Oh, What a Year!

Well, ho ho ho and shut the front door!

It’s that time once again to look at my Saved By The Bell: “Slater Wears Tiny Tank Tops” desk calendar and say to my cat, “Hold up — another year’s gone in the blink of Screech’s lazy eye? What the hell? Is this how time works? Yeah, well screw you, Einstein!”

And for god’s sake, shut the front door.  It’s pretty friggin’ cold out.



2016 has proven to be quite the stellar year! And by “stellar” I mean an absolute shit show from start to finish! You too?! Come join me as I zip down memory lane at lightning speed on my greased-up sled and crash land into a Wal-Mart parking lot!


Here’s a quick rundown of the Maineiac family’s year. We’ll start with our 10-year-old daughter.

She spent five solid months of 2016 begging for one gift from Santa. It’s something every hellion in this country wants to get their grubby little hands on Christmas Day.

No, not a Cabbage Patch doll. Not a Tickle-Me-Elmo. Not even a Tickle-Me-Cabbage (I wish). But a stupidly overpriced mutant Furby inside a plastic egg, aka the Hatchimal.

There’d better be a Faberge Egg inside this goddamned egg.

That’s right–it’s an egg! With a toy inside! What will these crazy toy manufacturers think of next?

My bet is more useless plastic.

My husband and I stopped at Target last week to find a long line of Hatchimal-less losers standing outside in sub-zero temps. They sold out of 38 of the things in 8 seconds. And no, we did not stand outside for them. I wouldn’t stand in line for hours on a warm summer day for two tickets to a “Back from the Dead” Beatles reunion.

But as luck would have it, some 38-year-old man living in his mom’s basement is selling them on eBay for 300 bucks a pop. Why, just take out a hefty loan or sell your soul to the devil and this little gem could be collecting dust at the bottom of your child’s closet in no time!

After we informed our daughter that Santa might not deliver a Hatchimal this Christmas, this is the following conversation we had with her:

Her: But I really really really really really really really really REALLY want one!

Mr. Maineiac: Really?

Me: Hey, know what I got for Christmas when I was your age?

Her: What?

Me: A Nancy Drew book. Then my brother sat on my head and farted.

Mr. Maineiac: You know what I got one year?

Her: What?

Mr. Maineiac: A penny. And I had to share it with my two sisters. We all took turns holding it. Then they both sat on my head and farted.

Her (pouting): But I want a Hatchimal!

Us (pouting): Where’s that wine?

Next up, my teenage son. Let’s check in and see how his year’s been going!

[absolute silence for a good 15 minutes]
Ooooookay! That’s all I could get out of him.
(And that really isn’t my son. …but y’know what though? It could be. I haven’t seen his face in about 2 years.)

Finally, let’s check in with my dear ol’ Ma. She spent the better part of 2016 telling me how much she detests Trump. I was talking with her on the phone and tried to change the subject of his upcoming presidency by bringing up other horrible reality TV shows.

Me: Hey, have you seen Naked and Afraid lately?

Mom: No, too icky! I get enough nausea from seeing Trump on the news every damn day.  Did ya see that other show?

Me: Which one?

Mom: Y’know the one! That SHOW!

Me: Oh, yeah! Sure! THAT one!

Mom: Where the guy is married to all those crazy women?

Me: Sister Wives?

Mom: It’s ridiculous! First off, that man is not attractive AT ALL. And secondly, he’s ugly. What is wrong with all those women? I wanna see a woman married to four men! Let’s see that! Brother Husbands!

Me: Good idea!

Mom: Jeezum crow, did you see what Trump the Dump did now?

Me: Oops, gotta go! Time for more Hatchimal hunting!

And how was your year? Let me know so I can be totes jealz!

Happy holidays, everyone!


