Complications of the Flu May Include Extreme Deflation

I’ve been sick as a dog this past week. First my son was socked with a “flu-like virus” (which is apparently our pediatrician’s polite way of saying “you’ve got the flu”) Then he kindly passed it onto his little sister and she promptly responded by coughing directly into my mouth 150 times so I wouldn’t miss out.  Near the end of my week-long Influenzapallooza I also had the added bonus of developing bronchitis.

My husband? Not even a sniffle.

It all started when I felt a death rattle in my chest during halftime of last week’s Patriots/Colts game. I went straight to bed eager to begin spending my days writhing around in a delirium of fever, body aches and hacking cough. But at least I got to practice my moaning and groaning. I’m very good at it now.

Just yesterday the fever broke and I felt almost half-dead again. The mental brain fog lifted and I suddenly realized I had missed the ending of the Patriots game.

Did they win? Did I miss anything?

My mind still swimming in a delicious Nyquil-induced daze, I shuffled out to the living room, snuggled down on the couch in my bathrobe and clicked on the TV just in time to see my old boyfriend up there answering questions at a press conference.

635575448407943902-tom-brady-conference Aw, gosh darnit! Isn’t he adorbs in that hat? And oh wow! His chiseled dimplicious chin seems to be breaking news on every channel! Everyone must be super excited about the Pats going to the Big Game!

Then I turned up the volume.


“…when I pick those balls out… I don’t want anyone touching the balls after that. I don’t want anyone rubbing them.”

I looked down at the empty Nyquil bottle on the coffee table. Hmm….did I accidentally double the dose? I rubbed the cobwebs out of my eyes and tried to focus harder on what my Tommy Boy was yammering about in his super-cuddly gray sweats.


“Everybody has a preference. Some guys like them round, some guys like them thin, some guys like them tacky, some guys like them brand new, some guys like old balls. They’re all different. … It’s a very individual thing.”

Okay. Well. Time to head back to bed. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow things will be back to normal? Or at least, less tacky-ball-ish.

That was when my 81-year-old mother (her birthday was just yesterday!) called me on the phone to give her expert take on things. (Needless to say, both of us are huge Pats fans and have been since the pre-Doug-Flutie-On-The-Wheaties-Box days.)

angry_old_woman “Did you see that damn ball thing? Jeezum crow! I mean, just who on the Colts team suddenly said, ‘Hey! I’m gonna start checking their balls!’ Yeah, like just out of the freaking blue he’s suddenly fascinated with their balls! ‘Here, let’s touch the balls! Everyone squeeze their balls! I bet their balls are soft! That’s why we’re losing!’ Why not squeeze your own gol-darn balls, huh? Why not leave the Patriots’ balls alone? We all know it’s the cold air that did it! Cold air makes them shrink! What, are they gonna have to touch every friggin ball before every friggin play now? I’d like to see that! Balls? Balls my ass!”

And there you have it, folks. Balls my ass. The final authority on this whole shrinkage catastrophe. My mom does know her balls. After all, she raised five boys.

Planting the Seeds of Change

“An eye for an eye is just wrong, Mom.”

My 12-year-old son was explaining his feelings on law and order from thousands of years ago. His homework was to determine if justice involved cutting off a person’s hand if he were caught stealing food.

“Why is it wrong? Wasn’t he wrong to steal?” I asked him.

“It’s wrong because violence is never the right thing to do.”

Sadly, his opinion would seem to be rare if watching TV is any indication. We live in a world where violence is entertainment.

News channels repeatedly spew out the same horrifically violent videos 24/7. Popular video games and prime time television shows glorify senseless violence. Social media rewards people who commit crimes by posting their images until they go viral.

We sit there glued to our screens like desensitized robots and eat it up, but we never fully digest it. We let it consume our psyches, allowing the anger and fear fester inside of us, eventually planting seeds of overwhelming sadness until we become the news we are watching.

Newsflash: we are each other. Nothing is isolated in this world. Everything and everyone is connected. Every human has a story, his or her own personal tragedies to overcome. How do we break the chain of negativity? How do we grow to become the respectful, loving souls we are all destined to become? Anger and sadness are genuine emotions but it’s how we transform that energy that matters in the end.

Every day we each have to dig deep inside ourselves to make a simple but powerful choice. Love or fear. The truth I know in my heart? Love is the only thing that will save us.

