Become a Blogger in 39 Easy Steps!

Hey kids! Want to become a blogger? It’s easy! Just do the following:

  1. Roll your eyes when blogger friend suggests you start a blog.
  2. Start blog.
  3. Write first post. Make sure it’s short and stupid because you’re certain no one will ever read it.
  4. Get two followers. Ego instantly inflates while at the same time you’re baffled someone willingly wants to read your writing.
  5. Write second post and this time make it way too long but still very stupid.
  6. No new followers. Tell yourself you don’t care. You’re writing for you, not them.
  7. Write third post, mention the Kardashians and add fun colorful images.
  8. Get first comment.
  9. Become obsessed with blogging.
  10. Write posts every other day.
  11. On the days you don’t write posts, think about brilliant ideas for posts.
  12. Think about dumb ideas for posts.
  13. Realize you have no way of differentiating what will be considered dumb or brilliant.
  14. Keep at least a dozen of the lamest posts half-finished in your draft folder in case of emergency.
  15. Write a post about writing or blogging.
  16. Get tons of new followers and more comments. Tell yourself you’re the best thing since microwaved pizza rolls.
  17. Tell spouse blogging will make you rich one day.
  18. Ignore work, chores, spouse, kids and hygiene so you can comment-bomb every blog on WordPress.
  19. Get to know a small circle of other bloggers in “real life”.
  20. Now blog only for the sense of community, not stats.
  21. Re-read older posts and think This is the worst shit I’ve ever read! I suck at writing! I’m a complete sham!
  22. Feel guilty.
  23. Wonder why people keep following blog.
  24. Wonder why you’re still not rich from blogging.
  25. Become jealous of the blogger who went “viral” with a half-assed post you could have written.
  26. Realize most of your followers never actually read anything you write.
  27. Start writing posts simply because you like to write.
  28. Tell yourself, screw the stats!
  29. Check stats.
  30. Weep.
  31. Tell yourself you’re done with blogging forever.
  32. Take blogging break.
  33. Wait for one week.
  34. Get a dumb idea for a post, like “Become a Blogger in 39 Easy Steps!”
  35. Write post because you have no choice, you need that fix.
  36. Hit publish button.
  37. Cry over your plate of microwaved pizza rolls.
  38. Wait for comments while telling yourself you don’t care and you’re done with blogging.
  39. Repeat steps 8 – 39.



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Mysteries of the Mind


One Direction Auto-Piloting: the spacey state of mind while driving a car when you suddenly realize – you’re driving a car!

Followed by the realization you have no idea where you’re going and have zero recollection of where your mind was the last 10 miles of driving.

Or why you were crying while singing at the top of your lungs to the latest One Direction song.


[Warning! sometimes followed by severe self-loathing which leads to more auto-piloting and/or voluntarily crashing head-on into a telephone pole.]

General Vocabulary Meltdown Disorder: the temporary unsettling feeling that washes over your brain when the word you know is spelled correctly still looks plain weird.

Example: the word ‘weird’.

See also: the words ‘word‘ and ‘the‘. Also, the words ‘see’, ‘also’ and ‘example’.

The Ferris Bueller Effect: the fact that watching a movie ‘live’ on cable television in the middle of a lazy Saturday afternoon is somehow infinitely better than if you were watching it on your own DVD player.

The Bazinga Mind-Meld Theory:  when you say, think or write a word and hear the same word on television at that exact moment in time, proving that the universe is eerily connected.

See also: Freaky as Hell Theory

Example: writing the word ‘bamboozle’ in your blog post at the very moment Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory says the word ‘bamboozle’.



The “Happy” Pharrell Williams Syndrome: the precise moment a song you once loved crosses the line into the ‘played-so-much-on-the-radio-it-now-makes-you-nauseous-to-hear-even-the-first-three-notes’ territory.

see also Any song by the Imagine Dragons.
see also Any song you ever hear on the radio today.

The Kashmir Theory:  the belief of most middle-aged people that the length of a song is directly related to the greatness of the song.

Example: “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin, “Hey Jude” by the Beatles, “The End” by the Doors, any live Tom Petty song, any song by Justin Bieber.

See also
: any song on the radio today.

GoT Aversion Complex: when a person steadfastly refuses to watch one minute of a certain super popular TV show simply because everyone else loves it and won’t shut the hell up about it ever.


