Karma Boomerang

My kids’ last day of school was last Wednesday. By Friday, they were constantly at each other’s last nerve, not to mention mine, so I took them to SkyZone to blow off some steam.

We were there no more than 20 minutes of our allotted hour when the phone rang. It was my mother-in-law.

“I hate to be a busybody, but I just drove past your house and your side door was wide open. I assume you were just coming in and out of the house, but I wanted to check.”

Um, I was at Skyzone, no one else was home, and I have three indoor cats, one of whom is terrified of humans and would never be seen again if she escaped (most of my family would probably not really care about this). So this was a BIG FUCKING DEAL. My MIL just had knee surgery so I couldn’t ask her to go searching through iced-over snowbanks to find my stupid felines. I called a friend who lived nearby and then I pulled the kids out of their dodgeball game to speed home.

I second-and third-guessed myself on the way home. I KNOW I locked the door and closed it behind me. So, did someone break in? What was I going to come home to?

About halfway home, I got a text from my mother-in-law. “All’s well. I think the anasthesia is still messing with me. Sorry for the confusion.”

The fuck?

So she basically hallucinated that my door was ajar. And then I wasted 30 bucks at Skyzone, got my friend and her husband all up in arms, basically for nothing. I was pissed. Salty.

Welp, karma’s a bitch. One stupid turn deserves another.

I am at work today, which really sucks, but I drove up the street to grab some lunch. I noticed that this weird guy was walking into the place where I was planning on going to, so I got Snapchat ready on my phone because I’m an asshole. I hurried out of my car so I could get the snap.

But what I also did was throw my keys on the passenger seat, and then lock the car using the manual button. Hello? Locked out of the car. I guess I deserve it for making fun of someone. Luckily my husband is off work, and he is SO THRILLED to have to come to my office to pick me up and drive me back to my car (I had to walk back to the office from lunch, which was my way of punishing myself for being so dumb.)

I hereby relinquish my  rights to make fun of anyone for the rest of the week. If I can go that long.


Drunk people: continuing to love me. #CollegeEdition

A while back, I wrote a post about how drunk people love me. I am not around them all that often, or at least random ones who aren’t my friends to begin with, but my power to be a Drunk Magnet was put to the test a few weeks ago when I visited my college campus for my somewhat annual girls’ trip.

Of course, it’s hard to avoid drunk people on a college campus, especially if you are at a bar. Which we were. Multiple of them. And while not drunk, I certainly was not refraining from alcohol. But some poor soul definitely was refraining way less than I was, and our encounter went something like this:

My friend Em just happened to notice a table opening up. She went over to the table, waving her arms at us to signal her score. Meanwhile, Drunky McGee, a young woman obviously having some trouble, just sat herself down at same said table. I should mention it was Dad’s Weekend and there were Drunk Dads a’plenty to be found everywhere. This young lady was with daddy, and daddy was also lit like the Fourth of July sky. Slumping over in her newly-acquired seat, girlfriend paid zero attention to her father’s pleas to vacate, nor the stinkeye she was receiving from a gang of 40-year-old women who just wanted to sit the eff down and not deal with this nonsense. And yet, because she failed to stir, we took the opposite tack.

“Are you ok?” one of my friends asked her.

It had the effect of flipping a switch on a wind-up doll, or a Teddy Ruxpin. Her eyes came alive, she sat up, and suddenly she found herself at a table with her NEW BEST FRIENDS. I am going to use all caps a lot, because she shouted questions at us incessantly, beginning with: “WHAT SORORITY ARE YOU GUYS IN?” None of us were in sororities while at school, nor were were in them now. “We’re not in one,” we told her. “NO! WHAT. SORORITY. ARE. YOU. GUYS. IN?” Apparently she was not  going to accept “none of the above” as an answer, so we made up some greek letters in a sequence and that appeared to appease her. Next question. “WHERE ARE YOU FROM?” We told her our respective cities. “WHAT DORMS DO YOU LIVE IN?” I’m pretty sure the dorm I lived in doesn’t exist anymore but I told her anyway. The fact that she thought that a bunch of 40-year-old, wrinkled bitches were her peers was hilarious. Now it was time to get to know her. “What year are you?” one of us asked.


“Freshman,” she said.

This little Tootsie not only was completely intoxicated to the point where she was fooled into thinking middle-aged women were her sorority sisters, but she was in a bar with her dad, underage. Gotta love it. I think her dad finally convinced her to get up, but not before she slapped a tequila shot out of his hand, spilling it on my friend’s pants. Damage done. I hope she doesn’t remember this shining moment from Dad’s Weekend, but she gave my friends and I something to talk about, as we screamed at the top of our lungs, “WHAT SORORITY ARE YOU IN?” at each other  for the rest of our time there.

I see you, drunk people. Who will be my next story?

Puke vs. Throw-Up

We all have various euphemisms for the act of vomiting. My favorite is “tossin’ cooks” but I’ve also been known to use terms such as

  • hurl
  • spew
  • barf
  • ride the porcelain bus
  • hug the toilet

And I use these all pretty interchangably, as they pretty much all mean the same thing.

However, last night, my 5 year old and I were snuggled in his bed, and I was waiting for him to PLEASE FALL ASLEEP I STILL NEED TO FINISH WATCHING THE DOWNTOWN ABBEY FINALE. His mind often wanders as he begins to drift off, and he’s come up with some real gems of questions for me in this state. One that comes to mind is “why do people have butts?”

Anyway, we’re laying there and he has been silent for a while. I’m thinking I can make my escape, and I start to shift my weight, preparing to throw the covers off and creep out of the room like a ninja.

“Mom?” he whispers.


“What?” I ask.

“Remember when I had that really bad stomach ache that one time?”

“I remember.”

“And then I thought I had to make diarrhea but I ended up puking?”

“Yes, I remember when you threw up.”

“No. I puked. Throw-up is thicker and puke is more like water.”

“Didn’t realize there was a difference!”

… so apparently, there is a distinction between different types of vomit. Thought I would pass this info along.