths:  My organizational skills, my ability to listen, my attention to detail.

Weaknesses:  I care too much (lie), I sometimes focus too much on perfection (lie), I can be too much a stickler for rules and processes….


The Truth:

Strengths:  I’m really good at telling people what I think they want to hear (survival skill learned during my childhood).

I have EXCELLENT selective listening skills.

I’m so obsessed with efficiency that I have figured out how to do this job in, like, four hours a day and I’m pretty sure I could teach a monkey how to do it at this point.

Weaknesses:  Shit, only three?  I’m going to overachieve here:

  1. I suck at Twitter.
  2. I never cut my cuticles, I pick at them sometimes, but that’s about it.
  3. I run out of gas and have to call AAA at least once a month.
  4. I don’t always wash my hands after I go to the bathroom.
  5. I think some of my friends babies are ugly.
  6. I am NOT a team player.
  7. I hate small talk
  8. I hate ice breakers
  9. I hate team building exercises
  10. I sometimes still read my old Babysitters Club books.
  11. I still haven’t finished my son’s baby book.  And he’s six.
  12. Sometimes I hide in the bathroom and watch Netflix and tell my son I’m pooping.
  13. I never return phone calls….or answer the phone.
  14. I never listen to voicemails.
  15. I like to look up the people who were mean to me in high school on social media and it makes me happy when it looks I’m doing better than they are.
  16. I eat a lot of my kids Easter and Halloween candy.
  17. I usually throw away the goodie bags my son get’s at birthday parties….after I eat the candy and steal the pencil.  (Want to know how many times he’s asked about the location of those goodie bags post party?  ZERO times.  So no, I don’t feel bad about it either).
  18. I judge people who don’t use reusable shopping bags.
  19. People who liter, are people I want to punch in the throat.
  20. I can never find my keys.  Ever.

Question:  What are your five year goals?

What I was supposed to say:  I love my current role and in five years, I’d like to be seen as a subject matter expert within the department.  I would also like to take on more next level managerial responsibilities and take the lead on some bigger projects so that I can build the skills needed to take my next career step.


The Truth:  I would like to win the lottery.  Preferably a mid-level win.  Enough for my husband and I to retire and to share with our family and close friends, but not so much that it makes national news and my hillbilly relatives from the deep south start showing up and asking for money.

If that isn’t in the cards, then I’d like to have the balls to start my own small business.

I would like to have an Instagram account with a check mark next to it.

I would like to own a riding lawn mower.

I would like to be raising some chickens.

I’d really like a yellow beach cruiser bicycle with a brown wicker basket in the front.

I’d like for people to stop being assholes.  In other words, I’d like world peace.


As I read through these entries and others like them, I realized two things:

  1.  I was lying to myself when I wrote only 20 weaknesses.
  2. I’m actually working on a few of my real goals.

I guess I learned something after all.

The News You Can Use….For Nothing Useful

“Sundays are a good day to look at the limitless possibilities of the week ahead.  The key is to prolong that feeling by not reading the news.”  ~Bob Seger

In case you missed it, here’s a run down of last week’s, probably not top news stories, but at the very least, the news stories that won’t give you a migraine, or make your blood boil.

Brad Pitt Needs to Step It Up


It’s rumored that Brad Pitt is dating architect and designer, Neri Oxman, who, among her bajillion accomplishments, is an MIT professor with a PhD in Design Computation.

Meanwhile, Angelina Jolie, Pitts ex-wife, is busy saving the world and flying around in an airplane she pilots herself.

Brad is….?


Meghan Markle Has The Worst Family Ever

The family of Royal Bride-To-Be, Meghan Markle, continues to embarrass America with their desperate attempts at obtaining some relevancy off the designer clad coat-tails of Markle.

This past week, it was Meghan’s half-brother, Thomas Markle, Jr., who took aim at his half-sister, who he spent every other weekend with, between the years of 2009 and 2011, SEVEN YEARS AGO.

According to Thomas Jr., Meghan is a ‘phony’ who has ‘torn his family apart.”

It’s unclear though how Juniors 2017 arrest on weapons-related charges, following a domestic dispute with his girlfriend, might have impacted his family though.

