Almost every day at lunch break, my friend Pam and I go for a power walk. We go up and down and all over the east side of Providence wearing our work dresses, statement necklaces, tights with boot socks still pulled up to the knee with our sporty shoes on.

We are fancy.

We almost always end up at Rite Aid for somethingorother; many times it’s chocolate and tampons.

The same cashier is always there. Her name is Joanne. We see her every single day and she never gives any indication that she’s seen us before. It’s been nearly four years. There should be some sort of rapport by now, but nope. Nothing.

We’re just two more customers to get out of her way so she can go back to sticking orange clearance stickers on hideous bottles of nail polish and expired boxes of Cheeze-Its.

At first, Pam and I were hurt that Joanne doesn’t want to be friends with us, but then Pam had a revelation and diagnosed her with Facial Blindness which we thought was a thing that only existed on Arrested Development, but turns out it’s the real deal and Joanne’s got it.

This works out for Pam and me because most of our purchases are embarrassing–especially the purchase I made last week.

You see, I’ve been having some irregularity issues because: 40.

And I have a friend who’s a doctor and she is kind enough to humor my hypochondriacical tendencies. She instructed me that 1) it’s not colon cancer and 2) to take a probiotic and some Citrucel. So, I had the probiotics and had already started taking them, but had to pop into Rite Aid to get the Citrucel.

Whilst purchasing said Citrucel, I had an incident.  It was loud, proud and quickly filled Rite Aid with the smell of probiotics doing noble work.

I was the only customer in line.

It was undeniable.

Oh god.

Pam wasn’t with me that day, so I had to endure the entire walk back to work choking on my own laughter to the point of sputtering and gagging, bag of Citrucel swinging expectantly at my side.

So, this is why I’m actually glad that Pam had diagnosed Joanne with Facial Blindness because I can still go into Rite Aid and know that Joanne has no idea I’m the one who did it.  In fact, she may not remember it at all because who knows what’s she’s got going on upstairs?

She’s somewhere in her 50’s and she’s a cashier at Rite Aid. ‘Nuff said.

College ain’t for everybody, guys.

If Joanne were able to recognize us, I would ask her to sign a HIPPA because the things Pam and I purchase would certainly warrant such a thing.  Pam and her husband, Ethan, are on the baby train and Joanne was very helpful in determining if the buy one get one free sale applied to both ovulation predictor kits AND pregnancy tests.  It did.  Hooray for Pam!

And since Pam is still not with child (sad face here), Joanne won’t think anything of it when we go in for tampons and chocolate (for the one billionth time).

Only Joanne knows how much chocolate Pam and I consume in one week. It would disturb anyone except her because she doesn’t remember we just bought three bags of M&M’s yesterday and we’re back for more a mere 24 hours later.

Even Monica the ninjarapist (that’s ninja-therapist not ninja rapist, although she’s badass enough to rape a ninja and get away with it) knows Joanne since her office is across the street.  We talked about it in therapy and she agrees.  Facial blindness is the only answer.  We also considered professionalism but quickly ruled it out because sometimes we like to be mean because sometimes being mean in private therapy is very therapeutic.

Anyway, my only regret from that day is that I didn’t say: “I hope that’s the last asshole you hear from today.”

Hindsight is a bitch.



This is Stannis Mattise Voltaire.

Pretentious name, I know but wtf, it took us two weeks and we couldn’t decide on only one pretentious name, so we picked them all. We call him “Stannie” and he seems to like it.

That’s Talus’ butt there next to the pool. We got Stannis just before putting Talus on transport to be reunited with Ehpa, Eric, Xanax and HulkSmash!.

Any reasonable person might ask: “why would some already overwhelmed people decide to bring home 70 lbs of more work?”

Well, we were desperate and lonely and sad about losing our friends and so the only way we could get any sort of piece of them back into our daily lives was to get a dog just like theirs.

We specifically asked GPA Mass for a dog just like Talus, and they had one, so we went and picked him up.

Turns out, he’s not exactly like Talus.

Temperament wise, yes. Exact same dog, but Stannis has a particular list of talents that far exceeds those of our beloved Talus.

Here, let me list the talents for you (in no particular order of importance):

  • He plays fetch. Greyhounds do not play fetch. They are racing dogs. How this sonofabitch learned how to play fetch is beyond me. Maybe he had a fun trainer or whatever,  but he played fetch for hours for the first two weeks we had him. And then, he quit. We throw his favorite ball and he just looks at us like, “wtf? Like, you expect me to like, bring it back or some shit?  Fuck that noise. Immma go lay down now.” He thinks he’s been cute and fun for long enough. The end.
  • He likes to hang out in the little green kiddie pool we bought just for him because we brought him to the beach and he loved wading in the water. We ran right out that very day and got the last pool they had at Toys ‘R Us. Strapped it to the roof of the car and everything. He used it twice and then he quit that too for same reason as above. Unless! We’re at the dog park and there’s a muddy puddle. He’ll lay down in there no problem because: fuck your new car.
  • He sheds worse than a cat. Greyhounds are non-shedding dogs.  Nobody told him.
  • So far he has eaten: a beanie baby that he ripped open and then dragged all over the house (the vacuum cleaner just pushes the beans around, so you have to and suck them up individually with the hose for approximately three hours solid), multiple Calico Critters which are Homeslice’s fave and mega expensive, a pair of flip flops, a Lalaloopsie and a stuffed squirrel as well as multiple sandwiches and other stuff the kids leave around.
  • He can turn two cups of dog food into ten cups of dog shit.
  • He pissed on Mister’s camera bag and forced mommy to play the “hurry up and steam mop/unpack/wash camera bag/replace everything before daddy gets home so we don’t have an animal abuse case on our hands” game.  I LOVE that game!