A few years ago, a holistic doctor was helping treat the anxiety and depression I’ve suffered off and on all my life. I’m an emotionally sensitive person so I absorb all energy, the good and bad. Unfortunately, my own mindset began to change to one full of fear. I started to view the world as full of evil, disrespectful, misbehaving people. It’s an eye for an eye, it’s a hellish, cruel world. It’s hopeless.

My doctor offered a simple suggestion that I immediately scoffed at: Stop watching the news. Stop watching the news? But then I wouldn’t know what was going on in the world! I need to know! I can’t be ignorant of the problems people are facing every day, can I?

Now that I’m getting older I’m finding he was right. For me the key is balance.  I do stay informed of things, of course, but I turn off the news more and more. I’m finding I’m less anxious or sad. Now I go out into the world more positive, more accepting, more open to trust. People pick up on my energy and they feel it too.  Small changes make a big impact in your life.

I still know what goes on in this world, I’m not turning a blind eye to injustice.  Of course things need to be brought to light in order for change to occur. But what are you doing in your life to make that change? Simply watching the news is not taking positive action. But how you act toward everyone you meet? That is how you make real change.  It’s not found in buzz phrases or tweets. It’s getting down to the basics of how we treat each other as human beings.

Now I focus on the good things that are happening and I let them feed my soul. I make it a mission to water those seeds. Contrary to what the news tells us, every second of every day people are doing good. They’re loving, helping and respecting each other. They’re listening to each other’s viewpoint without jumping on a bandwagon just to be popular. They’re showing the courage to actually practice what they preach on a daily basis with no fanfare, no immediate reward, no viral story blowing up on the internet.

Why can’t this behavior be the norm on TV? Because these stories don’t get the best ratings.

There are millions of respectful, loving people on this planet. I remind myself the news media is in the business of getting us to watch. They figured out a long time ago, humans are drawn toward violence — we love drama, we crave conflict. News outlets seek it out and they zero in on it. They replay the worst of human behavior for our endless consumption until it slowly poisons us.

Hope is not lost with me because I’m blessed to be able to tap into a deep well of boundless love and positivity. It’s found within my own kids. I raised them to treat everyone they meet fairly, to try not to judge anyone based on differences. To listen. To understand. To empathize. To respect. To accept. To love. These aren’t mere words, these are actual concepts we practice every day. As a parent, I’m cultivating in them the notion of honoring all life.

My son is now my teacher. I watch how he acts and I relearn how to behave myself. He shows me that talk is cheap. He stands up for people that are considered “different” because he is different himself. He is respectful, loving, and compassionate to everyone he meets. Everyone. I know he will be brave enough to do some good in this world. He will make a real change.

He chooses love over fear, so why can’t I?

Maybe someday, this will be considered popular behavior. Maybe someday, this will be the news.






The Rotten Avocado–January 2015

Welcome to another edition of The Rotten Avocado!

Bringing you fake news that’s never perfectly ripe, hard to crack open, and filled with green slime.

Proud dad Ashton Kutcher recently gushed about his new baby with partner Mila Kunis, remarking they want to be hands-on parents and therefore do not employ a nanny. “We want to be the people that know what to do when the baby’s crying to make the baby not cry anymore,” Ashton said, and then a nanny changed Ashton’s diaper and fed him a bottle.




Popular exercise product Fitbit — a wristband that displays time, distance, and calories burned, or as I like to call it, “The World’s Ugliest Bracelet” — has received complaints from consumers stating the band produced an angry rash on their skin after they worked out. The company recommends removing the Fitbit periodically after exercising to prevent irritation. Upon hearing this, millions of women looked down at their Fitbits and yelled, “What? I’m supposed to be exercising with this f—ing thing on?” then finished inhaling their chocolate-glazed donuts and took a nap (or maybe that was just me)



Mark Zuckerberg recently put to rest any rumors of adding a “dislike” button to Facebook posts saying, “I don’t think there needs to be a voting mechanism on Facebook about whether posts are good or bad. I don’t think that’s socially very valuable or good for the community to help people share the important moments in their lives.” Then he sat down at his gigantic desk, lit up a cigar, and cackled maniacally as he turned his attention back to the giant wall of monitors depicting live surveillance footage of every man, woman and child in the entire world.


