From the office of me.
In case you missed my announcement in front of the second floor Hot Topic at the Mall of America, I declare myself to be the winner of the 2020 Presidential election and the 46th President of the United States of America. I’d like to thank my supporter, my mother, and let the American people know we are ready to make America me again.
Our campaign is actively engaged in the peaceful transition of power which I will outline below. I have received congratulatory messages from three of my four deceased grandparents. After I find my tarot cards, I expect to hear from Grandma Gerry very soon. Jon Snow has sent a raven supporting our victory and pledges the support of all the free folk. …
I can tell you the exact moment I knew I was racist. Four years ago my son and I went to a black family’s house for a play date. The kids got along great. Both a bit shy but shared a few giggles over a fish puzzle.
After a glass of wine and half a bag of chips my friend got a text.
Oh good. My husband’s class got out early. You’ll be able to meet him.
Her husband was getting on a bus from downtown. He was taking evening classes earning his MBA.
I got nervous. What if my sheltered four year old says something inappropriate when he sees a large black man come through the door? Will he be scared? Will he act weird? Should I take him aside and use this as a teachable moment? …
Being a failed crafter, writer, singer, painter, actor, improvisor (Yuck. I know.) banjo playing greeting card designing entrepreneur; this forced stay-cation and universal reset should be a blessing.
The creative playing field is as equal as it’s ever going to get. Chris Cuomo and Jon Oliver are filming from their basements.
Celebrities are making terrible Instagram choices and every starlet who’s Zooming has to do her own hair and makeup.
Not so hot without your cinematographer…
But this isn’t about hating on A-listers.
This is about me.
I am failing this pandemic.
Even this post which could be a brilliant, thoughtful, rich and insightful window into my soul destined to go viral, is just a self serving, rambling mess. …
Many things define who we are before we get here. Are you a summer baby or a Christmas miracle? What’s your birthstone? Birth order? How about your birth story?
I had two distinct pregnancies and births. Both defined how I feel about myself and motherhood. Do they also define how I feel about my children?
There’s the whole first born, heir and a spare, dynamic. All parents are more relaxed and along for the ride with the second kid. You know how car seats work. You have nookies and bottles in a box somewhere. Everything that comes after the first is a bonus. …
Do you need that adrenaline rush of sneaking in the side door without your boss spotting you? Enjoy getting dirty looks from your co-worker who has way too much time on her hands and just all around sucks? Then follow this easy morning routine to make sure you are 15 minutes late to work every day!
One of the best things you can do to make sure you are late is to hit the snooze button. You want the alarm close enough so you can hit it without having to get up or even change your position. If you set your alarm a few minutes early to get in some squats and lunges, no worries. …
I love me some good conversation starters. Ice breakers. Parlor games designed to get to the heart of your inner most fears and insecurities. My husband and I will be celebrating 12 years of wedded bliss this year. 17 years sharing a bed and a bathroom. There’s only so many stories to retell and boy do we feel like losers trying to sort out our kid’s constipation problem over a bottle of Shiraz.
I’m a fan of the listicles. “25 questions that will make you fall in love with anyone!” “Ten things to ask your partner!” “Six things parents should be talking about right now!” There’s also the favorites…who living or dead would you have dinner with. The five celebrities your partner gets to have sex with. …
I’m over 40 so I still think Facebook is cool. It’s a 24/7 high school reunion. I get Likes from my mom’s cousin twice removed. I can creep on that guy I dated who became surprisingly Christian. The perfect humble bragging time wasting platform. Sure, it’s dismantling democracy, but hey, nothing’s free.
I’m snug in a liberal bubble so it’s not often I get a good debate going on my wall. After El Paso and then Dayton, I shouted my progressive prayers into the void. A former co-worker of mine took the bait and responded to an article I posted.
It was great to hear from him. He’s a heck of a good guy. It had been years and I’d forgotten we were connected. (Thanks Facebook!) We often had light hearted, civil, political banter. …
I’m a lazy activist, someone who will show up to march if it’s not raining. The person who signs up to volunteer but never picks a date. As much as I want to unplug, isn’t that the least I can do? Stay informed? Stay angry? Remain baffled and depressed?
Ignorance might be bliss but being complacent is being complicit. Or something like that, I saw it on a meme.
So I read. I share. I like and comment. I watch CNN in between Sponge Bob episodes. …
Something icky happened to me this week. Twice. A bike weirdo picked a fight with me and my kids. Twice. I won’t bore you with the details. It was mostly an obnoxious attempt to educate me on the rules of the road and cyclist’s rights. Try saying that fast three times: cyclist’s rights cyclist’s rights cyclist’s rights.
Bottom line, I asked someone to stop and they didn’t. I wanted to call the police but what would I say? A virgin with a go Go Pro lectured me about parking restrictions? …
Before I became a parent, I had a lot of opinions on parenting. (Please, somebody punch me in the face.)
What’s all the fuss about? I know kids, okay. It’s not that hard. (Really, somebody punch me in the face.)
It’s time for me to make my walk of atonement. To beg for the mother’s mercy and confess.
It’s time to speak out against the fake news of Pinterest and Instagram feeds and see how many Pinocchio’s my big dumb mouth deserves.
Let’s start at the beginning.
Fact: being pregnant sucks. Sucks bad. Sucks like wetting your pants and having another human being scratching you from the inside, bad. Sucks like constant google searches for “viability” and “stillborn rates,” bad. …