He’s just a guy, who, along with his big-mouthed sister, Samantha Grant, just REALLY want to be at that wedding.

He’s now suggested that the Queen and Prince Charles should step in and ‘splain’ how things are done.


Walmart Sells More Blue Jeans Than Anyone?

Also, Walmart is testing a new dress code for associates in a small sampling of stores to see if the more relaxed policy might help to attract and retain workers.

The employees participating in the pilot program will now be allowed to wear a shirt of any solid color and jeans are permissible, so long as they are a solid blue color.

Welcome to 2018, Walmart.

The World is Going to End on April 23rd

According to David Meade, a Christian Numerologist….


The world is going to end on April 23rd.  TOMORROW

Apparently, the sun, moon and Jupiter, which supposedly represents the Messiah, will be in Virgo.

Meade points to the Biblical passage of Revelation 12:1-2 which says, according to one version of it, anyway, “A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She was pregnant and cried out in pain as she was about to give birth.” 

No idea how and why giving birth is synonymous with the snuffing out of the world, but I was also too busy getting ready for the sun to come up tomorrow and for Monday to be just another Monday, to do any further research.

Disclaimer:  I may (definitely) have paraphrased and might have (probably) editorialized a bit (a lot).


Flashback Friday….That Time I Saw a Vagina at Chipotle

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”        ~Dr. Seuss

Earlier this week, I got a hankering for a five bajillion calorie steak burrito from Chipotle with all the fixin’s.

Not even the risk of getting the plague, or whatever is allegedly in their food these days, could sway the craving.

With a single-minded focus, I pointed my car in the direction of the nearest location and with my stomach growling and my mouth salivating, I put the pedal to the metal with hungry anticipation.

But then, I remembered that time a few years ago, when I was happily satisfying a similarly intense lunch hour burrito craving, when I came face to labia with another woman’s vagina.

She had apparently forgotten to zip her fly and being that she was going commando, her lady parts gave me a little vertical smile as she cruised by.



In that moment, two things happened….

1.  I gained an unfortunate amount of knowledge regarding the grooming habits of a strangers pink taco.

2.  I grudgingly tossed my loaf of bread sized burrito into the trash and told myself I’d probably never again appreciate the perfectly seasoned balance of their tortilla chips.

Because, even though I can never remember how old I am, or why I went to the grocery store, I never forget a dirty look.



I Hope I Die Wrapped in a Top Sheet….

“Toga, Toga” ~Bluto, Animal House

Call me a traitor to my generation, but I love millennial’s.  I really do.

I know, I know….as a Gen X’er, I’m supposed to be full of vitriole for the “everybody get’s a trophy” generation.  Those little bastards who charged into the world and began shaking things up with their optimism and ambition and open-mindedness and socially conscious attitudes.

What can I say?  I guess I just think that, perhaps, their on to something.

However, I also get the angst my generation feels.  But, I think it’s less about “kids these days” and more about workplace dynamics.

We Gen-X’ers are sort of stuck between two generations.  The Boomers, who won’t get out of our way so that we can assume upper level leadership positions at our jobs….and the Millennials, who are nipping at our heels and demanding upward mobility faster than we achieved it, willing to take less money for their efforts and eager to move on if they don’t get it.


And employers want them and are working hard to attract them.  In the final, roughly five years of my corporate career, I saw my employer lighten up significantly on everything from vacation to dress code policies as a means of snagging top young talent.

Suddenly, “work/life balance” was a thing to be measured.  Paid parental leave policies that allowed a full month of paid time off, for both mom’s and dad’s, following the birth or adoption of a baby, were rolled out.  This, in addition to the three months of paid maternity leave available to mom’s.

Now, if you need a break, but don’t want to use a vacation day, you can use a flex day, instead of just waiting until you have a nervous breakdown and have to be committed.

Personal matters getting in the way of a regular 9-5?  That’s what flexible work schedules are for!

And these are all good things!  However, the proceeding generations worked for years without any of these niceties and so we Gen-X’ers and the Boomers are a bit salty over all those years we missed out on life because we were too busy working.