Us Weekly

Us Weekly

The movie Wild is getting lots of buzz not only for the incredible acting, but for the fact Reese Witherspoon appears completely makeup-free during filming, even foregoing her hairbrush. Because as we all know, statistics show the shittier you look, the better your chances at an Oscar.  In one scene, a disheveled Reese is depicted hiking down a desolate country road, all of her worldly possessions strapped onto her back as her mental state teeters between hope and despair, solace and anguish. Or in other words, just another typical day in the life of every woman in Maine.


Former “Saved by the Bell” child star Dustin Diamond will face trial in the alleged stabbing incident of another patron at a bar on Christmas Day. While pondering why Diamond’s life has taken such a dark turn, I think I speak for everyone when I say, “For god’s sake — he was Screech on Saved by the Bell.”

Why I Would Rather Try To Find The Funny Than The Meaning Of Life

She's a Maineiac:

What the world needs now is more humor and positivity. For me, finding the funny in life is like discovering a beacon of light in the darkness. It’s something we all desperately need these days. Thanks Peg for reminding us all to lighten up!

Originally posted on Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings:

Some look at life’s journey as a pitched battle, and some as a noble quest. Either way, a smart knight should be prepared for the dragons he or she is bound to encounter along the way. My weapon of choice is a feather duster.

It has only snowed once so far this weird winter.  I took advantage of the unlooked for boon of ice-free roads here in the country last week and went for a walk.  My mood was somber as I set off down the road, well bundled against the bracing cold.  I needed the lift that nature always gives me because I felt lower than I have felt in a long time.

I was thinking about my dear cousin, Moe. She’s experimenting with multiple chemo treatments, locked in mortal combat with the cancer that has spread despite her efforts. We recently learned that her husband, Paul, a great…

View original 855 more words

Blog Review 2014

Like most of us, I’m obsessed with meaningless numbers. Sadly, I tend to let them define my self-worth. I was born in 1970. I’m 140 pounds. I need to workout for 6,000 straight minutes to burn off the 3, 786 calorie doughnut I just inhaled.

Somehow I think these numbers mean something.

Yet no matter how much these numbers fluctuate (and believe me, my birth year is not set in stone) deep down I am still the same ol’ me. Numbers aren’t so important in the grand scheme of things.

For instance, I used to get excited that I have nearly 10,000 blog followers.

Until today when I realized my son also has a blog.

He’s twelve.

His blog is on Mario Kart Wii U.

He just started it yesterday.

His entire blog profile?

Hi!!! My name is C. Do you like pie? Good day.

He already has over 500 followers.

So I looked over the past year’s stats for my blog this morning (because I admit I do love numbers) and noticed a few things. When I write about blogging, I get the most views. My post Is Blogging Dead? got close to 1,500 hits. Yet oddly enough, posts like “Yes, but how high does a flea jump while farting?” get only one view. Crazy.

As for countries, I had over 26,000 hits from the US, but only one hit from someone in Madagascar. What gives? It’s a mad mad world.

Thank you all for hanging out and reading my blog, I do appreciate it. Happy New Year!

Oh — and do you like pie?


The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 37,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 14 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.


Seth Rogen and James Franco (Almost) Save the World


Setting: Seth Rogen’s apartment last week around 3 am.

Rogen [sitting on couch in underwear watching CNN]: Oh shit! OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT! Oh man! Oh holy crapballs! [inhales smoke] Oh god. Just hold it in, Seth, hold it in….. [exhales sharply, puts giant bong down on floor] This is nuts, this is crazy. I gotta call Franco.

[phone rings at James Franco’s place]

Franco [answers phone, two women asleep on either side of him]: Yeah?

Rogen: Dude! Turn on CNN!

Franco: Do what? Naw, man.

Rogen: JUST DO IT!

Franco [scratches head] : Huh? Do what, man?

Rogen: Turn….on…. [screams into phone] THE. F—-ING NEWS!

[silence for several minutes]

Franco: Oh shit.

Rogen: Yeah, “oh shit”. You got that right my friend. You got that right!  [laughs like an asthmatic stuttering donkey]

Franco: Well, what do we do? I mean, this can’t be good. Right?

Rogen: [shouts] No man! No it’s not!  I would think pissing off the entire country of North Korea can’t be good! I mean, Kanye West is one thing, but….this. This is f—ing insane as shit!

Franco: Calm the f— down, all right? I’m coming over.

Rogen: Okay okay. Yeah, that’s good. We can figure this out. I mean, we’re actors!

