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Population: Me.
Forgive me for posting about my hangover the day after I actually had it. I just couldn’t pull it together well enough to write while nursing the hangover proper. It was that bad.
Category: Messed Up Shit
Stepmothering, Part Deux
For starters it should be noted that I am no better of a parent than I was when I last posted about Stepmothering-ish. Just so we’re all clear.
I recently tried to be all adult and parent-like and take the kid out for lunch. This was an attempt to try to get things back to normal-ish, per his request. As you may or may not remember nothing has really changed in my world and it was in fact he who created the abnormalities by stashing pot in his room then hiding at his mother’s house rather than owning up to any sort of punishment when my husband found it.
Life is fucking hard.
Someone At the Bank Called Me “Sir”
Oh no they didn’t!
Oh yes they did.
Who goes to the bank anyway?
It was for work, okay. Get off my back.
My Love Affair with Katie Couric
It wasn’t so much a love affair as it was a love/hate relationship. And it wasn’t so much a relationship since Katie didn’t actually know about it.
Buried Alive: Getting Trapped INSIDE a Nursing Home
How does that even happen?
Well, I’ll tell you.
Friday night, 11pm, 29 year-old female funeral director, a dead body needing removal, a snowstorm, a massive nursing home.
That’s about all you need. Now let’s get started:
Continue reading “Buried Alive: Getting Trapped INSIDE a Nursing Home”
Dressing Your Very Bitey Dog in Lace Panties
Saturday, 12:30pm.
I’ve been awake for a solid hour and a half — it’s only 12:30, stop judging — and I’m “folding” laundry. Most of which is made of a blend of synthetic materials that stretch regardless of my weight so folding it is more an act of creating balls of black fabric on the bed.
Insert: 45-lb insane cattle dog.
Continue reading “Dressing Your Very Bitey Dog in Lace Panties”
Messing Shit Up, So You Don’t Have To
I’ve decided to embark on a new venture: Blogging. Now I know what you’re thinking: good god, why? Don’t you talk enough already? How could you possibly have anything worthwhile left to say?
SHUT UP.