The Ribbon Eaters: Who Are They?

These aren’t the bunnies my kids have, but you can tell that it has a REAL FUCKING RIBBON around its neck. Right??????

I got home early from work today. All alone in the house.

Just me, the animals …

And a shit ton of Easter candy.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? These kids will never even notice anything’s gone.

As I’m inspecting the stash, I notice something strange about the giant chocolate bunny my kids have eaten the ears off of. First, the front of its box states that it is




Which, what does that even mean? Chocolate flavored WHAT????? Gross. I don’t even want to know.

But that’s not the weirdest thing about it. The bunny has a green ribbon tied around its neck, made of satin or whatever the hell they make ribbons out of. Like, it’s a legit ribbon. Any dummy could see that.

However, the warning on the side panel of the box states, “DECORATIVE RIBBON IS NOT EDIBLE.”

Do you realize what this means? They had to put that warning on there because at some point, some dumbass ATTEMPTED TO EAT THE RIBBON. I know. I can’t believe it, either. So what happened was, either this person is so clueless on the way the world works, they thought it was food, choked and sued the company that makes the milk chocolate flavored bunnies. OR … this person was so SMART that they realized there was NO warning NOT to eat the ribbon, so they tried eating it, feigned choking, the lawsuit followed, and BAM, the rest of us are being treated like Grade A morons.

Either way, my mind is kind of blown. That I live in the same world, breathe the same air, as The Ribbon Eaters. I just … I … I can’t.

Just when I think I understand humanity, something like this comes along and shows me that I know nothing.


Nerd Alert

My husband said that I shouldn’t tell this story because it’s embarrassing. But honestly, if anyone’s going to embarrass me, it’s going to be me. So here we go.

I took my kids to Game Stop to sell back a bunch of games. My older kid picked the new UFC game for PS4. We brought it up to the counter and the (female) Game Stop worker asked us if we watched WWE.

“We used to,” I said, which is the truth. It’s been probably two years since my older son was hard core into WWE. And by “my older son,” I mean, my husband and I.

“Do you know who Shane McMahon is?” she asked.

“Yeah, he’s Vince’s son,” I answered. Already showing my WWE chops.

“Well, he gets to fight Undertaker at Wrestlemania and if he wins, Vince is going to give him WWE,” she informed me.

“Oh, ok,” I said, losing interest. Like, just ring me out, weirdo.

“Of course,” she continued, “He’s going to lose because Undertaker has never lost at Wrestlemania.”

FALSE. And I cannot believe I am having this conversation, but here it goes, because the next thing I say is, “Well, he did lose the one time. To …” and then amazingly, no joke, I can’t remember who it was he lost to. Fortunately my child filled in the name: Brock Lesnar.

“Oh, that’s right,” Game Stop Chick said. “Well, that was just the one time. He probably won’t lose again.”

“No, probably not,” I said, swiping my card through the reader thing and wishing none of this had happened.


My new least favorite airport

Charlotte, congratulations.

You have just surpassed Atlanta Hartsfield as my most-hated airport. (I once had to almost spend the night in the Atlanta airport and I have not forgotten. Luckily I was on the company dime so I was able to get a hotel room and get the hell out of there.)

I just took a trip to Myrtle Beach, and then from there to Charleston. Both my flight there and home included a stop in Charlotte.

On the way there, our flight had three gate changes and then about a two hour delay due to some mechanical issue. Myself and the other unfortunate souls to be on this flight were traipsing around terminal E each time they told us to go somewhere else. It was like musical chairs but with a plane.

Then, on the way back, my flight from Charleston to Charlotte was delayed – first by a half hour and then an hour. As a result I missed my connecting flight and had to wait for the next one. So I had to spend several hours in Charlotte, waiting. I did grab an Auntie Anne’s pretzel dog for dinner, which was the highlight, and they also have Starbucks, so that was another plus. But other than that, it was complete misery.

I tried to kill some time by getting a manicure at the spa but they were booked up until it was almost time for me to board. It was cutting it too close. The spa looked pretty empty to me so I’m not sure who had an appointment, but, so much for that.

The free WiFi was a total joke. The second I connected to it, I couldn’t get anything to work. Not Facebook, not a browser, I couldn’t Tweet. So I switched back to using my data (so I’ll probably have a huge bill this month – thanks, Charlotte).

And last but not least, WHY THE F ARE THERE BATHROOM ATTENDANTS? What service are they performing, exactly? During my stop on the way to Myrtle Beach, the attendant WELCOMED ME to the restroom. Uh, thanks, I guess? I’m just here to pee, not have a four-course meal. And I should tip her for that? Another bathroom attendant handed me a paper towel as I was washing my hands. Something I could have easily done for myself. Not tipping you for that. And the final bathroom attendant I encountered did NOTHING. So please tell me why these people are employed? At least give me a mint, or something like that. Nope. I mean, I guess I’m glad they have jobs or whatever, but seriously, I could stand in a restroom with a tip jar if that’s all it takes to make a little cash on the side.