[Thirty minutes later. Franco and Rogen are sitting on couch together in a cloud of smoke watching CNN]

Franco [exhaling smoke]: Dude.

Rogen [exhaling smoke]: Dude.

Franco: I mean seriously….dude.

Rogen: Duuuuuude.

Franco: I mean, this is really f—ed up.

Rogen: You think?

Franco: So he should be here any minute.

Rogen: Who? The pizza guy?

Franco: No, Clooney, man. He’ll take care of it.

Rogen: What — are you a moron? Clooney? What the hell’s he gonna do?

Franco: Just trust me all right!

Rogen: Trust you! Trust you! Wasn’t that what you said right before you told me to rub your nipples on that motorcycle?


Franco: Clooney’s smart, okay! He’ll know what to do! He infiltrated the Bellagio! He’ll fix this!

[Both sit silently for several minutes]

Rogen: So did you order extra cheese and pepperoni?

Franco: Yeah.

[Someone knocks at door, both yell simultaneously]

Rogen: PIZZA!

Franco: CLOONEY!

[Several minutes pass. More knocks at door.]

Rogen: I thought you were gonna get it.

Franco: I did get it…didn’t I?

Rogen: No man! You get it!

Franco: Why should I? You get it.

Rogen: C’mon dude! You get it!

Franco: No you!

[Someone bangs on door.]

Franco: Did you hear that?

Rogen: What?


Clooney: Hey guys. I let myself in. Look – you two chowderheads better tell me what’s going on right now. I’ve got the missus waiting in the limo downstairs and she isn’t happy, threatened to subpoena my ass.

Franco: Dayum! [makes sound of whip]

Rogen [pointing at TV]: Things are bad, man. Real bad.


Clooney [smirks]: Now c’mon. I’m sure things aren’t that bad guys.

Rogen: No, they are. They, like, wiped out PlayStation! PLAYSTATION!

Franco: We did this. Us! Why didn’t we stop at Pineapple Express?


Clooney: All right, this is what we’re gonna do. Seth, you’re gonna dress up as a rich guy, drop a few Gs at the craps table as a distraction. James, you’re gonna cram yourself into a tiny box and we’ll wheel you into the vault, where you’ll bypass the infrared lasers and steal all copies of The Interview and replace them with the entire season of Freaks and Geeks. Then we’ll all pretend this never happened. Got it?

Rogen/Franco: Got it.

Rogen: But wait a minute….what about freedom of speech? What about every American’s right to watch The Interview?

Clooney [scoffs]: Guys. C’mon. Have you seen the movie?

Rogen/Franco: Yeah.

Rogen: Well…parts of it.

Clooney: Look — think of it as we’re doing everyone in the entire world a huge favor here.

Rogen/Franco [thinking intently, slowly nodding heads]

[Several minutes pass]

Franco: You saw him, right? Clooney? Here in your living room?

Rogen: Who?

Franco: Never mind. Let’s get pizza.

Rogen: Yeah. And order mine with extra pineapple.







Happy [insert holiday here]!

Hey guys! Whassup?

It’s time to get down and funky….

“It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone….ba-da-ba-da-ba-daaaaa….”

I’m writing this post because:

1) I wanted to see if I forgot how to write (looks like I did)
2) I missed you guys.
3) I needed a distraction from reading online all about how 2014 was the “Year of the Booty.”

I think this is the most serious case of writer’s block I’ve ever had. What is my problem lately? Why am I having a hard time writing? I can’t even get past the new-fangled wordpress dashboard/stats page. I went to create a new post just now and panicked when I saw this:


And I thought — Well Jiminy Cricket! They’ve done gone and changed it again! What in blue blazes do I click on now? Heavens to Betsy! Where in the dickens is the old dashboard?! Have I been gone from blogging that long? Has the entire WordPress world gone mad?! Looks like yet again some dadgum whippersnapper WordPress “genius” decided to fix something that ain’t broke! Well hell’s bells, ain’t that a kick in the moderately-arthritic lumbar discs! How am I supposed to function like this? Is it cold in here? Have you seen my glasses? Where’s my Tylenol?

Then I put on my prescription-strength trifocals, squinted real hard and saw there was an option to click on “Classic Dashboard” and I heaved the heaviest of heavy sighs. Dislodged a few more lumbar discs in the process. And then I pooped a couple more Tylenol pills.