Vivi and Alice like just fine, Big Pussy is dead now so he doesn’t give two fucks about Stannis Matisse Voltaire.  He’s way too busy rotting in the ground to be concerned with such things.

Stannie is a pretty ok guy and super sweet and calm, so despite all of his foibles, we love him anyway.

Dogs: they wreck shit and piss on stuff.  If you don’t like broken shit and urine everywhere, don’t get a dog.

This is why (among soooo many other reasons) we can’t have nice things.


What are your dog’s special talents?



For those of you who don’t know, we have lost Ehpa and Eric. They had to move very far away since Eric does something very specific and artsy and although there are plenty of jobs, and he was in quite high demand, none of them were local. The best offer was a great (and pretty much the ONLY) opportunity for their family, but a total freaking bummer for us.

Not acceptable.

We tried to keep them here.  Eric even considered becoming a mason, doing bathroom tiles if there was work to keep what had become a family and a happy life in Rhode Island together but alas, they had to go. I even tried to talk Ehpa into installing a shower cam, but she wouldn’t do it because she doesn’t love me enough.

Cross country moves are a total dick in the ear. I feel sorry for them.

Xanax and HulkSmash! became our children and Girlfriend and Homeslice’s best friends. The relationship worked in every way and combination imaginable. This is unlike family, who you don’t get to choose but have to live with anyway, we got to become a functional family of our own choosing.

We laughed, cried and consumed alarming amounts of vodka sodas, wine, whatever. We did topless tequila body shots (photos are private, sorry) and we ruined their religion (one that of course prohibited any kind of fun whatsoever) in under 6 weeks of knowing us.

Feather firmly placed in cap for that one.  The QOFE’s are forfuckingreal. Warn your children!

We had Taylor Swift dance parties (we changed the words from “Feeling 22” to “Feeling 39”) and we sang all the lyrics to Cake songs even though we got them wrong a lot, we did what we could to keep up.

(Sans vodka, we prolly woulda nailed that shit.)

We ate Ehpha’s special recipe for floor chicken and choked down many an inadequately prepared dinner multiple times a week.

We Skype and Facetime and text and facebook message, but it’s really hard to have floor chicken that way. Technology, please try to keep up with our needs. You cannot taste the minuscule dirt from Ehpa’s special floor chicken recipe via Skype.

Make it happen, bitch!

Maybe I can replicate it for you guys: basic recipe involves placing a chicken in the oven. Open bottle of wine, drink all of it and only think about it for like an hour until after a full bottle of wine is gone.  After wine-thirty, nobody (particularly Ehpa) is able to remove the chicken from the oven without it getting dropped on the floor. Of course everyone’s floor chicken will taste differently depending on what’s on your floor.

My floor chicken would taste like dog hair, dog pee and sandbox sand.  Her’s had more of a nice spice to it—kinda like a combo of salt and pepper, dog hair and dust.

I feel like eating dirt off the floor is a benefit because immunity systems are being strengthened.

AND dinner is fuckin’ ready for the hungry, screaming, whining masses of children!

Parenting, partying, dinner and immunity strengthening all done in one fell swoop.

Done and done.

Special note to Ehpa: “Happy, free, confused and lonely in the worst way.  It’s miserable and magical.”

Have any of you  Queefies lost your bffs?  how did you deal with that loss?


No, I am not pregnant, conclusion jumpers.

Hey there.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything as our friend Brittany so eloquently pointed out.

That’s because it’s true what they say: “you can’t have it all.”

You cannot.

Full time job, two kids, three dogs (one you have not met yet but will super soon), house, yard, pool, garden, goldfish, dishes, cooking, packing lunches, doing laundry, cleaning just so the place doesn’t get condemned, picking up toys, consuming alarming amounts of vodka/wine/Citrucel, exercising so I don’t go insane, applying multiple anti-aging products, etc. takes a shitload of time.

And well?

Even though I have missed this blog and all of you good people, I have not been able to carve out the time to keep it all up. I’m sure you understand, and I’m sure many of you are in the same position: life is overwhelming as all fuck and it seems to just pick up speed every day.

That being said, and I know I’ve said this before, but I am coming back.

I’m not sure how often but I’m going to promise at least two posts per week. I have a list of great ideas. All will be executed. This, I promise to you all and to myself as I have to get back in touch with the person who used to come to the blog and laugh at how absurd life is. Right now, I see absurd and take a Xanax and go cry in my car.

This is totally unacceptable behavior.

Life is too short not to share what’s stupid and absurd and laugh about it with your friends. I need my friends back.

I need you guys.

So here I am, coming back and making a promise that I will be here for you, and I know you will be here for me. Let’s laugh at shit again because life is fucking funny. It’s absurd. And we all have the same struggles. That’s why we come to this blog.

I speak for us all: the ugly, the victorious, the hilarious assholes we have to deal with in the world and the dog pee on the floor you just mopped mere moments ago.

This is the good stuff. This is life.

If we don’t all get together and laugh, well, then we’ll all pop Xanies and go cry in the car.

I am back and you are back and we will have lots of fun together.

So, whilst you wait for the next post, which may come again really soon, take a look around at the new place and tell me what you think. A few new categories will be added, the look is different, which I owe all to the lovely Ms.Brittany (aka Mediacrisis). She’s been goading me into this and finally took matters into her own hands and took over the old blog, made it mobile friendly and gave it a new look. Many thanks to her and also hopes for an occasional blog contribution because she is all sortsa awesome.

Things may change here and there as I have time for tweaks, but for now this is what it is. I hope you like it and I hope you come back. I miss our old gang. You all meant more to me than you ever imagined.

Love and many kisses to you (some with tongue and some without depending on how well we know one another)


This is my solemn vow.