It’s Time for Our Annual “Prepare to be Jealous” Newsletter!



duck-dynasty-willie-robertson-chia-petIt’s time once again to reflect on all our accomplishments over the past year! Why? Because the calendar tells us we should, even though time is purely a construct of our minds and doesn’t actually exist! Except when you’re trapped in a mall parking lot with a carload of whining kids searching for that last parking spot so you can buy Aunt Helen the Duck Dynasty Chia Pet at 50% off.

Now let’s get to the bragging!

This year has been filled to the Pepto-Bismol brim with earth-shattering family events! Darla woke up one morning to find a giant crease down the side of her face from sleeping on her pillow’s seam, only to realize a week later it was still there. Because it was a wrinkle. Yes! A hearty congrats to her for continuing her steady decline in both looks and brainpower!

Life is like a box of sad wisps of neck hair.

forrestgump-featherIn other news, Mr. Maineiac decided to save money by cutting his own hair with clippers. Which worked brilliantly until the guard fell off and suddenly Darla realized her lifelong dream of being married to Forrest Gump.

Ew. This dip tastes too “repent your sins now!” to me. Also, too spicy.

We are very pleased to announce our eldest, CJ, attempted once again to be the first 11-year old-boy Seven%20Layer%20Fiesta%20Dipto successfully kick his own ass, only to fall headfirst into the Nativity Scene, launching baby Jesus straight into the Seven-Layer dip. Tasty! Maybe next year, kiddo!

Next year, I’m putting broccoli in her chocolate milk.

My exact hairdo for about one week.
My exact hairdo for about one week.

And finally, our youngest, Little Miss J, cleverly switched out Darla’s shampoo and conditioner for dish soap in celebration of our annual Happy Pranksgiving holiday. While 100 naked Barbies enjoyed perfectly coiffed hairdos, Darla was left to wonder why her hair was as greasy as the puddle of turkey sludge still congealing at the bottom of the oven from Thanksgiving. Well played, Miss J, well played.

Our Vacation

Finally, to celebrate our monumental year of milestones, we took a scenic drive to the local hospital after Darla ended up in traction (again). For several glorious days she dined on green Jell-O and punched the morphine drip button nonstop. “I’ll take  ‘Meds That Might Kill Me’ for 1,000, Alex!”

Here we are, still fresh-faced and deliriously happy in spite of the fact my assbones just shattered.
Here we are, still fresh-faced and deliriously happy in spite of the fact my assbones just shattered.

Happy Holidays

from The Maineiacs!

P.S. If gift-giving this year, please send gin. I’m in Room 204.


(P.P.S. I’m not really in the hospital. I didn’t really buy a Duck Dynasty Chia Pet. But the rest of this newsletter is accurate.)

Humor · Motherhood

The Dude with the ‘Tude


If you’re a parent, you’ve heard of the Elf on the Shelf. Or as I like to refer to him–
The Brilliant Yet Creepy Spawn of Marketing Execs Gone Mad.

Until this Christmas, for years I had managed to live in complete denial this thing even existed, effectively putting blinders on every time I saw his clever little escapades plastered all over my friends’ Facebook feeds. Ooh, look! He’s in Barbie’s swimming pool hanging out with the peeps! Oh, wow! Now he’s zipping across the living room curtains wearing cute little candy canes as skis! Adorable!

The Elf’s supposed purpose? To mesmerize and enchant kids far and wide with the endless possibilities of Santa’s magic.

The Elf’s real more sinister goal? To drive every mom and dad up the fracking wall every night until Christmas.
And boy howdy! Does the jolly lil’ buggah succeed at that one!

As the story goes, (I’m not really clear on details as I rolled my eyes the entire time my son read the Elf on a Shelf book to me) the Elf runs off to see Santa every night.  If your child has been ‘good’, the Elf will return.

But here’s the kicker, he only magically comes back during the night (i.e. when moms and dads should be in a deep sleep) and inevitably ends up getting into some kind of amusing shenanigans. Usually involving things like swimming in a bathtub overflowing with flour and glitter or building a huge replica of the Eiffel Tower in the center of your kitchen floor using peanut butter and pretzels, or messing up your almost completed 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle of brown mice eating chocolate chip cookies in a sandstorm.

