Called Out By Paula

Today I was on the Paula Sands Live show (PSL for you locals) for an article I wrote in the December issue of The Radish magazine. The article is about celebrating the small victories instead of putting so much pressure on yourself, mainly with regards to New Year’s Resolutions. What’s funny is that I wasn’t expecting her to pull up the blog, and suddenly, there we are on live TV, with my blog homepage on the screen, and Paula saying, “So tell me what you’re written recently on the blog that people should read?”



Because I haven’t been exactly faithful to blogging lately, what with the full-time job and three busy kids. And I couldn’t remember what the last thing I wrote was about. I found myself thinking, “Oh Dear God, please don’t let it be anything Whoreticulture Friday-ish,” but thankfully it was only a meme of Jesus talking slang. Because, you know, STANDARDS.

Paula’s peeps haven’t posted the video yet from the segment. When it’s up, I’ll post a link so you can watch me get caught off guard on live TV. But only if you want to waste five minutes of your life. I can’t guarantee it will be worth it.

Merry Christmas, Wifers! Hope you have an excellent new year on the way.



Look at Yourself.

Hello Wifers!

I’m at home with bronchitis! Yay! But I have good drugs and after five nights of NyQuil I’m looking forward to some serious liquid codeine and a good night of sleep.

I still worked today, but from home, which means that I could occasionally troll the Internets for stuff during the times when I would normally be interrupted by co-workers. Or be interrupting other people from their work. Probably the latter, if I’m being honest.

While trolling, I found this awesome article on Huff Post, written by Treva  Brandon:

“What to do when your Bestie becomes a Bitch”

And I sort of laughed. Then I read it, and with the exception of the line “there are still some of us out there who are mature adults,” the author had me. I have friendships that are 40 years old and going strong, and I’ve had a few big flameouts in the last few years. And it’s sad when it happens, but it happens. People change, situations change, lives change. Anyone who knows me in real life knows I’ve gnawed on my share of my foot, and eaten plenty of crow (goes well with a nice cabernet) so I can’t say I make it easy to stick around. I’m pretty opinionated and can be bossy and interrupt people a lot. I will also eat the last cookie.

The reason the “mature adults” line bothers me is that the implication is if you can’t fix the relationship, someone isn’t being a mature adult. The line is a bit judgy, like “I’m the mature adult and she isn’t, so that’s why it didn’t work.” Newsflash – most people aren’t mature adults in fights. Usually there’s plenty of blame all around.

Facebook is an interesting phenomenon. I love seeing people’s pictures of kids and lives and such, but every once in a while there will be a post that I just think, “Does that person know how that really reads?” There is a whole hell of a lot of judgement, some passive, some aggressive. I’ve seen three posts in the last week from people vaguely referring to a wrong someone else has done them. Is Facebook really the place to air that dirty laundry? Those posts just make me uncomfortable. A recent one referenced someone talking about someone. And I know, in the words of REM, Everybody Hurts. It hurts to have people talk about you, and it’s frustrating, and you want to talk about the injustice of it. But, like Sassy Gay Friend, let’s take a look at ourselves.


I sometimes talk about people.

There. I said it.

Do I like that about myself? No. Do I regret it? Yes. Do I think I’m perfect? OH HELL NO.


But if we’re being honest, it’s human nature. I can tell you for damn skippy sure that people who post about being talked about talk about other people. I’m not saying it’s okay to do it, but I am saying that before we get judgy about people talking about people, or someone being immature in an argument, or not being BFF’s, stop. Think. Acknowledge Thyself. What Would Jesus Do?


Thanks be to the, for this awesome meme.

So Wifers. I’m going to take some more cough drugs and think about being a better person. To the friends who are no more, or aren’t quite as close anymore? I’m sorry for my part of it all, and I love you. There was obviously something there once, so thanks for that time. And to the friends who are still here? You are obviously gluttons for punishment, and I love you for it, you crazy bitches.


I’ll Write This Later

Wow. I logged on to the blog account and found that not only had I not posted anything since mid-August, but that some Chinese spam company had apparently taken over the blog and tried to guest post a number of times. I can’t read Chinese, but I’m almost positive that it was really hilarious and better than anything I wrote this year. Or it was about Hong Kong and very threatening. I’m not really sure, the fortune cookie slips don’t cover the translations on “human rights transgressions” or “humor.”

So hi, lingering Wifers! And Mom. Because let’s be honest, Mom, you’re the only one here. So let’s be real with each other.

