Woman Gets Shred of Sanity Back During Commute

Greetings fellow bloggers, bored cats, and heavily tattooed men in orange jumpsuits wasting their 10 minutes of Internet time because they googled “Kim Kardashian Boobs”!

Not only do I blog here at She’s a Maineiac, I’m also a seasoned reporter, interviewing poor slobs about their redonkulous lives.

You might remember my last report, Woman Refuses to Live in the Moment, in which gluten-freak Oprah dished out unsolicited advice to a broke woman and her farting asthmatic cat, Mr. Wankers.


No? Well, shut up and eat a bagel.

Now time for today’s report!


Sometimes the daily grind of life is all too much for one 47-year-old woman from the quaint coastal village of East Scrotum, Maine (not to be confused with Scrotum’s Point, a sad little town north of South Bunghole).

Ah yes, Maine — The Way Life Should Be.™

Image result for maine scenery

Unless your life should be that you’re perpetually broke, your feet ache, your boobs sag, and your shit stinks.*

I met up with Starla Turdbucketsen early one morning to see how she does it. How does she survive in today’s crazy-ass world? How in god’s name does she wake up every effing day — remember who she is — yet continue to get up anyway?

“It ain’t easy,” Starla sighed, blowing a steady stream of smoke into my face.

“So, you smoke cigarettes now?”


“Let’s talk about your life. Who is Starla Turdbucketsen? You’re a daughter of an elderly parent who thinks Elvis reincarnated as a 13-year-old gospel singer from Sweden. You’re a mom of a teen who thinks he’s going to college to triple major in YouTube Celebrity/Video Gamer/Culinary Farts. You’re a mom to a tween daughter. You’re a wife to a man who incessantly watches MASH reruns in his underwear.”


“Starla, in the past year, you’ve gone through menopause, major surgery, and the legal separation of Chris Pratt and Anna Faris. You work two jobs, yet you’re wearing a bra you bought circa 1989. Any thoughts, insights or revelations you’d care to share with us about being a modern woman in today’s society?”

“Well, if I have to pluck one more freaking gray hair out of my chin, I swear I’m gonna lose my shit. So there’s that. ”

“So, why do it? What gets you going day after day? Why not just drive your Toyota Corolla into the nearest brick wall?”

“The commute.”

“The what?”

“Are you deaf, you unbelievable nimrod? The commute!”

Oh yeah, the work commute!

Image result for work commute

(And yes, my doctor says I’m currently suffering from progressive hearing loss, but let’s get back to Starla and her desperate attempt to cling to those last few scraps of sanity.)

Let’s face it — most of our lives would be a never-ending shit parade if not for those blissful 28 minutes of the morning when you are alone in your car, driving to your soul-sucking job.

I think most harried Americans would agree, the commute is that rare time when you are free to let it all go. That’s right…just take a deep breath…roll down the windows to air out the stench of “medicinal” marijuana…crank some hip-hop…and forget our president is a cross between Forrest Gump and Gary Busey.

Slide1“What is it about the commute that appeals to you, Starla?”

“Two words: No. News.”

“Two more words: ‘Nuff said.”

And so concludes another in-depth interview! Stay tuned next week when I ask Starla her take on the current nuclear crisis with North Korea! (Preview: She thinks it’s the classic “my missile/ego/therapy bill is bigger than yours” dust-up)


*In 2007, the Maine State Tourism Board fired the marketing director after he presented the slogan: Maine: The Way Life Should Be (Except For Those Who Are Perpetually Broke & Their Feet Ache & Their Boobs Sag & Their Shit Stinks. If That’s You–Move To New Hampshire.)


Blogging · Humor

So you want to be a blogger

Sometimes I receive emails from newbie bloggers asking me stuff like:

“Hey, Darla! How in the hell did your blog get to be sort-of-but-not-really popular? Why on earth do you have as many followers as Danny Bonaduce’s Twitter account*? You ain’t no big thang! Please explain.”

As I’m sure Danny “The Dooch Man” Bonaduce would tell you — it takes pure luck plus the perfect amount of narcissism mixed with self-loathing to become this mediocre.