I was never so glad when the plane took off last night and brought me home.



Why do drunk people love me so much?

I went to a concert at House of Blues Friday night. It was an 80’s cover band. I’ve seen them before and I was looking forward to going. I wore some leggings with a long top over them, and almost went for the legwarmers, but I just felt like a fraud when I put them on. Plus my husband wasn’t into dressing up at all. He did put on a Def Leppard t-shirt just to be in the spirit of things, I suppose.

Prior to the concert, I was having dinner in the bar with my hubby. We were sitting at a high top table which afforded a great view of the bar itself, a small stage in which a super cheesy DJ was administering karaoke as well as random contests, all 80’s-themed. I noticed that the people coming in to the bar were not only in costume, but were DRUNK AF. Maybe drunk isn’t even the right word. Crunked? Hammered? Plastered? Fit-shaced? Just horribly, horribly wasted. And I’m not talking about your typical 20-something bar-goer. These were 40 and 50 somethings who obvi can’t hold their liquor anymore because it was 7 p.m. on a Friday night and the concert didn’t even start for two more hours.

So, side note: the DJ asked a trivia question about the song he played and said that anyone who could identify the artist would win tickets to an upcoming show. Within the first note I was like, duh, it’s “Shattered Dreams” by Johnny Hates Jazz. Welp, no one else knew the answer although a few tried. I didn’t even want the tickets but won ’em because, BAM. Everyone must know what 80’s prowess I have.

Had I been with a group of wasted MILFs I might have gone for the karaoke. But I’m still recovering from the plague, and may have mortified my husband, so I withheld. Had I taken the stage, the patrons of the HOB bar would have heard my rendition of “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)” by Hall and Oates.

Anyway. Back to this high-top table and the crunked patrons. Now you’d think if you saw a couple sitting at a table together, drinks and food being consumed, that this meant, eh, probably not good candidates to sidle up to and tell your life story to. You’d assume incorrectly. This particularly raucous group was standing at the bar not far from where we were. I looked over at them briefly and one of the gentlemen caught my eye and mouthed the name of the 80’s band, questioningly. I nodded. I guess that was the signal for them to invade us because the next thing I know, this woman, probably about 45, overtook us and in about five minutes, I knew more about her than I know about most of my co-workers who I’ve known for five years. She was BLACKOUT drunk. I saw her in the restroom of the venue maybe an hour later and she had ZERO recognition.

She seemed to really like me. I don’t know why. She was very concerned that I, too, wasn’t drunk. Then she didn’t like that I said I was from Cleveland even though I’m more toward Akron. Then she didn’t like that I said I grew up in the eastern suburbs because she grew up in Lakewood. (East side vs. west side = gangsta shit.) But even after all that, she felt confident enough in me to tell me about her children, where she lives now, the upcoming St. Patrick’s Day parade and the fact that she’s Irish, she went to Catholic school (so did I! Our first thing in common!) and then apologized profusely for how drunk she was. And in the next breath was #sorrynotsorry for being drunk. Oh man, she was a mess. Finally, I’m not sure how, she wandered away from us. Maybe she got bored. Or maybe her attention span was for shit. The next thing I know, she is headed for the karaoke stage. While she didn’t grab the mic, she did provide some strange, non-rhythmic backup dancing to the poor soul who was trying to deliver some Huey Lewis to the people.

Inside the show, I actually tried NOT to stand anywhere near her. I didn’t want to be vomited on, and that chick was definitely headed for Vomitsville. Her group was toward the front of the stage, and I was in the back. About an hour into the show, a large group in the front was escorted out by security. I’m pretty sure it was her group.

I honestly believe that I may have been the only person in the entire venue who was there for the music. It was like a drunken, neon-colored frat party. And yet, the entire time I was watching the show, singing along, nodding my head, etc., I was also thinking: THIS IS THE DREAM. Because it’s always been my dream to be in an 80’s cover band, as long as I’ve been able to play the guitar. And maybe it would play well with my ability to attract drunk people to me. If I was the singer in the band, I would at least be on stage, above the fray, lessening the chance of being barfed on.

I think I’m on to something!

One cough away from the grave.

If you could exhume my Google search history on my phone over the past few days you’d see things such as:

  • vomiting from coughing fit is it normal
  • can you injure your ‘lady bits’ from coughing
  • does codeine cause insomnia
  • Downton Abbey does Carson die (seriously, I was worried during the finale!)
  • coughing rib injury

It’s a good time to be me – and I’m available for parties and bar mitzvahs, too!