Take me, for example.  For the first five years of my career, I didn’t take a single vacation day, or sick day.  And I didn’t get paid out for those days either.  That means, I worked an extra 15 weeks over a five year time span….for free.


One of my old co-workers missed the birth of his first child, because he was too busy dealing with a “critical” customer issue.

But, here’s the thing….we didn’t actually have to do any of it.  Nobody made us.  Not really.  We did it, because we were duped into believing we had to.

Because we believed that’s what it meant to have a strong work ethic.

And quite frankly, because we didn’t have the balls to buck tradition.

That’s, on us.

Personally, I think these kids have the potential and the courage to be the next, great generation and to change the world for the better.  I’m rooting for them.

With one exception….their campaign to kill the top sheet.


Tops sheets are lovely!

  1. They minimize the frequency with which you need to wash your duvet cover….and I will do anything to avoid washing that thing.  I’ll even risk scabies.  Because seriously, shoving that insert back into the duvet is a full on aerobic workout and I hate cardio.
  2. They can be so cozy!  I love nothing more than curling up under just my top sheet, on a cool summer evening, with the windows open and a soft breeze blowing through the room.  Ahhh….nature’s air conditioning.  And you all love nature!
  3. And speaking of nature….have you ever smelled the scent of a freshly laundered top sheet that has been line dried by mother nature?  I know you all probably don’t have clothes lines, or yards to put them in, but you can use mine.  Message me.  I’m serious.  It smells like heaven.  And just think of all the energy and quarters you’re saving by not using a dryer!   Nature.


So, look.  I’m not giving them up.  Even if it means I have to spend my golden years and whatever social security funds remain by the time I’m eligible, sifting through bins of old top sheets at thrift stores and flea markets, because now their vintage.

Want us to all go braless?  Fine.  Victoria’s Secret is that shit is uncomfortable and I don’t wear one most of the time anyway.

Want to rid the world of every chain restaurant?  OK, sounds good.  I haven’t been loyal to a chain since Chi-Chi’s went out of business.

I know how to make my own fabric softener and I hate napkins.

But, I’m not giving up my top sheet.



The News You Can Use….For Nothing Useful

“Sundays are a good day to look at the limitless possibilities of the week ahead.  The key is to prolong that feeling by not reading the news.”  ~Bob Seger

In case you missed it, here’s a run down of last week’s, probably not top news stories, but at the very least, the news stories that won’t make you want to stock up on Dinty Moore Beef Stew for the impending Apocalypse.

Khloe Kardashian Is Apparently the ONLY One Who Didn’t See it Coming

It came as a huge shocker, to apparently nobody, that Tristan Thompson has been accused of cheating on Khloe Kardashian, after photo’s and video’s of the idiot were released by The Daily Mail and TMZ.

One would think that Tristan would be a little bit smarter about cheating on a woman from the family America loves to hate.

The family who never let’s a colonoscopy go by without an E camera there to witness it.

You’d think he’d put those things together and realize someone is probably watching and waiting for him to f’up.

But, no.

People (me) are suggesting that perhaps she switch over to the NFL, or the MLB.  It appears that the NBA is no good for her.

Meghan Markle’s Half Sister Can’t Take a Hint

It will likely be a cold day in hell before Samantha Grant, the estranged half sister of Meghan Markle, receives her invitation to Windsor Castle for Meghan and Harry’s big day.

Grant, who is apparently desperate to scrape out her 15 minutes of fame by being an asshole, took to Twitter this week to express her dismay at being left out.  Because that’s exactly the outlet you should use to repair old family wounds.

But, it isn’t just Samantha Grant who is angling for scraps of attention at Meghan’s expense.  Meghan’s nephew, Tyler Dooley and his mother Tracy Dooley (who was previously married to Meghan’s half-brother Thomas Markle, Jr), let it sink in….are said to be flying to London to serve as correspondents for the wedding.


It’s OK Meghan.  You can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your family.

Guys with Man Boobs Should Have to Wear a Bra, It’s Distracting AF

A 17 year-old female high school student, who decided against wearing a bra to school one day, was sent to the Principals office because her teacher felt her nipples were too distracting to the male students.

