Monthly Archives: January 2013

That’s What Friends Are For


At 1:00 this afternoon, I remembered a coffee date I had set up with a friend, for 1:15 at my place.

My place was a disaster. Not an epic disaster, but a little crunchier than I’d want the general public to see. Also, I hadn’t yet showered.

Quit judging me. My lack of personal hygiene is not the point.

I knew a brief moment of panic, before I realized it was Andrea. It was totally okay that my house was a little gross and that I matched it. She would be cool with that. I really, really love having that brand of friend. It’s like the payoff for all my lousy middle and high school years where I had maybe 2-3 real friends and a bunch of people who talked about me behind my back.

I’m fairly certain this is true of everyone’s middle and high school years. The fact that I even had true friends was a giant blessing.

So yes, I have arrived. And you know what’s even better? She didn’t even laugh (much) when I texted her, wondering where she was, then looked again at our previous conversation and realized I had the wrong Wednesday. Now that is a quality friend.

I love my ladies, yo.


Conversation With Self


Me: Okay, cupcakes for Selby’s class tomorrow, let’s find a recipe.

*pulls up allrecipes* Okay, this one looks good. So does this one. Hmmmm, need to get cocoa.

Real Me: What the hell are you doing, you dumb bitch?

Me: Looking for cupcake recipes. Homemade is better than boxed.

Real Me: For the love of…they’re 3rd graders. They will snarf them up so fast, they’ll be lucky not to eat the wrapper. Use the boxes you have in the pantry.

Me: But…

Real Me: Boxes. Pantry. Now.

I love the Real Me. She’s so smart!

It All Makes Sense Now.


My friend Jenny has a hilarious vlog up today. I recommend you check it out. She really is that adorable. No CGI tomfoolery.

Yeah, I sorta want to punch her sometimes too. She can’t help being cute. Really. It’s some sort of genetic thing. Is there a charity for that?

Anyway. In the spirit of fun and blogger camaraderie, I started drafting a response but I realized that there is a good reason I’m never invited to these parties. My advice went to a dark place. Not suitable for the light and cute themes these other women were pursuing. But it helped me. So here it goes:

Advice to my teenage self.

Holy shit, kid, pull yourself together. Lie to your parents, sneak out and get some help. You are suffering from a disease and even though they don’t want to discuss it, even though they are ignoring your screams for help, IT IS REAL.

You are not a bad person. You are making bad choices. You are attempting to cope with the voices in your head, but it’s not working, baby girl. This is not the way to make yourself feel better. Quit eating your feelings. Quit hurting yourself. Quit lying.

Get some damned help.

Get out of that toxic church group. Ignore that narcissistic ¬†asshole who call himself a youth pastor. He doesn’t care about you. He cares about rewriting his youth and being “cool.” There are some good people in that environment. Find them and tune out the rest.

For God’s sake, tell someone what is going on. It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to be paralyzed by sadness, anger and anxiety.

It will get better. I promise.

See what I mean? I wonder if if there was help, way back then in the 80’s. I don’t know. There’s help now and I’m so incredibly grateful for it, I could (and do) cry.

And for the record, I did not have the chin on hand pose. Mine was cheek on hand. In front of aqua fans. Lord.

I am also guilty of excessive spiral perming.

How Weight Loss and Whitesnake Are Related



Here’s the problem with eating well and exercising on the reg.

When you stop, you feel like shit. Adding insult to injury, you remember how great it felt when you were doing right by yourself.

I repeat: Ugh.

Here I go again, on my own. Like Tawny Kitaen on the hood of a Jag.

Actually, like two Tawny Kitaens.

I spelled Tawny Kitaen right on my first try, but misspelled injury. Clearly I need to change my ways. And maybe add some Whitesnake to my workout playlist.

Hello, My Name Is Judgemental Asshole


We all have deeply held beliefs we are passionate about. I have many. They don’t always line up with each other, but they make sense to me and that’s what counts.

But every once in a while, hearing those beliefs expressed makes you feel like an ass.

Treating each other well is one of my fundamental tenets. It’s why I support equality, civil rights and good manners. It’s why I haven’t let my son join Boy Scouts. I object to their treatment of homosexuals. I recognize they have every right to enforce that policy. They are a private organization with a religious base. I also have a right not to support them. Which I exercise. Vocally.

Enter the asshole.

Today, as I waited for my kids to get out of school, a young man was wearing an Eagle Scout uniform and being harangued by a mother (not his own, obviously) about the policies of Boy Scouts. This poor kid was near tears as the grown woman continued to shout at him. So I calmly intervened. (Lie. I yelled.)

“How would you react if this young man were being harassed for being gay?” I turn to the kid, “I’m not saying you’re gay or anything.”

She looked at me, blankly.

“He is not responsible for Boy Scouts. He’s a kid. It’s not his fault. Leave him alone.” I stomped off to wait for my kids. She left. So did the kid.

And fuming, I heard myself delivering that same rant. Multiple times. Because the policy pisses me off.

But it isn’t the kids fault. So all those times I refused to buy popcorn? All the times I ranted and raved, once in front of a woman I didn’t know had a son in Scouts? I was just as horrible as that lady.

I am so ashamed. SO ASHAMED! I could have (and will in the future) make a cash donation to the troop. It benefits the boys directly and isn’t funneled through the organization. Perfect compromise. I will also quit hollering about a policy I find offensive. Unless I come face to face with an actual representative of the national organization. Then I reserve the right to go completely mental on his ass.

I know several great parents whom I admire and respect that have sons involved in Scouting. Their sons are great kids. And they truly enjoy it. So who am I to crap all over that experience? I come back to a post I put on Facebook that probably offended some people. ( I know, you’re shocked.)

“Political views are like genitalia. Everyone knows you have them, but only a select few are interested in seeing them.”

I need to shut the hell up, lest I become what I hate.

Lying To Myself


No, I don’t look in the mirror and say, “I’m not fat, I’m voluptuous,” or anything like that. That’s not a lie, it’s a malicious fairytale, like thinking “Brickhouse” or “Baby Got Back” really apply to women over 200 pounds. They don’t.

I lie to myself in the mornings. The alarm goes off at 6 am and I hit the snooze. Twice. Okay, three times. But at 6:22, the dialogue begins.

Sleepy Jen: Noooooo

Mommy Jen: If we don’t get up, the morning is going to suck harder than a Dyson.

Sleepy Jen: 5 more minutes.

Mommy Jen: That 5 minutes is lunch making time. Get up.

Sleepy Jen: 4 minutes.

Mommy Jen: Get your fat ass outta bed and wake up the kids, damn it.

Sleepy Jen: 3. In 3 minutes, it’ll be 6:30. That’s a nice even number.


Sleepy Jen: I’ll get up in 1 more minute. I promise.

Mommy Jen: If you get up now, we’ll take a nap when we get home. I swear. No computer, no coffee, just right back into bed.”


And Sleepy Jen, that stupid bitch, falls for it every time. Because she’s tired and wrapped in wonderful sheets. She’s not remembering that yesterday they had this same conversation. She’s completely forgotten that when they got home, Mommy Jen was invigorated by the walk and said, “I just have to check Facebook real quick, and then, we’ll take a nap. Pinkie swear.” They were on the computer for hours. They had coffee. A cup for each of them. They watched Live wIth Kelly and Michael because Mommy Jen has a FAT crush on Michael Strahan and Sleepy Jen doesn’t find him hard on the eyes either. And that was it. Nap forgotten.

Sleepy Jen is gullible as hell, you guys.