Netflixitis: When someone suffering from GoT Aversion finally caves years later and decides to see a wildly popular TV show, ends up binge watching two seasons in one day with no breaks for food, drink or toilet only to have some jackass friend spoil everything by telling you “The Red Wedding” actually does not mean they’re serving red velvet cupcakes.


Anyone else suffering from GoT Aversion Complex? Or is it just me? If you have seen the show, please I’m begging you — do not tell me what happens at the wedding. I’m guessing food fight.

More Proof Celebrities Aren’t Like the Rest of Us

photo: Getty Images

photo: Getty Images


Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow have decided to “consciously uncouple” after 10 years of habitual coupling. Naturally, they’ve received a lot of flak concerning the hoity-toity New Age phrase they used to describe their divorce.

Personally, I totally dig the words they chose. It means they’re taking the more positive route, keeping things amicable.  It almost makes something that can be utterly devastating seem so….harmless, soft and fuzzy.

So I’ve decided to rename some things in my life:

Conscious Uncoupling = divorce

Unconscious Coupling = marriage

Cosmic Molecular Aligning = falling in love

Mutual Bodily Fluid Exchanging = sex

Regrettable Mutual Bodily Fluid Exchanging = one night stand

Regrettable Noxious Fumes Releasing = farting

Perpetual Oxygen/Carbon Dioxide Gas Exchanging = living

Life Form Liberating = childbirth

Earth Plane Entity Separating = death

Soul Modifying = death

Unconscious Unliving = death

Involuntary Career Exterminating = unemployment

Monetary Funds Relieving = paying bills

Nutritional Self-Sabotaging = diets

Voluntary Self-Esteem Annihilating = trying on swimsuits in a three-way mirror

Chronic Narcissistic Opinion Spewing = blogging


Any more you care to add? Please let me know because like celebrities, I prefer to live in denial about most things.


Congrats to the blog 1PointPerspective! He was randomly chosen to win the book The Humor Code from my giveaway last week. Hope you enjoy it, Dave!












What’s so funny?

photo credit:

photo credit:

Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that.

I wanna live. I don’t wanna die. That’s the whole meaning of life: Not dying! I figured that shit out by myself in the third grade.

People who say they don’t care what people think are usually desperate to have people think they don’t care what people think.

The reason I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept.

Swimming is not a sport. Swimming is a way to keep from drowning. That’s just common sense!

What year did Jesus think it was?

I think it’s the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.

–George Carlin

To me, George Carlin was the funniest person on the planet. What made him so funny? Was it his word choice? The way he delivered a punch line? His body language or his tone of voice? Why is it I find him funny, but other people might find him offensive? At its purest form, humor is highly subjective.

There are two main things I do know for sure about comedy: it’s hard to be funny, and there will always be someone who thinks you suck at being funny.

To me? So not funny.

To me? So not funny.

There is a new book out next week, The Humor Code, that tries to attempt the impossible — analyze comedy. Two authors travel the world and the stand-up stage trying to figure out what makes a joke zing and what causes it to fall flat. Along the way, they investigate some pretty bold assumptions about funny people. They wonder if comedians are by nature:

  • Grumpy.
  • Assholes.
  • Introverted grumpy assholes.

I’ve been accused of being a little funny from time to time, although I have to admit, sometimes it’s not intentional. I can only speak for myself when I say that yes, being a slightly grumpy introverted asshole seems to be the foundation of a good humorist. Throw in sharp observational skills and a huge dose of honesty and you’ve got yourself all the ingredients to make a joke.

So what do you think is funny? What type of jokes fall flat for you?  Who is your favorite comedian? Who are the comedians you don’t like? Tell me in the comments below and you’ll be entered into a giveaway with a chance to win the book, The Humor Code. Maybe you’ll read it and finally figure out what’s so funny. Personally, I look forward to reading the books analyzing what is love, death and the meaning behind the existence of cellulite.

The deadline to enter this book giveaway is Monday, March 31. I will pick a name out of a hat at random. I will pick the hat I use at random. I will add my own name a random number of times in the hope I can keep this book. If you are chosen, you must tell me where you live in an email, otherwise it would be hard to mail you this book and then you’d never know what’s so funny.