Because, of course, young men shouldn’t possibly be expected to learn any self-control.

No such life rule has been discovered that requires a woman wear a bra.  In fact, they are optional.  Like, putting on a pair of socks, or a headband.

But the school is allegedly claiming that the lack of a bra violates its dress code policy.

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Though there is nothing in the language that addresses undergarments, it does state that, “if your personal attire or grooming distracts the attention of other students or teachers from their school work, disrupts the educational activities and processes of the school, or is a potential safety hazard, you will be required to make the necessary alterations.”  

It’s reasonable then, that the young woman’s mother would question why boys with “man boobs” aren’t expected to address their nipples.

Eliminating Moose Knuckle should also be added.

Heroes Get Remembered, But Legends Never Die

25 years after the original release of The Sandlot, the entire cast reunited on Today.  Well, almost everyone.  Benny, The Jet, Rodriguez was a no show.

There’s always gotta be at least one diva, or two if you’re Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.

Marlon Wayans Issues a Public Service Announcement

Comedian Marlon Wayans tweeted this week that White Chicks 2 is NOT in production.

It was an important public service announcement, because….

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Disclaimer:  I may (definitely) have paraphrased and might have (probably) editorialized a bit (a lot).

Last Night, I Ate an Old Cadbury Cream Egg For Dinner & Nope….I Don’t Feel Guilty….I Don’t Feel Guilty At All

“People who love to eat are always the best people.” ~Julia Child

About a month ago, I got an email from Meetup.com letting me know about a new book club for women that was forming in my area.

If you’ve never heard of it, Meetup.com is a networking site that allows users to create and join interest groups in their local communities.  There are thousands of groups to choose from.  Everything from outdoor sports groups, to book clubs, parenting groups, exercise, volunteering, artists, dating, business related groups and so on.

I created an account about ten years ago when I moved to the Boston area from a small town in the mid-west.  It seemed like a good resource for making a few friends in my new home state.

Only….I’m a complicated person.  I think my personality falls somewhere between hermit-like and introverted.  I am also very socially awkward.  I don’t know if I have some form of social anxiety, or, chronic verbal diarrhea, or what.  All I know is that I’m more of a wall-flower than a social butterfly.


I’m the kind of friend who will almost always return your call with a text message without having:

1. listened to your voicemail; they give me anxiety and so I delete them immediately

2. sent the text before you’ve even finished leaving your voicemail

I will decline every invitation to a Pampered Chef, or Scentsy party.  Because I will always have plans to do something like, make my own laundry detergent, or de-pill my sweaters while listening to NPR or Relaxation Radio on Pandora. But, I will absolutely buy something if I can do so via a link that doesn’t require any human interaction.


I will call you 47 times in a row, not because it’s an emergency, or because I’m trying to be a creep.  But because I can’t leave a proper voicemail message and so I will hang-up and try again, many, many, many times….before eventually giving up and sending a text instead.

So yeah, it’s not easy being my friend.  Which is probably why I have so few of them.  But, for all my faults, I’m a ride or die chick.  The women I count among my besties, I love so much, that I would 100% help them hide a body and my only question would be, “How deep do you think we need to dig this grave?”


Anyway, back to the topic at hand.

Way back when I first signed up for Meet-up, I joined a book club for women.  They were a lovely group of ladies, but it just didn’t work out.  It wasn’t them, it was me, so I did what I always do and just stopped attending.

They were concerned for a while.  Was I sick?  Was I dead?  Eventually they realized I was just an asshole and they unfriended me on Facebook and we all went our separate ways.

But, it’s been 10 years now, so when I got the notice of a new book club Meet-up, I thought….maybe I might suddenly be the type of gal who enjoys socializing with a large group of women I don’t know….this, by the way, after declining an invitation to a family members Sprinkle.  Actually, I haven’t officially declined yet.  I’m just going to wait until the last minute and then say I’m sick.