True dat.
True dat.

If I had to pick one thing that helped skyrocket this blog into “eh-dom”, it would be the day my post about getting my hair cut was picked by a WordPress editor for Freshly Pressed back in the days of bloggy yore, circa 2010. Soon people all over this great land of ours were leaving me comments like, “Nice post” and “Please visit my blog at!” It was a magical time. My stats climbed (then plummeted) and my ego exploded (then imploded). Messy.

Still I was convinced my little post was picked at random and that’s because it was. Random. It had to be because what good writer ends their sentences with the word ‘was’? Or even worse, I’m thinking a WordPress editor was in the middle of cleaning her keyboard of doughnut dust and accidently typed in the words “bad hair Darla” to find me.

Then for some odd reason WordPress put me under “recommended family”. This led many family-oriented people to my blog. Yet I had this burning desire to occasionally swear and write about broken asses. Write what you know and all that bull. I followed my bloggy dreams and never looked back. Over the years I’ve dropped hints for WP to switch me to humor but they insist I’m never funny. Fine, I’ll be a friggin “mommy blogger”. But I’ll be damned if I blog in torn yoga pants and a shirt covered in mac-n-cheese with my hair all a mess and oh yeah, right … I guess I am a mommy blogger. Damn it all to hell.

So it was a bit of luck that got this blog going. But then I took that luck and ran with it. And ran and ran and ran. Then I sat down again because I was winded and by golly, I blogged and blogged and churned out endless heaps of ridiculous posts, up to and including this one. To be honest, it does take a fair amount of blood, sweat and wine for me to crank out this shit. I don’t just sit down and spew words onto my laptop. (current post excluded)

So, you also want to be a “famous-in-your-own-mind” blogger?

Here’s what I’ve learned in my five years at WordPress:

  • Less is more. (Danny Bonaduce, I’m talking to you)
  • Wrong is right. (Danny Bonaduce, I’m not talking to you)
  • Just write. Who cares what a reader might think?
  • Always care what a reader might think.
  • If it makes you laugh or cry, it’s good enough to post.
  • People will get offended. They’ll think you’re being serious. Holding up a sign might help.


  • Bullet point lists are the key to any good post.
  • Self-deprecating humor usually works because it sounds like “self-defecating” and who doesn’t want to see someone else shit all over themselves? Fun.
  • Find your voice.
  • Keep your voice even if you have to break all the rules. We’re not writing for The New York Times. Yet.
  • When your voice is hoarse, rest. Don’t force it. It’ll come back again.
  • Write, write, write. Edit, edit, edit. Sleep, sleep, sleep.**
  • Have fun. Play nice. Be good.
  • (Wait — that’s what I told my kids yesterday on their first day of school, sorry.)

Fellow bloggers — any other advice you’d give a newbie? Besides “you’ll never make a dime blogging so you might as well give up now?”


*Danny actually has 25,000 followers. This means you probably shouldn’t be taking advice from a blogger with half the followers of someone who calls himself The Dooch Man.

**I really like sleeping.

Humor · Motherhood

Dear Daughter

As your sixth birthday approaches, I see the telltale signs. I know my sweet chubby-faced baby girl is melting away before my eyes.

Sometimes when we hug, I catch a faint glimpse of her still–your warm soft cheek pressed up against mine, silky eyelashes fluttering shut as you gently sigh–innocence refusing to budge. Nestling into my heart.

I breathe it in with the hope I will always remember.

And that you will, too.


But for now, let’s get down to business.

Dude. Living life is just like….soooo exhausting.

This is Your Life

Listen up. I need to let you know a few things about the rest of your life.
Things my own mother never told me. Things I hope you understand one day.
Hopefully, sooner than I did.