That’s not a typo.

How is this old lady supposed to find her way around The Interwebz when some young techno-fool keeps changing it all around? Okay, we get it! You’ve been to college! You like to make things all fancy-schmancy in the hopes us old farts will finally give up and get back to knitting you that hip-n-cozy beard warmer.


And then there’s the problem of what I should write a post about. Oh my god the choices! The news? Too depressing. The holidays? Too controversial. Something funny? Waaaaaay too hard.

So this is it. My gift to you — My worst post ever.

But I also want to say to all of my readers: Happy Holidays, etc ! (I’m thinking of putting that greeting on T-shirts) And yes, I’m still alive! We do have power! If it goes out again for Christmas then no worries, I’ve stacked extra logs crafted from life-sized posters of Kim Kardashian’s “break the internet” butt, should keep us warm and toasty until Armageddon.

I’ll get back to blogging more soon. Unless my dashboard changes again.

Oh, and here’s a few photos to warm your jaded hearts in the meantime. A letter from my 12-year old son to his sister and my daughter doing her Elf on a Shelf impression. Enjoy!






How I Survived the Thanksgiving Snowpocalypse

All was merry and bright last Wednesday evening in spite of the Nor’easter blowing into town. A giant ham was chillin’ in the fridge, the kids were playing Mario Kart, and my husband and I were cozying up on the couch to watch yet another riveting episode of CHiPs.


But before Ponch was able to rescue the station wagon full of kids dangling from a power line over the streets of LA, the unthinkable happened: our power flickered.

It turned off once… we held our breath. The image on the TV reappeared. Ponch’s jaw clenched sexily.

Twice…! Jon Baker’s doe eyes glistened with anticipation.

Then boom. Out. The entire household powered down in a flash and chaos erupted.

If this ever happens to you, here are a list of things to help you survive no power on Thanksgiving:

  • Take turns sitting in your idling car. Not for warmth, but to charge your iPhone so you can still play Candy Crush.
  • Pass the time by checking Central Maine Power’s website of power outages so you can monitor how everyone else around you in a 60 mile radius has goddamn power except you.
  • Consider burning iPhone for warmth.
  • Spend cold nights tossing and turning, with only one thought invading your dreams: Will I ever know if Ponch rescued those trapped kids?!
  • Cooking hot dogs, beans and bacon on the grill outside in a snowbank on Thanksgiving day is a good idea.
  • Cooking scrambled eggs on the grill is a bad idea.
  • Snuggle with the nearest warm body to help stave off hypothermia.
  • Make sure that body didn’t just eat a can of beans.
  • Gin.
  • By all means, jump in your Jeep with the bald tires and fishtail your way to the nearest Dunkin Donuts with power because if you don’t have coffee soon you will go batshit insane.
  • Weep uncontrollably as you stick the ham and case of beer in a snowbank. Use canned cranberry sauce as traction for next drive to Dunkin Donuts.
  • Fumbling around playing football outside with your kids in 15 degree weather is almost the same as watching the Dallas Cowboys play.
  • As you sit there shivering in your pitch dark bedroom at 2 am listening to the roar of the wind outside, remind yourself if Laura Ingalls could do it, so can you. Why, they spent long frigid winters in a shack huddled around an oil lamp with only Pa’s fiddle for entertainment!
  • F*%^ you, Half Pint.
  • Haha! I’m kidding! Wow, that was mean, wasn’t it? I apologize. What I meant to say was f*%^ you Pa Ingalls and your stupid fiddle.

And there you have it. All solid advice.

Hope you all had a warm, bean-free, Poncherellirific Thanksgiving!







When I lie down to die
I hope you make a feathered nest
of downy white flicked with silvery gold,
and its velvet strands will be enough
to cradle my fading heart.

When I lie down to die
and the last tear slips across my cheek,
I hope the doves will gather to coo
a melody strung with faded memories
into my soundless ears.

Then I will know the path out of the woods
is to follow the pulse carried aloft on the wind
as it dances and twirls beyond the moon.

And I will smile as the dove’s wings open
for the song humming among the stars
has echoed in my soul for centuries.

And I pray you will hear this too,
when I lie down to die.









This poem is dedicated to my father on the anniversary of his death.


david blaine in ice

What the? Wednesday

There is nothing more entertaining than watching your kid attempt a magic trick.

