Okay, enough’s enough. I can’t take the news anymore. I’m just gonna come right out and say what we’ve all been thinking:
I don’t give a shit that Beyoncé is pregnant with twins.
Whew! Oh, god! I feel so much better now! The tension has left my body!
And man, if only I had a nickel for every time I announced my pregnancy wearing a diamond-encrusted G-string and a solid gold porcupine crown.
So this winter’s been particularly…uh…challenging for us Maineiacs. We’ve had about 25 Nor’eastahs in a span of one week. Roughly 5,000 inches of snow. But it’s the powdery fluffy kind, so it’s all good…
Three days ago, we sent Pa Ingalls out with a shovel and a pair of snowshoes to go fetch us some Dunkin Donut’s coffee and he never returned. The wimpy-ass bastard. All snow and no coffee makes Darla a dull girl. And super bitchy.
But like I said — the snow is plentiful. Great for skiers! Yeah! Hit the slopes! The skiing will be FANTASTIC. Hooray!
Fuck the skiers and fuck all your stupid snow.
Don’t you hate that? Seeing those people with the goofy grins plastered on their faces. All happy and jazzed about winter. Getting exercise. Enjoying life. It’s unnatural! Everyone knows you’re supposed to stay inside and chug Dunkin coffee while bitching about how rich everyone is at the Grammys.
This week we also had that annoying “made-up” holiday, Valentine’s Day. You know what other holidays are made-up? Pretty much all of them.
I’m sorry I’m hating on Beyoncé, skiing, and that guy in the top hat holding a pissed off giant rat. I blame the 12-foot wall of snow that has me trapped here on my couch. If only there were something else to get steamed about…something in the news on TV that really burned my britches enough so that I could jump on Facebook and shove my unsolicited opinion in everyone’s faces.
I got nuthin.
Meanwhile, tell me how your winter’s going so I can live vicariously through you.
Remember the good ol’ days when the news was delivered to your door by a snot-nosed Beaver Cleaver punk? Remember the times when we leisurely digested the day’s headlines with a mug of Sanka in our grubby ink-stained fingers?
Nah, me neither.
Then again, I’m not sure if I remembered to put on pants today.
[looks down] Oops.
These days, I don’t get my news from those silly 24/7 cable news channels, or even from my Facebook feed.
Come on over to my newest post on The Nudge Wink Reportto find out my top secret source of the latest breaking headlines…
I think we all know mothers are strong, wise and beautiful women. The moms in my family were no exception.
I bet you also realize moms have little time on their hands most days. Which is why I’m posting a short-n-sweet rerun about motherhood, so we can all kick back and savor our breakfast in bed Sunday morning.
I wish all of you moms out there lots of love, laughter, chocolate, and a moment of peace and quiet. You deserve it. Happy Mother’s Day!
My Dear, Sweet, Slightly Manipulative Daughter
My daughter is only seven years old, but don’t let her age fool you. When Little Miss J wants something, she doesn’t simply tell you, that would be too easy.
Always a clever girl, she makes little homemade cards to communicate. First, she lures the reader in with her sweet drawings, then goes in for the kill with a well-timed zinger. Over the holidays, she handed me a card and I couldn’t help but laugh. And feel a little afraid. It read:
I hope you have a Merry Christmas! [drawing of Christmas tree]
and get me lots of toys! PLEASE! [drawing of gifts]
and I love you! [drawing of big red heart]
[back of card] and I am standing here watching you read this card
As I lowered the card, she was right there. Standing. And watching. I get shivers just remembering the intense look in her eyes. She is ruthless.
Today she made me yet another “greeting” card. I had been scolding her all week for not putting her trash in the trash can. Instead she was hiding it all over the house, cramming cheese stick wrappers in my slippers, sliding banana peels under the couch cushions, etc.
I said to her for the millionth time, “You need to put the trash in the trash, okay?”
