While you’re out there, I’ll be in here

Here are all the things I’ll be doing this weekend while everyone else is getting hammered in a crowded, shitty bar in face paint that is flaking off or wearing a costume five other people are also wearing.


  • Not waking up hungover.


  • Yoga and maybe more yoga.


  • Watching Will & Grace on Hulu. I’m on the last season.

  • Watching the new season of Stranger Things.

  • Reading a good book.


  • Maybe I’ll watch Hocus Pocus. That movie’s rad.


  • And basically not leaving my apartment except during daylight hours. Maybe.


Happy weekend before Halloween. Be safe out there!



The best birthday gifts when you’re 30

I didn’t really have a formal birthday celebration this year. Part of the reason for this was that the dark cloud of November bled into the first part of December. Harrison’s grandmother passed away the day after he came back from visiting her, which was less than a week before my birthday. Harrison had to leave again pretty quickly for the funeral.

While he was gone, I did enjoy dinner and drinks with a few friends, I watched my sister try on wedding dresses (weird), and I took my sister to see Tig Notaro. Harrison bought the tickets as a birthday gift.

Harrison came back early the morning of my birthday. Of course he came ready to make the day all about me. He picked up breakfast on his way home, and he had more gifts he had been waiting to give me.

We spent the day doing the things we love together like Yin Yoga and artisan coffee. Spending a whole day together is something we don’t get to do much lately.

We saw a movie and had dinner with my parents. It was during our dinner conversation that I realized how much I have to be grateful for at 30. I have grandparents who are only in their 70s and are still in relatively good health. Harrison just lost his last grandparent at 27. I am very lucky. I have parents who are healthy and would have my back if I really needed them.

These are the best gifts as we all move deeper into this shit show we know as adulthood- things we’ve always taken for granted. Maybe it was the lack of any formal celebration that helped me to see with more clarity that the best gift is time spent or the ability to still spend time with those we care about.


I have no idea if I’m using “Addendum” correctly, by the way.

I went to the doctor the day after my birthday. I already had the day off, and I needed to renew my birth control prescription. This is VERY important. I went in preparing myself to be violated with a metal or plastic tool resembling a duck’s beak, but then my doctor said, “I looked at your results from last year, and it was normal, so we don’t need to do a pap this year unless you want to.”

Serious question- Who would respond to this with, “Yes, please. I would very much like you to fondle my lady-bits for medical purposes?” NO ONE WOULD!

I sent Harrison a text when I left thanking him for not giving me HPV… although it’s more surprising that I didn’t get it from one of the idiots who preceded him.

My doctor did want to do a breast exam. Fine. Necessary. Important. While, she was feeling around my boobies, she also had her head cocked to the side to read the tattoo on my rib cage. I love that tattoo, so I was happy to discuss it…while lying on my back…arm overhead…her hand to my tits. I can’t decide if it would have been more weird if we had been silent.

She also wanted to do blood work and look at all my “levels.” A couple days later, I got a phone call that went like this:

Medical Assistant: Hi, I’m calling from Dr. Leopold’s office. I have your results if you have a sec.

Me: Ok.

MA: So she wanted to do a full panel and check your liver, kidney function, cholesterol… all of that.

Me: Ok.

MA: Everything’s normal.

Me: That it?

MA: Yep.

Me: Ok. Thank you.

It was a lot of build-up for normal. On that note, I will say that I am incredibly grateful for my health.

Bring it on 3rd decade.

I don’t usually remember my dreams, but when I do…

I’d be really cool with it if I remembered 0% of my dreams because on the rare occasion that I do remember my dreams, I wonder what in holy hell is wrong with my brain. It ruins my day.

Once I dreamt that I broke up with Harrison for a guy I work with and we lived in a house that resembled something one might see on Hoarders, and there were lots of cats. I imagine excessive cat keeping is also something that happens on Hoarders. Everything in my dream looked a little bit brown, like my whole dream was in sepia tone. Now, this makes no sense for a few reasons. First of all, thanks but no thanks on the dipping of my pen in the company ink. And second, this particular fellow is allergic to cats. It would never work.