My 7-year-old daughter is obsessed with David Blaine. She repeatedly watches his video “Trapped Inside The Ice Cube of Death!” on YouTube.  She’s convinced she’ll be a magician someday.

david blaine in ice

This morning she runs up to me and yells, “Hey Mom! I can do magic tricks! I’ll make this penny disappear!”

She excitedly rubs her hands together for several seconds.

“Okay….and….here…. comes…. the magic…….” she whispers as she continues rubbing her hands, her eyes growing wider, my anticipation rising.

[sound of penny clinking to the floor]

“Ta-da!” She opens her hands.  “It’s GONE! It’s MAGIC! I’m gonna be famous like David Blaine!” Then she runs off whooping and dancing.

I’ve no doubt she will be famous with talent like that.

Let’s just hope she stays away from giant blocks of ice.


My daughter also likes to constantly one-up everyone in the worry department. One morning, we were driving to school and this was our conversation.

Me: I’m nervous about my job interview tomorrow.

My son: And I’m nervous about the dentist appointment today.

Her: Yeah, well, I’M nervous about long vowel sounds!




My son is 12 years old and naturally spends most of his day either teasing me or being completely annoyed by everything I do and say.

In spite of this, the other day I treated him to lunch at McD’s. (shut up) I sat there sipping my sad cup of coffee, watching him shovel food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in years. He noticed I was drooling over his french fries so he said in a sweet voice, “Hey, Mom, you can have the rest of my fries. Here.” Then he smiled and handed me the container.

It was empty except for one shriveled burnt-to-a-crisp reject fry.

After I cried, he apologized and offered me a chicken nugget but I wisely declined.

The next day, still peeved by the French Fry Incident, I made sure to drop him off at the front of his school blasting the song “Roam” by the B-52s.

As he got out of the car in front of his friends,  I launched into the most epic dorkiest dance ever seen, my arms waving in the air like I just didn’t care, my head bopping from side to side, the car rocking back and forth. The look on his face? Priceless. Worth every French fry.

Don’t mess with Mom, kids. Because I will always have the power to embarrass you.


Speaking of dorks in cars, this month I did the unthinkable. I got a new car.

Not just any car, but a hybrid car.

The Prius.


It’s true, I’ve become one of those people.

Yes, it’s tiny. Yes, it runs on a battery (sometimes). Yes, it’s made of a few pieces of cellophane and duct tape. Yes, I plug it into my iPhone on my nightstand to charge it overnight. Judge all you want.

But there are benefits to driving an electric car. Of course, it helps the environment, blah blah blah. But it also helps save me money. So guess who’ll have extra moulah in her pocket to pay for the one-way ticket on the Virgin Spaceship to Mars when global warming finally wins? Who’s making fun of the Prius now, huh? You are? Yeah, fine, it’s a clown car, whatever.

Anyway, I filled up my gas tank today — 18 bucks. EIGHTEEN BUCKS. I haven’t seen that price since shoulder pads were in fashion! Sure my tank is the size of a thimble but I’m getting on average 50 mpg! Once I was zipping down the road and noticed I was getting 72 mpg! God I felt so smug!

Granted, I was floating along the current from the massive wake of the giant tractor trailer truck in front of me, but still!  And shortly after that my car got sucked under a Chevy Suburban then shot back out ricocheting off several cars like some hellish pinball machine on the highway, but hello! Good gas mileage!


Make sure to get out and vote next week, kids.  C’mon, it’s fun!

thO2HFG60TI’m voting mainly because I’m still trying to assuage my guilt over voting for Bush in ’88. (I think I inhaled too much hairspray that year.) God I love the word ‘assuage’, it just rolls off the tongue and sounds a little like ‘ass’ and ‘sewage’.  Which reminds me….

Maine currently has a tight race for governor this year. Very exciting. And by exciting I mean not exciting. Depressing as hell.

Our choices? Paul Le Page, Eliot Cutler or Mike Michaud.

I think we all know who I’ll choose for my write-in candidate.


He looks more than qualified to me.


So what’s new with you? Do you know any magic tricks? Can you make David Blaine disappear?

Are you voting? If you aren’t, then do you have the right to complain? If you are voting, do I have the right to complain about your complaining about people who don’t vote yet still complain?


This marks my 300th post! And it only took me 4 and half years! In celebration, here — have some of my stashed Halloween candy….just leave my Kit Kats alone, thanks.