Clearly fed up with me, she frowned and put her finger to her lips, deep in thought. Then she ran off to get her markers.
Five minutes later she handed me a card:
The best part? When she got home from school today and I asked her to turn off the TV, she said, “Where’s that card I made you this morning?”
Are you sick of staying up night after night listening to your #$%*ing spouse snore? Does it take every last shred of your willpower to not punch him/her straight in his/her windpipe?
Well, you’re in luck because I’m reporting on the latest anti-snore medical marvel to hit the market! Just click on over to The Nudge Wink Report to find out which of my husband’s orifices this handy new device ends up!
Are you one of the millions of people who snore like a wild boar in heat? Are you one of the miserable sleep-deprived spouses of the aforementioned wild boar in heat? Are you an actual wild boar in heat? Well, hold onto your CPAP machines because there’s a new device* hitting the market!
This crafty little invention delivers a steady stream of low-pressure air straight into the snorer’s nose as they sleep. Not only does this bring relief to the snorer, it also serves as a very effective form of birth control.
No word yet from the FDA as to whether this new gadget is capable of being sufficiently crammed completely down snorer’s throat once it is discovered to not work at all in the slightest.
The author of this post can attest to her own various failed attempts at reducing her spouse’s freight-train-meets-Learjet-meets-jackhammer snoring. A few notable things she’s learned over the years:
How’s the summer going for you? Mine is good so far. I’ve sworn off most social media. I did go on Instagram and Facebook a few times but really, those don’t count, right?
What I Did On My Summer Vacation
Went on a diet.
In my mind. Man, I REALLY should eat more kale and put down this bagel with cream cheese.
Went off a diet that never really existed in the first place. I like to live a genuine life.
Went back on diet. Then off. Then on. Off. On. Off. On. And this was all within the span of time it took me to shuffle into the kitchen.
“I want to be healthy, eat kale and live longer!” vs ” But life’s too short so gimme that cupcake, dammit!”
Now I’m on a “I’ll eat whatever I think is good for me at the time and be happy and shut the hell up” diet. It really works. It keeps the weight off and on.
Ate some s’mores by the campfire and still think they taste like burnt crap on cardboard.
Almost went camping with the kids in a tent by the ocean until a cold torrential rain hit and we stayed home instead. I owe you one, God.
Discussed death and dying with my 8 year old daughter before bed.
“Hey, Mom, when will you die? Will I die? Where do we go when we die? Do we come back? What’s heaven like? Are there cookies?”
“Yeah, sure, there are lots of cookies in heaven. Now go to sleep.”
Ten minutes later, she was sound asleep. Me? Now I spend the rest of my nights hallucinating from insomnia and watching old reruns of the Golden Girls.
Stayed at a hotel on the spur of the moment only to discover it had been taken over by 3,000 costumed mega-geeks visiting for Portland’s version of Comic-Con. When we checked in I saw Zelda, the Flash and Smurfette hanging out at the bar. I was happy to find out it was not a hallucination. Then I was unhappy to find out it was not a hallucination.
Almost got into a smack-down in the hotel lobby with Thor over the last danish. But he knew he had no chance and wisely stepped off.
A mama bird decided to deposit two tiny blue eggs in her nest.
Unfortunately, she built her nest in my flowers. My flowers are on the deck. Two feet from my front door. The screen door two hellions cranked up on Fla-Vor-Ice burst in and out of approximately 4 million times a day. She is not happy with me. Never knew a bird had the ability to glare.
In keeping with my hallucination/insomnia theme, I’m currently reading the fascinating book Hallucinations by one of my favorite authors, Dr. Oliver Sacks. I’ve suffered from migraine with aura since I was about 12. I see zigzag lights, blind spots etc. I still often have hypnopompic hallucinations at night. Mine are always giant multi-colored spiders either scurrying up the walls or hanging mere inches from my face. As you can imagine this is a little unsettling for me.In the past I’ve smacked them with a pillow or screamed. Thankfully, the spiders disintegrate the second I try to kill them. It’s frustrating because it leaves me wide awake and in a complete panic. Naturally, my yelling “AHHH! AHHH! AHHH!” wakes my husband as well. I tell him it’s payback for all his snoring.