Becoming Mom


I find it incredible how quickly life can change. One minute you’re thinking, “I will never have kids and I will never be a mom!” and the next one you’re thinking, “How in the hell do I clean baby poop off the ceiling? And off the drapes, the couch, my shirt and my face?”

When I was 21 years old I was a free spirited college student. My main concerns were, “Will I ever see Nirvana live?” and “Is it possible to cook Ramen noodles using only tinfoil and a light bulb?” I had no boyfriend, one cat and lived alone 3,000 miles from home in an apartment off campus.  I was determined to live a recluse life and spend my spinster days rereading good books and baking desserts.  Hey, what can I say? I had a deep romance with brownies and John Irving.

I was truly happy back then. Sure, I would get lonely from time to time, but even the loneliness had this sweetly sad, pining, mysterious, almost magical quality. I was bucking the trend. I was living life on my terms. I didn’t need anyone. When my friends would say, “Darla, you’d make a great mom!” it was like they were suggesting I abandon all sanity and join the circus. Being a parent was a foreign concept to someone who could barely keep her angel fish alive in a tank.

My oh my how things change.

I met my husband when I was 27 and almost instantly wanted a baby. People throw around the term about a woman’s “clock ticking” like it’s an actual concept and I’m here to tell you it most definitely was for me. I felt this sudden deep inner longing to be a mom, it overtook my entire life. It’s hard to describe the feeling I had, that becoming a parent was somehow woven into the fibers of my soul.

Unfortunately, due to severe endometriosis we struggled with infertility for two years. At the age of 31, instead of a baby, I ended up with surgery to remove a large cyst and my right ovary.  The tumor was so large there was a good chance it was cancerous. I came out of surgery and was told it was benign and I would be okay.

I got pregnant again later that year only to lose the baby early on.  It’s hard even now to write about the anguish I felt, the raw pain of miscarrying. Like I was reaching out to touch a new life only to have it melt away before my eyes. I felt helpless, empty, lonely and like I was abandoned by God.  I felt there must be something “wrong” with me. The guilt, anger and shame were suffocating.

My doctor assured me that even with one diseased ovary, there was still a chance I’d get pregnant yet again.  I never lost that tiny hope that one day I would l have a precious baby in my arms, whether he came from me or we adopted and he came from someone else, it didn’t matter. He would be my son and I would love him with all my heart to the ends of the earth and back.

Of course, the month we gave up trying to get pregnant to explore other options was when my son decided to come down to earth so I could be his mom. Good one, God. I get it, you have perfect timing and also a twisted sense of humor.

Fate really has the upper hand. Life might not go as you had planned but sometimes that turns out to be a good thing.  Maybe even better than you ever dared to dream.  I look back now at this miracle and I’m still flabbergasted. I’m a mom of two incredible kids now. Two! For someone who used to go days only talking to her cat, this is not the life I had ever imagined.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.



This post was inspired by my good bloggy buddy, Elyse from FiftyFourAndAHalf.
In her post When You Were 21 she asked us what life we were living at the age of 21 and how have things changed since then. Thanks, Elyse, I have wanted to write about my infertility struggle for awhile now and it felt good to get some of it out.

If you’d also like to write about your life at 21, feel free to comment here, there or write your own post about it.

So I Wanted to Be a Rock and Roll Star

Blind Melon.

Strawberry Alarm Clock.

Death Cab for Cutie.

The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.

Just a few of the actual band names out there. How did they come up with these? I’m convinced they knocked back a few shots of cheap whisky then opened up the dictionary to a random page.

Back in 1991 when I was 19 years old, I was in college out in Olympia, Washington practicing my right to wear Kurt Cobain grunge and dabble in recreational drugs. (I never inhaled.)

One day my three roommates and I cooked up a brilliant plan to become famous. Right after we cooked up yet another steaming bowl of Ramen noodles laced with patchouli incense dust.

“Hell, yeah, dudes! We should form a rock band!”

But we needed a name. Sure, we didn’t actually have instruments. Or knew how to play any. And none of us could sing. But the name was everything, right? I mean, just look at Hootie & the Blowfish! Our ticket to stardom was just a dictionary away!

So we took turns closing our eyes, flipping open the dictionary and randomly pointing at words. Hey, it was a slow day in the great Northwest — there’s only so much rain-soaked Starbucks lattes a person can stand.