Another time, I dreamt that Harrison went to jail for something horrible. Harrison really gets screwed over in my dreams. What the hell, subconscious?

I blame Ghostbusters for last night’s bizarro nightmare. I had a dream that a paranormal entity had invaded my house and tried to inhabit the bodies of my cats for purposes of cat murder. I had to protect them in my dream because no one (dead or alive apparently) messes with Miles and Billie. Do you have any idea how hard it was to leave for work this morning? They were all alone all day, probably hiding from evil cat killing ghosts.

And that is why it would be fine if I remembered exactly none of my dreams.

P.S. Totally see Ghostbusters because there are four hilarious and amazing women in it. I hope you do not have weird dreams about pet possession like I did.



My relationship is really a prison of judgment

Me: Can you get me a La Croix (pronounced La Crotch, which is what my co-workers decided on since no one seems to know how to actually pronounce this) out of the fridge?

Harrison: Ugh, I don’t know if I like that (meaning how I pronounce the brand of delicious sparkling water). Are you up to like three of these a day now?

Me: So? It’s zero calories.

Harrison: The only thing you’ve done more than drink these is watch this show. (He’s talking about the almost 4 whole seasons of Billy on the Street I’ve watched this week.)

Me: That won’t be the case much longer because I’m almost done with it. Also, they’re short episodes, and there’s only like 10 episodes a season.

Harrison is really judgmental.

P.S. I bet someone will judge my relationship based on the contents of this post. It’s a never-ending cycle.

Beer + Fireball = Bloated Fire-breathing Dragon

I haven’t posted here in almost 2 weeks. It’s been a busy couple of weeks, people. Sorry about that, but here I am to tell you a story of how I was reminded why I don’t partake in certain activities and drink certain kinds of booze.

Remember this post from WAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYY back when I started this thing? I’ll wait.

You good?

Great. Let’s talk about Saturday night.

I went to a yoga class at 5:30 (more on this topic later). I was feeling pretty damn amazing about myself for getting to a class on a Saturday, at a studio that I don’t particularly enjoy, due to the height of the horse the yoga-bitches who work there seem to be on, so I wanted to get out of the house and take advantage of my momentary confidence. I ended up with a friend who was out celebrating with her friends celebrating a birthday.

This is a big fucking deal for me? I spent several hours with a bunch of strangers. Catch me on the wrong day, and the thought of this makes me curl up in the fetal position and sob.

We left a perfectly acceptable restaurant/bar with a lengthy beer list and moved to an awful place in the middle of Downtown where the worst people in Denver and ill-advised tourists go on Saturday nights. At this point, I had consumed 2 beers in 2 hours – the pace of someone who prefers to remain mentally intact. But I was in shithead territory, so of course, a couple of 21-year-old twerps plowed into me as a result of a hug turned tackle, spilling part of beer number 3 onto my friend’s husband.

I’m going to take this moment to address all the young, peppy, bar-goers who still have energy after 11pm. Stop. Please stop. Yes, I was on your turf, but someone needs to help you before you bring your shit behavior to the places adults go to drink. If you are in a crowded bar, it is not the time to run to your friend and aggressively hug them. They’ve probably been drinking for a while, making you the bowling ball to their wobbly pin. People will topple. I would also be pleased if I never saw a group of girls take a selfie in the mirror of a bar bathroom again. You look ridiculous, but at least that doesn’t cause injuries.

Later, my friend’s friend, whose birthday party I sort of felt like I crashed, REALLY wanted to do shot with everyone. Fireball. I don’t remember the last time I did a shot of any kind, but I didn’t want to be rude. And as much I loved the craft beer I’d been drink all night, craft beer comes with a price. You will pay in the likelihood that someone will mistake you for pregnant. See where I’m going with this? Bloated fire-breathing dragon.

This seems like an accurate representation.

I left that bar with a beer baby and cinnamon lingering on my tongue, but I was mentally intact even after the shot. I had an engaging conversation about feminism that I clearly recall. I came home and went to bed, feeling proud of myself for not sitting on the couch all night and for socializing with strangers.