Still, I wonder — why spiders?! Why can’t I hallucinate pretty flowers or stacks of cash or even a hairy Wonder Woman? I’ve decided to write Dr. Sacks a letter and ask him these pressing questions. If he writes back I’ll be sure to let you all know.
Okay, that’s it for my lazy, crazy, hazy, hairy Wonder Woman summer. What’s new with you guys?
Happy Fourth of July, America! Ever wonder what Betsy Ross really thought of Thomas Jefferson? Or why Nicolas Cage is a “so bad he’s good” actor? Or why, in the immortal words of Bobby Brady, we should never “play ball in the house”? Then come on over to The Nudge Wink Report posthaste to find out.
Happy Fourth of July, America! So, do you think you’re patriotic enough*? Let’s find out!
Whose signature is the largest on the Declaration of Independence?
a) Thomas Jefferson
b) Samuel Adams
c) J O H N H A N C O C K
Who thought John Hancock was the world’s biggest pompous ass?
a) Thomas Jefferson
c) Everyone but especially Thomas Jefferson
What is written upside down on the back of the Declaration of Independence?
a) “Original Declaration of Independence dated 4th July 1776”
b) “Made in China”
c) “Let it be forever known thou shalt never permit Nicolas Cage to star in a moving picture show about this document.”
d) A series of complicated hieroglyphics that when deciphered states: “We hereby surmise Nicolas Cage shall be the worst actor alive or dead. He must be stopped at all costs forthwith. Posthaste. That means right away. Immediately. What are thou standing…
Last night I had the privilege to chat with America’s sweetheart and my former boyfriend*, New England Patriots quarterback, Tom Brady.
DISCLAIMER: This interview took place entirely in a dream. Any resemblance to any person living, dead or undead is purely intentional. During interview either Tom or I might have been either partially or completely naked. Fine, Tom was naked. Just Tom. Because it’s my dream and I can do what I like while I’m sleeping.
Just a friendly message letting you all know I can’t write anymore.
No, wait! Don’t leave me! Come back! This is serious! I got nuthin’! My bloggy well ran dry. My bloggy liquor cabinet has been emptied. My bloggy fridge has nothing but a half-drunk bottle of PBR and my bloggy pantry is full of moldy chocolate-covered raisins. No, wait…those aren’t raisins. I wish to god they were raisins.
Normally I have at least a dozen half-assed posts collecting dust in my draft folder. Today I checked and all I had was a quarter-assed post about Duck Dynasty I wrote nearly two years ago. About asses.
This terrible no good winter from hell has killed my writerly soul. Yes, I said writerly. See how bad this is?
But being cooped up with cabin fever for these past six months has made me better at complaining. All winter long my husband and I played the classic married game of “Who’s More Miserable?”
Answer: It’s always me.
(Thank you, past hellish childbirth experiences.)
We’re celebrating our 15th wedding anniversary this week so this is what we do for fun now. Every night we cozy up in bed and suddenly turn into our grandmothers.
Him: “Oh god! I think my foot is going numb.”
Me: “My lower back is on fire!”
Him: “Yeah? Well, my ankle hurts!”
Me: “My knees hurt!”
Him: “My right butt cheek hurts!”
Me: “Hey, you know what hurts? That time they ripped all my insides out then put them on the table next to me! Twice!”
What’s even sadder is most times we are so exhausted from our daily lives we simply yell out body parts at each other. Sometimes to spice things up we’ll throw in a few potential diseases or ailments we think we might be developing.
What a delightful game! Other than my always being more miserable, nothing much else is going on with me.
As for my two kids? They’re flipping fantastic! Love them to pieces!