Yesterday I was digging through a tote full of my old college papers and found a ripped page from my notebook that listed these gems. I laughed so hard I was crying. Crying tears full of lost dreams and laced with patchouli incense dust. (That’s right — I still like to burn incense, don’t judge)

I’d like to repeat that we actually thought we would form a world-famous band with these names.

I still think we can.

Hydrogen Paycheck
Impregnate Solomon
The Suede Turtlenecks
Scrod Hodge Podge
Flying Lemur Gas
Flaccid Cabbage
Magic Stash
Mercy Custard
Mind-blowing Anonymity
Allspice Milkshake
Cozy Offbeat Snot Rag
Quiet Fungus
Awesome Pretext
Darla and The Dandy Deputy Moonstones (my favorite)
Desperation Flare-up
Diphthong Cake
Liquid Lion
The Frightful Zits
Devil’s Food Cake 4:00
Odious Bread
Chastity Belt Nation (I think this band actually exists)
The Stodgy Boondoggles
Mudpuppy Game Theory (might have been a Seattle band pre-Nirvana)
Undersexed White Sauce
Nickelodeon Crapulence

Good stuff, huh. I think all of them were worthy of a popular rock band name.  We finally chose one name and stuck with it. We only played a few gigs on campus, most of them in our dorm’s living room to an audience of zero.

Yes, we were Liquid Lion.

I even composed a song for us that went something like this…[imagine me with flowing dreads wearing an oversized fuzzy green cardigan layered over a dirty plaid shirt and banging my head while playing bad air guitar]

Liquiiiiiiiiiid, Liquid Lion!

Liquiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid Liquid Lion!

LIQUID LION!” [insert Wayne's World riff here]


Sadly, Liquid Lion broke up due to creative differences and the drummer’s numerous rehab stints – not to mention my brief and torrid fling with a man named Jingo who’s singing voice sounded like a pig in heat yet somehow he convinced me to leave the group to collaborate on a double fantasy album, effectively killing my musical career forever.

John -- I get you, man. Love trumps all.

John — I get you, man. Love trumps all.


What’s the strangest band name you’ve ever come across? Let me know in the comments so I can steal it for my own band.

To Nap, Perchance to Dream of Eating Popcorn with Eminem


Learn from yesterday, live for today, look to tomorrow, rest this afternoon.

-Charles Schulz

images (6)

I usually take a two-hour nap, from one to four.

-Yogi Berra


Don’t bother me, Imma take a nap now.

-She’s a Maineiac

Let’s face it, life is full of stress. There are very few moments in the average day when you can contentedly sit back and say, “Yeah, this is the stuff. Life can’t get much better than this. I’m happy. I’m good.”

Except for the rare time when the planets align and the thought hits: You could be taking a nap right now. After all, no one’s around. It’s quiet. You have no place to be. And your favorite blankie is fresh out of the dryer all steamy-hot goodness, just begging to be snuggled with during a restorative afternoon siesta.

Good satisfying naps are precious, they need to be savored. But the best naps are elusive because they easily throw your body’s inner clock for a loop. You have to be careful you don’t sleep too much. I did that once, woke up and thought it was the year 2078. At the same time, they need to be long enough so you don’t wake up more tired and groggy than before the nap. Once I slept for three minutes, woke up and thought it was 1978 again. It’s a delicate balance of time.

The worst is when you wake up and it’s pitch dark. For some odd reason if this happens to me I lose all sense of my identity, place or time in history. I immediately think, Holy hell! Did I sleep all day and into tomorrow night? Or maybe I slept for an entire year and missed out on the season finale of The Good Wife?

Sometimes I’ll awaken to the faint sounds of my kids clanging around in the other room and I’ll think, Who the devil is making those noises? I have kids? For these times, it helps if you sleep with your teddy bear for that extra comforting when you honestly don’t know what day it is or who you are anymore.

When the chance for a nap strikes, don’t hesitate. This opportunity happens to me only once every five years or so.

Yesterday was one of those days. I had just finished eating a satisfying lunch, sat down on the couch and suddenly my eyes grew heavy. I said to my husband, “You know what? I’m gonna take a nap. Don’t bother me for thirty minutes or I’ll kill you.”