  • Laugh. All the time. Giggle like a maniac. Chortle. Snort. Guffaw. Don’t be shy. Let the giddy tears flow. Make a fool of yourself. There is nothing else like it.
    I’m surprisingly very good at it.
  • Cry if you want to cry. Never let anyone tell you it’s ‘weak’.
    It can be very lucrative. I can cry at a drop of a hat. It’s gotten me pretty far in life.
  • When a bully pushes you down on the playground, stand right back up and get up in his/her grill. Don’t be afraid.  If the tears flow, it’s all right. Get mad. Get sad. But stand back up to them. Understand that maybe they don’t know what they’re doing.  You need to let them know it’s not right. Then tell a teacher.
    Maybe hire your older brother to be your bodyguard, pay him in Twinkies.
    Worked for me.
  • No one will ever remember the day in second grade when you puked all over the lunch table because Jimmy Libby shoved mac-n-cheese up his nose.
    Except maybe Jimmy Libby.
  • When your older brother tells you it’s a good idea to jump off the garage roof into the swimming pool,
    it isn’t.
  • When your older brother wants to play ‘target practice’ using  a slingshot, some marbles and your head,
    run away.
  • Thanks to your dad and your older brother, you will never go on a single date until you’re 21. They mean well, they just know it will take a special person to earn your heart.
    And a strong man who can disarm a dad with a 20 gauge shotgun.
  • You will hurt others one day. Tell them you’re sorry while you still have the chance.
    We all make mistakes, all the time.
    Like the time I held my curling iron in my best friend’s hair until I smelled burnt flesh. Note: hairspray only helps fuel the flames.
  • We are always learning. No one has all the answers.
    Except your mother.
  • If you feel anger, feel it. It’s okay to be mad sometimes. Don’t wish it away or bury it deep down. Face it. Never feel guilty about how you’re feeling. Accept it, transform it. It’s there to teach you.
    Then after you’ve had enough– make sure you release it and move on.
    I also find screaming into a pillow, and consuming a gallon of chocolate ice cream while watching a Nora Ephron movie marathon helps calm me as well.
  • Make new friends, but keep the old.
    One is silver and more likely to lend you money.
  • The only thing anyone ever wants is for someone to understand them, to accept them for exactly who they are deep down inside.
    The stuff we see on the outside? Doesn’t matter even the tiniest bit.
    Remember this when your mother is wearing her bra on the outside of her clothes.
  • Genius is 1% inspiration, 98% perspiration,
    and 1% Extra Strength jasmine-scented deodorant.
  • Dance like no one is watching.
    Fart like no one is around.
    No, really. Make sure no one is around when you fart. Men don’t think women fart, it’s a huge top secret conspiracy and I’d like to keep it that way.
  • Learn how to deal with spiders on your own. Be brave. Scoop them up carefully with a newspaper and shoo them out the door because they have families too.
    Or squash them into bug juice while hyperventilating and screaming–your choice.
  • Unclog your own sinks/toilets, hook-up your own stereo/DVR, change your car’s oil–by yourself.  Don’t rely on a man to do it for you.
    Rely on a man to be there when you need to bitch about doing everything around the house.
  • Stay away from any boy who starts his sentences with, “Duuuuude….”
  • Learn how to cook.
    Hot Pockets don’t count.
    Lean Pockets do.
  • Don’t bother separating whites from colors, just wash everything in cold, make sure you fold right away or things will get all wrinkly, and never, ever under any circumstances,
    bring home your laundry on the weekends.
  • Get a job.
    I’m kidding. You’re only six.
    No, seriously, get a job. Sell some Girl Scout Cookies, something.
  • Nature is free and it’s better than HDTV.
    Now get out of the house.
  • All things must pass.
    Don’t worry, all this lame advice I’m giving you right now is almost over. But I’m gonna leave you with a little more, so pay close attention to the next three, okay?
    (Try very hard not to roll your eyes.)
  • Trust that your sorrow–all those tears, the heavy ache you might feel in your heart–will dissolve someday. The darkness isn’t forever. The sheer light of hope and love will crush it to dust. It will. Grab onto that little ray of light and never let go of it no matter how much you want to. If you can’t find it, come to me and I’ll shine it on you.
  • Smile. It feels pretty dang good, doesn’t it?
  • I love you.


Happy birthday, my sweet pea,  Little Miss J