The details for the Meet-up said the inaugural gathering would be held at a local Mexican restaurant.  I’ve eaten there on a number of occasions and they have some seriously good street taco’s….and I’ll pretty much do anything for a street taco.  And I mean, anything.  So, you could probably argue that a taco was the reason I signed up and confirmed my attendance.

When I arrived at the restaurant, I found the groups organizer, introduced myself, made some comment about the weather, because that’s my go to small talk tactic and then I found a seat where I awkwardly smiled and said, to all I met, “Can you believe this weather?” even though there was nothing remarkable about the weather.

When it came time to order, I picked one of the street taco selections, obviously, while the rest of the ladies ordered some kind of salad with a “hold all the good shit and can you put everything but the lettuce on the side?”

When our food arrived, I wasted no time digging in.  As I was hoisting one of the taco’s to my mouth, one of the women said, “I wish I could eat like that.  You’re so brave.”


Um….brave?  I’m taking down a taco, not a terrorist.

I took an enormous bite, using the side of my hand to shovel in the parts that were trying to escape and looked up.  My eyes clearly said, “Bitch, please,” as I slowly chewed, before swallowing and then saying, “Street taco.”

Which, to anyone with an ounce of sense, would have been a reasonable explanation, correct?

But she kept going….“I do, I envy you.  I would feel so guilty.”

Me:  I guess I just prefer to eat my calories, rather than drink them.  (I’d seen how many margaritas she’d taken down and I can be a passive aggressive douche canoe too).

Her eyes said, “Bitch, I will have you black-balled from this book club.” 

But I wasn’t scared.  One of the benefits of having been raised in a largely dysfunctional and abusive household, is that I don’t really have any feelings.

And because I love nothing more than a super awkward silence, I decided not to say anything else and instead, I just sat there and exaggeratedly ate the shit out of every last taco.


No way was I going to be shamed out of the pleasure of perfectly seasoned steak, tucked into a double layer of soft, warm, corn, taco shells, because Karen wanted to do that whole “Oh, I ate 150 calories today, I’m going to have to work extra hard at Globo Gym tomorrow morning,” dance that some women seem to enjoy.

Because, I feel guilty about a lot of things….

The time I filled my 6th grade math teacher’s water cup in the toilet.  In my defense, she was really mean to me though and I was basically raised by wolves.

The time in elementary school when a friend dared me to call the number on a poster about a lost dog to tell the family I’d found him.  And when the woman answered and I told her I had her dog at the public pool, she immediately began screaming and crying with joy and then I hung-up.   Side note:  I feel like maybe this was the reason God gave me cancer and I can’t say I blame him.

All the times I said my grandma died, because I wanted to take advantage of my employers bereavement leave policy.

That time in high school when I hit my friend Patrick with my mom’s minivan….and while he clung to the hood, I accelerated and then quickly hit the break, sending him flying through the air and into a concussion.

All the times I use the handicap stall in a public restroom, because I like the extra space.

All those times in my twenties I left a first date, in the middle of the first date, without saying goodbye.

But food?  Eating?  No.

I love food.  All the food.  I’m just as happy tucking into a boiled hot dog at a baseball game….with a soft pretzel covered in so much salt that I instantly swell up and don’t pee for a week….as I am a gourmet meal, at a fancy restaurant, with fancy drinks with my BFF Marie, while we catch up on life.


I grew-up believing there were only three food groups:  Chef Boyardee, Betty Crocker Meal-in-a-Box and Hamburger Helper, so when I discovered the world was a literal oyster, I made it my mission to enjoy every bite.  For me, food is fun.  It’s a simple pleasure that is meant to be enjoyed.

Never will I ever buy into that line of thinking that a woman should only eat a thimble full of food in public.

If you want to eat lettuce and air, that’s your business, but I’m ordering something I can’t buy in a bag from the grocery store….and my own desert (I don’t like to share)….also, I’ll totally take your leftovers if you don’t want them.

Needless to say, I’m dropping out of book club.  I don’t think I can mesh with the type of women who lure you into a club with the prospect of street taco’s, only to make you wonder why they didn’t just hold the meeting around the salad bar at Whole Foods.

Oh well, there’s always next decade.