Then I hightailed it for the bedroom, locked the door behind me and jumped into our king-sized bed, all giddy with anticipation. There’s something so deliciously evil about taking naps. It’s like you’re saying to the world, “You know what? Screw you. I’ve had enough.”

And this nap was brilliant. My pillow was perfectly fluffed. The sun cast a warm beam of light across the bed. I laid my weary head down and fell swiftly into the first stage of sleep, strange images of Eminem* sitting on my living room couch and eating a mountain of popcorn drifting though my subconscious. Oh yeah, I like popcorn too, Eminem…..yeah…..I’d also like to try that giant strawberry swirling around your head….sooooo goooood….okay, now your entire head is the strawberry? Fine, I’ll still eat it…..Then I was completely gone. Deep sleep. I knew I was drooling all over my pillow and didn’t care. I felt the cool puddle against my cheek and still continued to eat popcorn and strawberries with Eminem, world be damned. Because that’s when you’re truly living. That’s when the magic happens.

You know what? I’ll stop writing here. I think I’ll go take another nap now.

Yes, come with me to the land of endless popcorn and strawberries...

Shhh….everything will be all right…just come with me to the land of endless popcorn and strawberries…

*this was the actual dream I had, don’t judge. If anyone knows what the symbols popcorn and strawberries mean in a dream, let me know. If anyone knows why the hell I dreamt of Eminem, let me know.


Top Reasons I Should Probably Get New Glasses


  • Reached down to pick up a knot of black thread on the floor only to realize it was a spider.
  • While reading books to my seven year old at bedtime, I either mumble ‘blah blah blah’ or make up the story as I go along.
    “And so the three Bears came home and…blah blah blah…kicked Goldilock’s sorry ass out of the hizzle for good. The End.”
  • Tried to kiss my husband and ended up trying to make out with his nose.
  • Returned home from the playground with the wrong kid. And a very tiny old man.
  • For months thought I was watching the critically-acclaimed Netflix series:  A Testes’ Development
  • My new look? Unibrow.
  • I can read a book only if I squint hard in bright light and if someone holds it up for me while they’re standing in Texas.
  • Mistook the microwavable cardboard sleeve for the actual Hot Pocket. Knew something was up when it tasted good.
  • Had a long bitch-fest about the Polar Vortex with a coat rack.
  • Told the police the suspect was between 80 and 300 pounds, between 4 feet and 7 feet tall and either male or female. Maybe both. Or neither. Might have been a coat rack.
  • Whenever I take medication, I just take whatever number of pills comes out with two shakes.
  • Accidentally discovered hemorrhoid cream shrinks under eye bags.
  • Accidentally discovered Ben Gay does not make a good toothpaste.
  • Matt Lauer is looking quite attractive lately.

    How YOU doin'?

    How YOU doin’?

  • I’m looking quite attractive lately.


Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t get new glasses after all.


So how’s your eyesight? Is it still good? Can you help me read my newspaper this morning? Yeah, just hold it up and stand as far back in the room as you can. It would really help if you’re in a country on the other side of the world. Thanks.

It’s About Time

Eternal_clockMy grandmother lived to 100. When she was in her early 90s she told me the older you get, the faster time flies. For her a year was like a second. I look forward to this when I have to suffer through yet another commercial for Progressive car insurance.

I’m only in my mid-40s and I’ve already noticed time has sped up considerably. One month it was Christmas, then a week later it was Christmas again. I’d be willing to bet no matter when you’re reading this post, it’s Christmas.

Time is relative. I never seem to have enough time to workout. The two hours of kid-free time I get in the morning before my first class lasts about 12 seconds. And for most of those seconds I’m struggling to put on my pants.

I know I should spend more time with Jillian Michaels, but by the time I’m done stuffing myself into my spandex, Jillian Michaels has suffered a tragic death at the nursing home after being crushed to death by her own trapezius muscles. What’s the point of working out then?

Death will find you. Oh yes, it will.

Death will find you, Jill. Oh yes, it will.

Yet I always have time for dinner. What the hell is going on there? Dinner at my house consists of us sucking down our food in a mad dash that lasts a grand total of about 3.5 seconds.

But the time that goes into planning dinner? Endless.

The time during the day I spend thinking about what the hell I’m going to have for dinner that night? The amount of time my husband and I talk about what we’re going to have for dinner that night? Eternity times forever squared.  It’s the one topic always on our minds.