Oh, that Elf is a pure delight!

So I’ve decided to jump on this freaky-deaky Elf bandwagon. Because, as we all know, you can’t put a price on a child’s dreams. Or a mom’s nightmares. Just a few of my ideas:
(some may be hallucination-based due to my inability to get a good night’s rest knowing I might wake up to find him very much alive, sitting on my pillow and watching me sleep)

Steve on your sleeve


AH! Dear lord! Get if off! GET IT OFF!

Max in the Flax

Tasty! And keeps hot flashes at bay!
Tasty! And keeps hot flashes at bay!

Phil on the Sill

Sweet dreams!MWA HA HAAA! (constant cackling ensues)
Sweet dreams!
MWA HA HAAA! (nonstop cackling ensues)

John on the John

Just try an' flush me! I double dog dare ya!
Just try an’ flush me! I double dog dare ya!

Todd on the Schrod


…and finally, after Christmas is over and you can kiss that blasted Elf goodbye until next year:

Flynn on the Gin

It's all right. I see them too.
It’s all right. I see them too.

Merry Christmas to all and to all the elves a goodbye!


Embrace Your Inner Bah Humbug

In all my childhood photos, I was always grinning at the camera like a fool.

IMG (2)
Wahoo! Ribbons! Life is good!
Even with four older brothers, I could barely contain my excitement. Or maybe I just farted. Yeah, it was probably that.
Even though I had to deal with four older brothers, I could barely contain my excitement. Or maybe I just burped. Yeah, it was probably that.

People thought of me as an extremely happy child. In report cards, teachers always said the same thing:

Darla is such a quiet and shy child–but always smiling!

I had a certain zest for life back then. Overall, I still do even now, in spite of what the news tells me to feel.

But this time of year, I start to get grumpy. Things begin to get on my nerves. My dark side comes out. Maybe it’s because of the lack of sunlight. Maybe it’s the pressure of everyone telling me to be “merry and bright”. Maybe it’s their insistence that I spread “holiday cheer” and “spend time with loved ones” or “stop yelling at Charlie Brown to buy a real f$#@ing tree for once.”

My therapist tells me it’s good to get these negative feelings out in the open. Own my anger. Clear the air. Be “more real”.

And I think it’s about time I listen to my six year old daughter’s sage advice.

My Christmas Confessional

  • Actually, I didn’t love the movie Love Actually. Not even a little bit Like, Actually.
  • Candy canes are pure evil wrapped in cellophane. Never hang them on your tree or you’ll hear the kids asking you for one morning, noon and night. Opening those suckers without breaking them is impossible. Scissors won’t work. Usually after tearing at them with my teeth for several minutes, I like to grab a hammer, then smash them into peppermint shards and yell, “You want a candy cane? Here! Have it! Merry Christmas! Make sure you stick it in your sister’s hair when you’re done with it because I have the scissors handy!”
  • I think Christmas trees are way too safe and boring nowadays. Whatever happened to stringing up those old lights with the frayed extension cords and the giant bulbs that could melt solid steel? Where’s the lead-laced tinsel? What is my dog supposed to eat now? How will I dispose of her poops by grabbing onto the little tinsel pieces and slinging them over into my neighbor’s yard?

    Hmm... dem purty silver things sure do look mighty tasty!
    Hmm… dem purty silver things sure do look mighty tasty!
  • Why do I fall for drinking egg nog every year? Why does it always taste like nutmeg-flavored milk of magnesia? Why is there never enough rum mixed in there to make me like the movie Love Actually?

    Not enough rum in the world.
    Not enough rum in the world.
  • All I want for Christmas is to never hear Mariah Carey sing that song again. Along with Taylor Swift’s We Are Never Ever, Like Totally, Ever, Like O.M.G! Getting Back Together.
  • Sledding? Overrated.