The News You Can Use….For Nothing Useful

“Sundays are a good day to look at the limitless possibilities of the week ahead.  The key is to prolong that feeling by not reading the news.”  ~Bob Seger

In case you missed it, here’s a run down of last week’s, probably not top news stories, but at the very least, the news stories that won’t make you want to weep for humanity; at least not too much.

Zombie Raccoons Are Taking Over Youngstown, Ohio

Enough said:

Photo Cred: Robert Coggeshall

Carrie Underwood Mails Two Dead Catfish to NHL’s Toronto Office

Actually, no.

But, a woman named Briley Meeks did.

Meeks, obviously a very serious Predators fan, was so angry over a call by officials, that she spent approximately $140 to mail two dead catfish from somewhere in the US (Tennessee?) to Canada.

Included in the package, was a note that said, “You Suck.”

What was not included in the package?  Ice.


As for Carrie Underwood, she didn’t like the call either.

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Your Kid Will Never Be A Toys R Us Kid, Because Mellie Stanley

Mellie Stanley, the trash-tacular star of Gypsy Sisters and also that episode of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, when she got into a fight with a woman named Diamond, which I rewatched at least 100 times while laughing myself into hysterics.  (Bonus link below….you are welcome).

Mellie & Diamond Throw Down in HD

Was arrested for using fake coupons at Toys R Us.  Mellie allegedly used counterfeit coupons to purchase over $2,400 worth of items at a Toys R Us last year….a ruse that apparently isn’t new for the young woman no one expected would amount to anything anyway.

In December, Mellie was arrested for her alleged participation in a ring that is accused of using fake coupons to purchase $18,000 in items at Toys R Us and Babies R Us.

Geoffrey Giraffe could not be reached for comment, but he’s said to be really pissed off.

The World’s Most Dragged Out Divorce Announcement

In what can only be described as a desperate attempt to garner the public’s interest, Kendra Wilkinson and Hank Basket have finally announced they are divorcing.

The news comes after what felt like decades, but was maybe only a week or so, of Kendra posting cryptic clues to various social media announcements, milking it for all it was worth, to the ten people who actually cared.

The news became officially official via a poorly timed teary Instagram post this past Friday, which might have been more impactful had she waited until the world came to grips with the separation announcement of Jenna Dewan Tatum and Channing Tatum.

Disclaimer:  I may (definitely) have paraphrased and might have (probably) editorialized a bit (a lot).

The Osterhase….

“Blessed are those who have no seen and have yet believed.” ~John 20:29

As a kid, it never really occurred to me that I should question the lore of the Easter Bunny.  After all, like Santa Claus, he came into my house in the middle of the night, while everyone was sleeping and left me gifts….what was there to question?

My great-grandmother, who was of German ancestry and had been born and raised in Pennsylvania Dutch country, once explained to me that it was the Germans who brought the Easter Bunny, or “Osterhase” to America.

According to German folklore and my great-grandma, the Osterhase was an egg laying rabbit.  Each spring, to prepare for its arrival, children would build nests for the Osterhase to lay its colorful eggs.

Because I was gullible and clearly not learning anything in school….I had no problem accepting the notion that there was a mythical rabbit out there….hopping across the world in a single night….laying colored eggs in handmade nests for excited children.


I accounted for the differences in the story and my reality, (nest making to baskets….colorful eggs (laid by a mammal that doesn’t lay eggs), to colorful plastic eggs filled with M&M’s and Hershey Kisses)….in the same way I accounted for the differences in the Santa Claus my great-grandma had known….(the kind of guy who left an orange, a peppermint stick and a straw doll in a stocking)….and the Santa I knew….(the kind of guy who delivered wrapped gifts like Cabbage Patch Dolls and My Little Pony under a well-lit tree)….Santa had simply upped his game and the Osterhase had followed suit.

Now that I’m older, I wish I had asked more questions and been more interested in the traditions and beliefs of my ancestors….if for no other reason than to share that history with my own child.  I could certainly Google it, I’m sure it’s all laid out there for me, but that feels considerably less personal.

Instead, I put a few colored hard-boiled eggs in my sons Easter basket each year, as a gift from the Osterhase and my great-grandma.