“Oh, so the test came back negative? Terrific. What’s for dinner?”

“Oh, so the test came back positive?  Not good. What’s for dinner?”

“Hey honey — sorry I texted you a dozen times in the middle of your big important meeting but what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Right, the boss passed you up for a promotion due to your obnoxious texting habit during big important meetings. Bummer. Any thoughts on dinner?”

“Yeah, so you might be out of a job soon. We might have to foreclose on the house and you might be dying of a rare disease.  But are you thinking about dinner? What are we gonna have?”

Yes, dinner is coming up. Again. It’s always here! I bet no matter where you are right now reading this, it’s almost time for dinner. So it’s always time for dinner planning.

Every time it rolls around again I’m peeved. Didn’t we just go through this yesterday? How is it possible I’m sitting here thinking about it again? Great! Again with the food and the cooking and the fact we have to eat or we’ll die. 

My life is just an endless stream of dinners.

If I could just plan all my meals, then eat all my dinners for the entire week in one day, then I’d be happy. Free some time up for my spandex-stuffing marathons.

Time just goes by too fast, I can’t keep up. It never ceases to shock me. I always say the same thing to the clock when I notice time has flown: “Are you freaking kidding me? Really? I bent down to put on my slippers and three years went by?”

Then I ask, “Is it wrong I’m talking to the clock? Is this the first sign of dementia? Or the last? It’s probably the last…” Then I glance down at my watch and another decade went by while I was arguing out loud with the clock about the concept of time. Still, I never get any answers from the universe as to why time speeds up like this.

The universe is such an asshole.

It’s getting harder to accomplish any of my daily tasks, there’s no time to enjoy anything anymore. I try to be more zen, but how can I be “in the moment” when the moment insists on skipping ahead of me?

OK…so now I’m going to open this package of bacon for breakfast and HOLY SHIT IT’S TIME FOR BED ALREADY?

Anyway, I guess I’d better wrap things up now. I started writing this post this morning at 7 am. Once I got to this paragraph, I looked up at the clock and it was midnight on December 24, 2027.

Looks like I’d better start shopping for my grandkids’ gifts, huh.

Before I do, what the hell do you want for dinner tonight? I’m thinking pasta. No? You want chicken? Oh, no, we can’t do chicken.  I didn’t take out the meat to thaw yet. Hey, how about pasta? No? Chili? I like chili. With ground turkey? Ah, but I didn’t take out the turkey so….let’s have bacon.


Any thoughts on how I can slow down time? What works for you? Give me some ideas in the comments.

Oh, don’t mind me — I’ll be livin’ in a box down by the river.


Our mid-winter school vacation has ended. I spent 11 days trapped inside a small apartment with my kids. We had four snowstorms last week alone.

Coincidentally, our electronic “human-ignorer” gadgets decided to collectively shit the bed. My laptop froze. The tablet became possessed. Netflix was toast.

My toaster still worked. Thank god.


So we were forced to be together. In each other’s presence. Communicating and using eye contact and stuff. I had deep convos with my 11-year-old son.

“Go Fish, grandma.”

“Hey! I’m not that old!”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m still young!”

“Well…you’re kinda young…”

“Thank you.”

“Kinda, but not really at all.” [hard stare] “Because you’re old.”

So when my son told me he didn’t want to go back to school this morning, the words, “If you don’t go, I’ll be arrested and thrown in jail” just flew out of my mouth.

But thank god our dryer broke.

When your clothes dryer shuts down and you have two little kids, it’s panic time.  In order to keep my constant mountain of laundry at a manageable amount, I have to do about 382 loads every single day. Within two hours of the dryer breaking down I had to rent storage space just for my son’s dirty socks and underwear.

Thankfully, we had enough money to buy another crappy one and made good use out of the best toy any kid could ever want.

The box.


They quickly settled in their new home — hung some curtains,  set up the Wii, installed shag carpeting.

They even posted some solid rules:


And by the end of school vacation, there was only one place the kids could find me.

In the box out on our front lawn.


Please, feel free to drop by and visit me. I’ll be serving up some delish Toaster Scrambles with semi-real bacon and eggs.

Just remember: Don’t be mad and under no circumstances are you allowed to fart.


How did you survive school vacation? “Just barely” like me?