I went to the doctor for the second time in a month because of my hacking situation. While I was sitting in the crowded waiting room, I couldn’t help but continue to cough incessantly, albeit politely into my elbow like we’re taught to do these days. And yet, some old crotchety lady still glared at me. Excuse me for being sick at the doctor! At least they didn’t ask me to wear a mask this time – although they probably should have.

After the doctor, I headed to the pharmacy to pick up my antibiotics and inhaler that were prescribed to me. I’m not often home during the day so I don’t get to see the proliferation of old people who are out doing their thang while the world is at work. But at the pharmacy, I was easily the youngest person in the building (non-employee) by about thirty years. I could see my future, and the future has shingles.

Honestly, I’m about over it with this sickness. I don’t think my body can take much more of this. This inhaler is for the birds, too – I mean, I have done my fair share of inhaling back in the day #ifyouknowwhatimean but this thing makes me gag. #thatswhatshesaid

I think I have about 50 coughs left til my body just gives out on me. It’s been nice knowing everyone. Well, most of you.

You had me (creeped out) at hello

Made a quick run to Target this afternoon to pick up school supplies my kid has run out of. Pencils was one of them. How do you run out of pencils? You’re telling me every single one of the 24 pencils I sent him with in September has worn down to a nub? This is like the third time I’ve replenished them, too. No matter.

I could have gone anywhere to get these few items, but I decided to go to Target. Because Starbucks.

So I’m waiting for my grande mocha frappuccino, absently surfing Facebook on my phone when I hear a male adult voice say hello. It was close enough to me that I looked up. Sure enough, there’s a dude standing there. Could have been as young as 25 or as old as 45. I don’t know. “Hi,” I said, and looked back down at my phone. “How are you?” he continued. Now I’m like, ok mo’fo’, what do you want? Because I’ve clearly never met you before, you’re approaching me like an old friend, so what is this? Religious pamphlet? Are you going to try to rob me? Rape me? “I’m fine, how are you?” I say, but every alarm in my body is going off. Like, I am legitimately nervous by this approach. “Nice weather we’re having today,” he says. I am so uncomfortable I want to scream. I nod in agreement. Then without warning, he walks away, into the women’s clothing of Target.


Is it sad that when a stranger tried to make conversation with me, my immediate reaction was fright? It was just really odd. Like, maybe something was socially “off” with him. It wasn’t a bar scene. I wasn’t trying to be “picked up.” I was just standing by the Starbucks counter waiting for my drink, looking at my phone. What signal was I giving off that I wanted to be approached? And then he had zero game. Hello, how are you, nice weather, that was it. I don’t know. I can’t decide if it’s just me being an uptight bitch for feeling that way, or that there was legitimately something about this person that gave me a bad vibe and triggered my fight-or-flight response. (Seriously. I got my drink and bolted out of Target like the place was on fire, even though creepy dude was probably accosting someone else. Although if Target was on fire, I might have tried to loot the place on my way out.)

I think this type of interaction is just so rare anymore that we don’t know how to handle it when it happens. Which is kind of sad. Or, like I said, I’m just that much of an asshole that I can’t just accept friendliness when it slaps me in the face.

Although, come to think of it, he was wearing jorts. Yeah. Something was definitely off about him.

Oh great! It’s 60 in February! STFU

Everyone here in my part of the US enjoyed unseasonably warm temps yesterday. Myself included. I took the dog for a walk back on some trails behind our city hall, which was enjoyable for exactly one minute before my foot plunged into a muddy hole, drenching it in ice-cold melted snowy muddy mixture of awfulness. The rest of the walk involved me not loving the squishing sensation that was happening in my left Skecher.

But it was great to see the snow melt and have the windows open, even if for a fleeting few hours. Everyone was posting pictures of what outdoor activities they were into yesterday. It was awesome.

Until my body was all like, “um, we’re in winter mode here and you can’t be throwing this spring shit in here all willy-nilly like and then expect me to not erupt into some kind of violent mucus thing!”

Yeah. It went there. So last night at dinner I noticed that I was getting this frog in my throat. No, I wasn’t eating frog legs. On the drive home, it was getting worse. I basically couldn’t get through a sentence without having to “het-hem” at least twice. I popped a Zicam when I got home but it was too late.

So today I feel like shit. This is the price I pay for going sled riding on Tuesday, and wearing short sleeves with my car window rolled down on Saturday. I no longer want to see any warm days until Mother Nature is ready to commit to them on the regular. This little tease of warmth has just screwed me up royally.

But I hope you all enjoyed it.


Most days I am an ok parent. I’d give myself like a B minus. I’m not knocking it out of the park, but I’m not Child Services material either.