At about 6:30am on Sunday morning, I was hovered over toilet.

Thanks, body. And also, fuck you.

The End.

Stop the presses everyone! I wore a skirt today.

It has happened everyone. Hell has frozen over, pigs are flying, and I, the Sultan of schlump, courter of comfort, wore a skirt today. You would have thought my more-feminine-than-usual outfit was a damn sign of the apocalypse given peoples’ reactions.

There was no occasion; I did not have a job interview I was sneaking off to or any plans after work. I purchased something, and then I wore it. That’s the whole story. I put no more effort into myself than usual, except that I was also wearing tights, which automatically means that you have to put forth a smidge more effort throughout the day, particularly with bathroom breaks.

Look, I realize that of those I most closely associate with, one of them should probably quit her job and accessorize for those of us who can’t accessorize for ourselves, one could drape herself in road kill and look gorgeous, and one knows what Louis Vuitton means. Oh and they all wear heels. Often. I do not. If I did, I would probably be filled with more rage than the time a gave up carbs and mostly avoided sugar for two weeks. Inevitably, someone would end up with a heel in the eye. By comparison, I’m frumpy as fuck, so a skirt is surprising.

Let me wear a skirt in peace, damnit! Otherwise my self-deprecating self will look myself up and down and regret the moment I looked in the closet and thought that red skirt I JUST FREAKING BOUGHT was a decent idea to wear to work. Allow me to demonstrate: When I got dressed in the morning, I didn’t notice that my new skirt really brought out my diaper ass. That’s what I call the kind of ass that is disproportionately large but doesn’t have a great shape; its mostly dimply, and abnormally unimpressive. Also, I mistakenly wore black tights with black flats which made me look a little like a librarian or maybe a nun, but I wore them because I’m weird about showing my legs. Why? I don’t know, maybe because my legs are an extension of my diaper ass and possess some of the same weird qualities. Oh and chaffing is a problem. Beauty is pain, right? Fuck you, no I don’t have a thigh gap.


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Maybe I’ll try this another time with better footwear.

P.S. I looked up the feminine form of “sultan” as I wrote the first part of this post. In case you were wondering, it’s “sultana,” but it doesn’t mean anything royal or authoritative; it’s another word for concubine. This is why the feminist movement exists, folks.

The kids are saying what now?

I’m apparently too old to understand things at this point.

Scenario 1

Me: I did not know what “Netflix and chill” actually meant for a really long time.

Harrison: Wait… really?

Me: No, and I definitely said it to at least one person before I knew what it meant. I thought it meant actually watching Netflix for an extended period of time, which I am really really good at and can completely understand.

Harrison: Sure, by yourself, but when you invite another person to “Netflix and chill,” it means something different. It means you’re doin’ it.

Me: I’m still confused. So if you’re by yourself it means actually watching Netflix…alone? Doing nothing else? But if you invite someone to “Netflix and chill,” it means doin’ it?

A quick aside- Can someone please confirm this for me, so I do not use this incorrectly ever again?

Harrison: Yes.

Me: It never even occurred to me.

Harrison: Think about when we first started dating. You’d come over, the internet wouldn’t work right, or we just wouldn’t watch things that we put on because we were more interested in other things.

Me: I guess that’s true.

Harrison: Now we actually watch stuff and do it later.

Me: Right.

Scenario 2

There’s a song called “Cake by the Ocean.” I’d never heard of it before a co-worker brought it up. My initial thought was that it seemed a little impractical to eat cake while sitting by an ocean. Cake is great; the ocean is lovely, but I don’t know why anyone would want to have those two things together. Obviously sand would contaminate your cake, and it would no longer be an enjoyable dessert.

Little did I know, the word “cake” does not always mean a delicious, fluffy dessert, topped with the frosting of your choosing. Thank you Urban Dictionary for clearing this up for me.

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I would like to assert that I despise the word “pussy.” What the fuck is “caking?” 
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And there we have it.  

You’ve heard this absurd song whether you know it or not, unless the rock you live under is somehow larger than the one I live under. That’s a Jonas Brother, right?

I still have a lot of questions.