I really love my new job, and between it and the three humans I built and previously committed to caring for, it’s been pretty batshit crazy around here. But in a totally good way. I’m blogging because today I took the first paid vacation day I’ve had since June 2013, and it’s been AWESOMESAUCE TIMES FIVE. Let me tell you about my day – but first, let me tell you what I’m supposed to be doing: I’m writing a freelance article on Pecha Kucha for the Radish magazine, and it was due a week ago. So I thought to myself, “Self, take a day off and get the article done!” It’s important to note that Oldest Daughter is the lead in the fall play at her high school (not gonna lie, I’m totally bragging there, pretty proud) and The Son is in the middle of cross country season and is in 11th place on the team overall, third for freshmen (not gonna lie, I’m totally bragging there, pretty proud) and Youngest Daughter is rehearsing for the middle school fall play and she got lines as a 6th grader¬†(not gonna lie, I’m totally bragging there, pretty proud) so the freelance article has taken a back seat. But way in the back of the van is Current Husband, because today is his birthday and all I got for him was a card and a Kit Kat.


What I’ve done today, when I’m supposed to be writing my article:

1. Slept in until 6:40. Damn straight.

2. Drove kids to school.

3. Got coffee at Starbucks.

4. Started laundry.

5. Made brownies for cross country dinner tonight.

6. Ordered more flowers for fall play concessions tonight.

7. Ordered tickets for fall play tonight.

8. Washed sheets for bed mother-in-law is sleeping on.

9. Fed George the Superpet.

10. Got on Facebook.

11. Wrote for 10 minutes, realized I didn’t check Twitter.

12. Went to the bathroom all by myself without being in a stall. Bliss.

13. Wrote for another 15 minutes.

14. Checked the Internet to make sure it is still there.

15. Took brownies out of oven. Tested one.

16. Took out garbage.

17. Took out recycling.

18. Did more laundry.

19. Looked around for anything else I could do other than write.

20. Got the mail, looked longingly at George Clooney wedding cover. Denied myself.

21. Sat at computer, wrote 10 words.

22. Pretended to be researching my subject.

23. Talked to George.

24. Took a shower.

25. Texted with OD.

26. Realized I’m so far behind and I’ll never get the article done.

27. Panicked for a bit.

28. Spent 45 minutes writing the rest of the article.

29. Submitted article.

30. Victory dance with George.

31. Took George to McDonald and got the two cheeseburger meal and a coke. Gave George one burger, plain.

32. Checked facebook.

33. Blogged.

34. Now looking at clock and realizing I have 10 minutes until I need to leave to deliver brownies/drinks to cross country dinner, and I’m in a robe and have wet hair.

35. Mild panic.

So now you can see why I never blog anymore. Because I’m not really a writer, I’m a procrastinator who occasionally likes to use the blog to avoid doing other things.

Hope all is well in your lives – I’m off to be the Brownie Fairy, pick up kids, and go to a play! Woot!


Highlights Badge of Shame

Tomorrow is the first day on the new job, or, as I like to call it, The Inevitable March Toward My Unveiling As A Complete Fraud.

I don’t know about all of you, but I feel like every job I’ve ever accepted was something I talked people into during the interview. Because let’s be honest – I can talk a good game. But when push comes to shove, I’m not always certain I have the follow-through. These people really think I can do what I say I can do. When my new boss sent me a congratulatory email, I responded by saying “I hope to live up to my self-promotion.” At least I’m not without honor.

One thing that’s weighing on my for tomorrow is my hair. I’m pretty low-maintenance looks-wise, and my role in this world is to set the bar low for myself so that others may feel more stylish and put together. YOU’RE WELCOME, WORLD. But it was with joy that I pulled up to the salon on Friday evening to get my grays covered. The night before, I was talking at dinner about how excited I was to get my hairs did, and The Son chimed in with “Yeah, Mom, I hate to say it, but I was walking behind you the other day and man, you really have a lot of gray hair.”

Current Husband looked at him and said, “Son, I need to teach you how to talk to women. And that is not it.”

But alas, he’s right. So I walked into the hair place and said, “I’m here to see Jaimie!” and the receptionist looked at me blank-faced and said, “Um, she’s in her last appointment for the night.” Oh no she’s not! She has to make my hair First Day Ready! And then she dropped the bomb. “Your appointment was last night. We tried to call you and nothing picked up.”


I put it in my calendar wrong. (Not so detail-oriented, new boss! Please make a note of it!) And now I have Neapolitan hair with a nice watermark running through it. UGH.

hair diagram

Color grow-out mark indicated by red lines, patches of renegade gray hairs in the blue circles.
It’s everywhere, people.


What this hair says to people is: “I’m too cheap to schedule my color every six weeks, and instead push it to 10-12 weeks, thus growing out my color to a Madonna-like level.” I am wearing my badge of highlighting shame.

Also? My daughters each told me tonight that my breath smells bad. Youngest Daughter said she couldn’t decide if it was my sweater or my breath that reeked during Mass, but then I started singing and apparently the breath won. Freaking kids.

I also ate my way through the weekend, so when I take my new security badge photo tomorrow, which will be with me for THE DURATION OF MY CAREER WITH THIS COMPANY, it will be with me busting out of my pants and Patch Adams grown-out highlights Badge of Shame hair. I can only hope it’s from a such as distance you can’t see my hair, because the photographer will be avoiding my Roadkill Breath.

Little blessings, People. Little blessings.

Hope you have an awesome week, Wifers.