My eight-year-old daughter was looking at my high school yearbook photo last week and cringed: “Mom? Why is your hair so big? Why did you make it stick all up like that?”
I wish I knew, Miss J. I wish to god I knew.
Laugh all you want now but at the time my Cowardly Lion mane provided a cozy home for a down-on-their-luck family of mice. (inhales) Ahhhhh! and I can still smell the burnt hair and chemicals just looking at this picture. And they warned us back then inhaling too much Aqua Net might fry your brain and lower your IQ! Pfft! Yeah, right! Whatever! hmmm…soooooooo….yeah…ahem….yep…..what was I talking about again?
Oh yes, my kids! My son is almost 13 so my knack for embarrassing the hell out of him comes with zero effort on my part.
The other day I was picking him up after track practice when I noticed a slight change in his appearance — a bit of peach fuzz on his upper lip.
“OH MY GOD! DO YOU HAVE A MUSTACHE?! IS THAT A MUSTACHE? OH! MY LITTLE BABY BOO IS BECOMING A MAN! NOOOO! WHY LORD? WHYYYYYY?”
Sure, I probably shouldn’t have yelled this revelation at the top of my lungs in the parking lot in front of his school. Or collapsed to the ground weeping. Okay, and I shouldn’t have actually picked him up. My back will pay for that one later. And maybe I shouldn’t have done all this when his friends were around. Plus that cute girl he really likes. Live and learn. Or not learn ever, in my case. I live to embarrass that boy. Let’s call it payback for colic.
I’d like to close this random post with a little movie review titled Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of What the F***?)
**SPOILER ALERT! If you haven’t seen the film yet, go away now! Go back to Twitter where you belong! Nothing to see here!**
Last week the little red Netflix envelope appeared in my mailbox and I thought, Ooh! Birdman! Cool!I like birds, I loved the movie Mr. Mom, this is going to be awesome! and settled down with my popcorn and gin to enjoy the feel-good movie of last year. I should have known a movie’s only Academy Award worthy when it makes you cringe the entire 2 hours. Ah, yes, the endless inner conflict of creativity versus fame, self-acceptance versus popularity, prop gun versus blown-off nose. Oh, Michael Keaton! I love you, man! You should have won that Oscar! But please, I’m begging you, rip off that ugly toupee and tell me what the hell the ending meant! Why were Emma Stone’s eyes so big? Why is Ed Norton so good at playing an asshole? Why was this movie the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen? Please tell me you lived happily ever after and flew away into the sunset wearing your undies! Why, Birdman? WHYYYYYY????
That’s it from here. What’s new with you? Do you know what the ending to Birdman meant? Do you also embarrass your kids? Can you give me some tips on how to improve my parenting tactics? Did I tell you my lower back’s on fire? What parts of your body are disintegrating?
Birdman image: Rolling Stone
High School Yearbook Photo: She’s A “Gag me with a spoon” Maineiac
Hey kids, big news! I’m an official field reporter for the WordPress recommended humor blog, The Nudge Wink Report. Want to know my greatest fear? Or why I’m so ticked off at Jeff Probst? Check out my first post, Why I should be on Survivor.
Survivor kicked off it’s 30th season last month with Worlds Apart set off the coast of Nicaragua. Once again I was glued to the TV like a contestant’s soggy underwear to their nether regions in the sweltering tropical heat. A few Mainers have competed on the show over the years, with one actually winning the grand prize. (Anyone remember Bob? Best season evah.)
This year we have this man to cheer on: Dan from Gorham.
Wow. Ayuh, he certainly looks like a true Maineiac. Some highlights of his quest for the million dollars: Nobody on his tribe can stand him, he peed on his own jelly fish sting and he’s free-balling it because he lost his undies in the ocean. Yee-ouch! Looks like he’s all chafed up with no place to go. I have no idea what that means.
Watching this middle-aged postal worker slog around the beach with his sweaty furry belly hanging out made me think,