    Also excruciatingly painful.
    Also excruciatingly painful.
  • Spending the holidays with the in-laws? All hype.
  • I think Santas that are hard of hearing should be fired.  When I was seven, I told him all I wanted for Christmas was a Raggedy Ann clock. He yelled, “What did you say, little girl? A wagon and a rock?! You want a wagon and a ROCK?!” and the entire department store burst into cruel laughter as I cried behind my ugly tortoise-shell eyeglasses. As soon as Santa bellowed those terrible words, spraying spit and tobacco fumes into my sweet angelic face, I knew my Christmases would be forever doomed. My brothers gift wrapped a wagon and a rock for me every year after that fateful day. I never got my Raggedy Ann clock. Thanks for nothing, Santa.

    No! Are you deaf, Santa? Not a rock! Nooooo!!!
    No! Are you deaf, old man? Not a rock! Nooooo!!!
This is why I need therapy.
Sniff. This is why I need therapy.


Whew! Ah! That was so invigorating! I feel so much better now! Thanks for letting me vent. I think Scrooge was onto something.

How about you? Anything you’d like to get off your chest? Any juicy rants about the holidays? Past childhood traumas? Gifts you never received as a kid? C’mon, let ‘er rip, ’tis the season! I won’t judge! Much.

Uncategorized · Video Blog

Happy Holidaze, Maineiac Style!

Many cold winter nights, I toss and turn, sleep as elusive as my dreams of ever having a family Christmas party where no one gets drunk, then fights over the Mayan calendar or who gets to take home Aunt Edna’s hard-as-a-hockey-puck fruitcake. (Something tells me the end of the world and digesting Aunt Edna’s fruitcake are closely linked.)

Still, as bleak as the holidays get, my heart is full of hope.  Hope that one day my block-of-ice feet might be warmed by the coolest thing ever created by sheer ingenuity and a steam iron:

The Go Jules Go and The Byronic Man custom-made queen-sized sheet sets!

That’s right. Two of our favorite bloggers are currently running the Holy Sheet Giveaway, where you can win the chance to drool all over their face/chipmunk’s face/pillowcase every night.

Check out their spectacular videos here and here. Really, go watch them, they make my vlogs look, well…stupid. (Don’t tell me that’s not that hard to do, I know that.)

After that, all you have to do is enter your version of a ‘real’ holiday card. Because nothing says peace on earth more than blatant bitterness.

C’mon, do it! It’s easy!

Even I did it! I crafted my own version of Christmas below. And I am far from tech-savvy. Once I thought I was surfin’ the net on my smart phone and it took a full five minutes before I realized I was holding our garage door opener.


In other news, I’d like to leave you with a little more holiday cheer in the form of yet another vlog.

In vlogs past,  I’ve twirled a baton for you.

I’ve sipped coffee you.

And this time, I sing for you.

That’s right.

I know I’m no Mariah Carey. Or even  Jimmy Fallon. But just humor me, OK?

WARNING: mild profanity is sprinkled throughout (I get a wee bit bitchy this time of year, don’t know why)

Enjoy and catch ya later next year…..

…..if the Mayans are wrong! Haha! Oh, I kill me! It’s funny because it’s not gonna happen! So we can poke fun! Right? Right?! (fingers crossed!)


That Magical White Stuff

This year it’s been a bit hard to get into that Christmas spirit and the holiday groove. One reason for me: No snow.

Finally, this morning the kids and I anxiously opened up the curtains to find a winter wonderland. Reminded me of the moment Ralphie saw snow in the movie A Christmas Story.

Pure Magic.

Lucy's wrong, it's the Just-Before-Christmas snowflakes that taste best.

That's me in the middle, enjoying the snow at 8 years old

Thank you to all of the readers and bloggers out there for sharing your world with me and for visiting mine. I want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and the most Joyous of New Year!