Happy Easter….in whatever way it means to you!


The News You Can Use….For Nothing Useful

“Sundays are a good day to look at the limitless possibilities of the week ahead.  The key is to prolong that feeling by not reading the news.”  ~Bob Seger

In case you missed it, here’s a run down of last week’s, probably not top news stories, but at the very least, the news stories that won’t make you want to take a hostage, or defect to another country.

Corey Feldman has security

Also, Corey Feldman claims he was the victim of a botched assassination attempt.

According to the less attractive of the two Corey’s (RIP, Corey Haim), Corey F was out and about in his car….maybe a 1972 Cadillac Sedan de Ville….I don’t know for sure….when his security entourage….all three of them….became distracted….maybe by a girl named Mercedes dancing on the hood or something….which allowed the perfect window of opportunity for the would-be assassin to strike.

As the details poured in….


It became clear that the stabbing weapon was probably a toothpick.  Or, maybe, a sewing needle.


Anyway, Corey believes its possible the attempted homicide was the result of his threats, once he’s crowd funded $10 million, to start naming names regarding an alleged pedophile ring in Hollywood.

I don’t think these people have anything to worry about, because there is no way Corey Feldman raises $10 million any time this century.

Mom teaches her son a valuable life lesson learned via a shopping trip to Goodwill

Am I the only one who doesn’t really get what the lesson was?

I mean, look, I understand she wanted her son to learn that labels and material possessions don’t define a person, but….I’m not sure I get how making him spend twenty-dollars at Goodwill on clothing, he then had to wear to school, is teaching him a lesson about anything….other than, perhaps, how far a dollar goes on designer labels at Goodwill.

Unless….did she require him to buy stuff from a section dedicated to another decade?

Halloween costumes?

Leisure suits?

I don’t get it….

Dawson Leary was an orphan

Dawson’s Creek, that iconic, coming of age teen drama from the late 90’s, is now twenty years old.


Ouch….I don’t remember becoming old enough to remember twenty-years ago.

Anyway, back to the news….Entertainment Weekly got the cast together for a reunion of sorts.

Dawson, Joey, Pacey, Jen, Andi, Jack, Audrey and Grams, came together for a fancy Huck Finn (I guess?) inspired photo shoot, but two cast members were obviously missing….

Mitch and Gayle….Dawson’s parents.  Why the slight, EW?

Disclaimer:  I may (definitely) have paraphrased and might have (probably) editorialized a bit (a lot).

Flashback Friday….That Time an Old Boyfriend Called in a Welfare Check

“I’m fucking crawling out of my skin.  I should’ve left you at the flea market.” ~ Clementine, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

My preferred way of ending a relationship, back in the day, was The Ghost Method.

If you don’t know what it means, “Ghosting,” per the official Urban Dictionary definition is: 

The act of suddenly ceasing all communication with someone the subject is dating, but no longer wishes to date. This is done in hopes that the ghostee will just “get the hint” and leave the subject alone, as opposed to the subject simply telling them he/she is no longer interested.

I know, I know, it’s shitty….but I don’t love conflict.  Or, having difficult, intimate conversations.  Or, conversations.

Instead, I preferred that the guy believed me to be an inconsiderate, jerk.  Which, to be fair, was kind of true.


But that seemed better than having him think I was shallow for breaking up with him because….no matter how many times I dropped subtle hints about his horrible, tapered and pleated khaki pants….he still continued to wear them.

Of course, it was early 2,000 and my own fashion choices consisted primarily of peasant tops, shiny pants in pastel colors, chunky heeled shoes and all the accessories from Claire’s….but whatever.

Anyway, most of the time, the Ghosting worked.  After a few days/weeks of dodging phone calls, the guy would get the hint and I’d be off the hook.  Often, by the time I ran into him again, he hated me and wasn’t at all interested in even making eye contact, let alone asking, “Um, what happened?”

Essentially, it would be exactly like it never happened.  Most of the time anyway….but not all of the time.

I met Brandon when I was in college, at an off campus party I attended with a friend who was dating a guy, who knew a guy, who knew the guy hosting the party….Brandon.