My kids are growing up way too fast. With YouTube and Instagram and basically anything they can find on an iPad, they know stuff that I didn’t know until I was a little bit older. My 10 year old was looking up songs he liked and watching the videos on YouTube. I wasn’t comfortable with some of the things he was seeing – mainly gratuitous instances of the Twerk. So I thought, ok, he just wants to listen to the song … I’ll turn him on to Spotify. I installed the app on his iPad, helped him set up a playlist of his faves, and that problem was solved. Well, except for the occasional f-bomb and questionable lyric in some of the songs he chose.

Then the 6 year old wanted Spotify on HIS iPad. I let him access my account rather than set one up for him. I helped him pick songs and created a special playlist just for his stuff. He was satisfied, and I went into the kitchen to do something domestic, while the boys remained in the adjacent living room.

Maybe 30 seconds later, the following song BLASTS from the living room, off my 6 year old’s iPad:




And by the way, I’m STILL mad at Maroon 5 for even producing that piece of garbage. You’re better than that, Adam Levine. And … other band members also in Maroon 5…

Watch Me

I try to stay hip to the music they’re listening to. So I thought it would be hilarious one evening when I retrieved a container of Cool Whip from the fridge if I put on a little performance.

My boys were watching TV or, more likely, something inappropriate on their iPads, when I leapt into the living room holding said container of whipped dessert topping. I thrust the container out with my left hand. “Now watch me WHIP,” I said. “Now watch me Nae Nae!” And did the requisite Nae Nae move.

They both gave me a blank, horrified stare and definitely didn’t appreciate the mom humor.


This just makes sense

Finally, trying to keep these kids clean is a chore. Especially when evening sports activities suck up some of our at-home time. This week we had a tournament that was a half-hour drive away. We basically had time to get home around 6, everyone change clothes, and run back out the door.

They didn’t get a chance to shower Wednesday night because of this. Then during the day Thursday we found out we were playing again that evening. They go to my in-laws after school so I called in a favor and asked if they could shower over there before the game. The only problem was they didn’t have a change of clothes so they would have to put their dirty clothes back on. I figured they could change when we got home … but when we got home that evening, we were in such a rush,  I forgot.

Therefore, they had on dirty underwear on Friday. It was basically going on three days old at that point. So I told my 10 year old to put on a clean pair. His response? “I’m about to fart, so …”

To which I said: “Well fart in the dirty ones and then put the clean ones on!”

I thought that was solid advice. #ParentingWin

Application to be a youth basketball referee

After witnessing what had to have been the worst ref in the entire history of youth sports officiate my son’s 5th grade game today, I have to wonder what the job application looks like for someone to become a ref. Side note: if I am ever arrested, it is definitely going to be for assaulting a ref at one of my kids’ games.

I happened to get my hands on the job application and I thought I’d share it with you, so you can see the screening process is quite thorough.


  1. State your name
  2. Did you just say “your name” out loud? a) I said my actual name b) no c)yes
  3. Do you currently have a pulse? a) yes b) no c) how do I check?
  4. Do you wear glasses/contacts? a) yes b) no c) I am legally blind
  5. What is your level of education? a) high school grad/GED b) college c) raised in a barn
  6. What color is a basketball?
  7. Identify the basketball in the following photos:


8. Do you know how to blow a whistle?



Seriously, that is it! That’s all you need to do to apply to be a ref for youth basketball. Makes sense now, huh?

Please … pray for my family

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the easiest person to live with. And that’s on a good day. I’m moody, I fatigue easily, and when I’m home, I usually just want to be left alone. Not usually an achievable goal with two kids and four animals and a husband hanging around all the time.

When you start layering on other circumstances, the situation becomes more dire.

Right now, I’m completely down for the count with a cold. Two nights ago I took cold medicine and the stupid-ass stuff kept me up all night. Like, zero sleep. Then I went to the drugstore and got other cold medicine. Tried to go to bed at 10, and was still up and wired at 1. I did finally settle down and slept like a rock after that, but I was facing the prospect of being up all night two nights in a row. I shudder to think what would have happened then.

Layer on top of that, the fact that I went to the dentist earlier in the week and got some temporary crowns put in. I had no idea until I set foot in the dentist’s office that I was getting temporaries. This is my first crown experience so I just assumed they did the whole thing. Nope – temporaries – and they’re in the front. So I can’t bite anything with my front teeth for two weeks until I get the real ones. It’s one whole piece, so if the temporary crown comes out, I will be looking like I just walked out of the Avery salvage yard up in Manitowoc County (that’s a Making a Murderer reference for you who aren’t in the know).

This wouldn’t be a big deal except I’m diabetic so my food choices are already limited.

Layer on top of that, I just hurt my foot when I clumsily walked into the kitchen cabinet coming around the corner. I think my little toe might be broken.

Honestly, I could not be more of a train wreck right now if I tried. So I ask you to please keep my family in your prayers over the next few days. They will need all the good thoughts they can get.