Brandon was incredibly nice.  He was sweet, smart, thoughtful, and handsome.  He was respectful and polite, but soooo fucking needy.

And if there is one thing I can’t handle in a guy….besides tapered, pleated, khaki pants, gnarly fingernails/toenails, tightie-whities, and jean shorts….it’s an overly needy personality.


I am not now, nor have I ever been, the kind of person who wants to spend all of my time with anyone.  I need space and alone time, like I need air.

Some women might love a guy who calls all the time and always wants to hang-out and showers her with his undivided attention.  But that makes me feel like I am suffocating.

I was an individual person, with individual interests and quirks that existed before I became a better other half.  And those things don’t just go away when you become a significant other.

And I was always really upfront about my space demands in the beginning of a new relationship.  Saying that I was not a needy woman, was always the truth and not the hook I used to catch the big men fish.

But apparently, though men claim they don’t want a relationship with a woman who will go through their pockets looking for digits scrawled on a bar napkin, or hack into their voicemail accounts (the last time I was dating, it cost a billion dollars to send a text and you only made a call if you were dying) they are liars.

Anyway, back to Brandon.  Like I said, he was a great guy, but also a stage five clinger.  He wanted to know and insert himself into everything.  Like, my Wednesday evenings spent with my girlfriends, drinking Boones Farm, direct from the bottle, while watching Beverly Hills 90210.

And our Caps Competitions, which were held every Friday night, in my friend Kate’s dorm room while we rocked out to music we downloaded from Napster.

He wanted to be invited to brunch on Sunday mornings, with my fellow Alpha Sigma Sigma (ASS) sisters (a sorority we made up as an FU to our colleges greek system) where we met up for $1.00 Bloody Mary’s at a dive bar and commiserated over our bout’s with the Bud Mud’s from the prior evenings festivities.

Worse than all of that though, he wanted to come along, when I needed to withdraw and be alone for a while to recharge and reset.  He couldn’t understand why I would want to go to a movie, or go for a walk, or visit a museum alone, when I could have his company.  When I tried to explain that it was just how I was wired, the questions would start.

“Is everything OK with us?”  

“Did I do something wrong?  Are you mad at me?”

“Are you depressed?  Is it something we can talk about?  You know you can talk to me about anything.”


He had to go.

But Ghosting is always difficult when you’re dating the kind of guy who is likely to show up with a boombox and stand outside your window, a la, Say Anything.


So, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.  For days and then weeks, I avoided his calls.  He wasn’t a student at my college, so I didn’t have to worry about running into him on campus, which made it easy to be evasive.

Then, one evening, while making some soup on a contraband hot plate I had in my dorm room, I heard a knock at the door, followed by, “Campus Security.”

I immediately began scrambling to hide both the soup and the very hot, hot plate among a number of flammables in my closet before opening the door, prepared to lie, while also praying the room didn’t catch on fire.

Campus Security:  Are you James?

Me:  Uh, huh

Campus Security:  We got a call from your boyfriend, Brandon.  He said he hasn’t seen or spoken to you in a number of days.  He was extremely worried about your well-being and he asked us to check on you.  Everything alright?

Me:  Yeah.  It’s just that I’m in the process of breaking up with him.

Campus Security:  Does he know you’re breaking up with him?

Me:  Well, I mean, I haven’t returned any of his phone calls.  I haven’t acknowledged the flowers, or the card he slipped under the door while I pretended I wasn’t here by immediately shutting off all the lights, turning off the TV and sitting stone still on the couch until he went away, so I feel like he should….those are pretty solid hints.

Campus Security:  Why don’t you just tell the poor guy?  He was really worried when he called.

Me:  Yeah….

I never called.  I’m an ass, I know.  But I assumed that the security officer most likely called him back to tell him I was fine, but it was over.  So, you might argue that part of my college tuition went toward a security guard breaking up with a boyfriend for me and honestly, it was money well spent.

I imagine that Brandon probably went on to find a woman who loved to be smothered and for this, I would like to tell her, “You’re welcome.  I’m glad I tossed him back in for you.”