Category Archives: Uncategorized

CoolSculpting at the Gyno

Last week, I had my yearly lady garden inspection.  Well, I suppose they inspect they whole structure, not just the garden.  Anyway, as per protocol, I was a wee bit nervous when I got there.  So, I was relieved when the receptionist smiled and only handed me two forms to review and sign.  At least, I didn’t have to write a bunch.  Then, she pointed out a third form, that was really an advertisement for CoolSculpting.

For those of you who haven’t Googled it yet, or who are otherwise out of the loop, CoolSculpting is a procedure where they wrap you in some sort of cold torture device freeze your fat cells.  I could tell that the receptionist felt a little odd bringing it up since she was basically calling me a fat ass.

Receptionist:  The third page is just, uh, well, we will be doing CoolSculpting and you can fill this out if you are interested.

Me: (looking down at the form with pictures of various chubby body parts with checkboxes next to them)  Oh! I’m interested. I’d love to check all of the boxes.

Receptionist: (looking excited.  They must get a bonus for everyone who signs up or something)  Really?!

Me: Yep! I mean, you should probably just put my whole chubby body in an ice chest, but the husband would probably remind me that we have a kid in college so we shouldn’t spend money on stuff like that.

Receptionist: (looking down at her desk, and a bit awkward because there was a really heavy woman and a pregnant woman in the waiting room.  Oops!)  OK.  (nervous laugh) Well, just sign those two forms and hand them back to me.

I stopped cracking fat jokes about myself and reviewed the two forms to be sure all of the information was still current.  Then, I took a look at the CoolSculpting flier.  Seriously, they had every possible body part that you could get a CoolSculpting contraption around other than the dreaded Fupa.  I guess you can’t freeze a Fupa, even at the gyno office.

I don’t know how to feel about CoolSculpting at the gyno.  I mean, isn’t this one of those places where women already feel vulnerable.  You already dread sitting there with a paper blanket over your legs in meat locker level air-conditioning.  Then, there is the part when you have to keep scooting down the table to the stirrups, and you hope you don’t fart or have any toilet paper stuck anywhere.  And with all that stress already, they want to greet us with, “Hey, fatty! Let’s freeze that shit off!”

I don’t know how to feel about this, or if I need to feel anything about it.  What do you think?  Should the gynecologist offer CoolSculpting?

And, one more thing, if fat can be frozen, why aren’t Eskimos skinny?

Fucking Decaf

Picture it! It’s a sunny Saturday morning.  The husband, Chris, is unloading the dishwasher, and I’m throwing a scrambled egg sandwich in the microwave for the boy, who has to work.  Poor boy.  Anyway, I decide to make coffee.

Me: Do you want some Starbucks coffee?  [I say this like I just offered my husband a treasure chest full of sex or something.]

Husband:  Are we going to Starbucks or do we have some here?

Me: [walking to the pantry like I’m about to reveal what is behind door number three]  We have some! I bought it on Thursday.

Husband:  Good.  I didn’t want to go there right now.  [Chris is not a morning person.]

Me:  You don’t have to. [Pulling out the bag of Starbucks from behind the chips]  See! I got genuine 1971 Pike’s Place.  Fuck!

Husband: What?

Me: I bought decaf!  Well, this explains everything! I told you I nearly fell asleep grading essays yesterday.  Well, essay grading is boring, but still!


Me:  And I wanted to take a nap at 10am.  Now I get it! I drank decaf.  No wonder it was on sale. I blame Mr. Roll Tide for this.

Husband: Oh, you were chatting up your friend again.

[Mr. Roll Tide is a stockman at our local Kroger.  I love talking to him because he is from Alabama and proudly wears his Alabama hat.  I’m from Florida and also do not route for the local team, OSU.]

Me: Yes! He was on the coffee aisle, wearing his Roll Tide hat.  I told him, “Good for you for wearing that hat!” And he asked me if I was from Alabama.  I reminded him I was from Florida. So, he told me to keep rooting for the Gators.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was a Seminole because he was so happy to remind me that Urban Meyer was at UF before he was at OSU.  So, I got distracted and picked up decaf.  It’s all his fault.

Husband:  Of course.  Well, just make whatever swag we have.

And that’s what I did. I made cheap Aldi coffee.  Are you all crying for me?


Lessons Learned from a Facebook Break

Recently, I took a ten-day break from Facebook.  It was supposed to be a month long break but I had to keep logging back in to use Goodreads, Uber, and the 97,000 other apps I have linked to Facebook. I needed a break because I was tired of the never-ending bad news in my feed about the government, murdered children, beaten pets, and random fires and floods.  I was also tired of rolling my eyes at the vague booking, diary posts, and pictures of meals.  So, even though my break did not last a month, I did learn a few things from the experience.

  1. I’m nosy.  One of the reasons I spent so much time on Facebook is because I am nosy. I love looking up old boyfriends and high school acquaintances to see whatever happened to them.  Guess what?  When I was off of Facebook, I Googled them instead.  I love Google stalking.  I think I could probably be happy being a detective but my son reminded me that detectives do more than Google people.
  2. I get a lot of work done when I actually focus. So, when I was not Google stalking, I did get more work done by not having Facebook as a break option. Instead of taking a few minutes between tasks to make sure that one woman was still crazy or that other person was still overly dramatic, I simply moved on to the next task on my list.
  3. I still procrastinate my writing when I am not on Facebook. Sometimes, I think maybe I just don’t like writing as much as I thought I did. According to a therapist I used to see this is because I have a “fear of failure” so I “self-sabotage.”  I tell myself there is no point in writing because it is so hard to get published.  I tell myself I’m not that good at writing anyway. I would say that is accurate.
  4. I read so much more. Rather than scrolling through and seeing what everyone had for dinner, I opened a book, either hardcopy or e-book, and I actually read.  I read memoirs in the hopes that this would inspire me to actually work on my own memoir.  I’ve got stories to tell, but I keep muting myself. I guess we covered this in number three.
  5. I rolled my eyes a lot less. The only time I rolled my eyes during my Facebook break was when I watched the news.  Facebook and the news remind me of how mean and unempathetic people have become.
  6. I’m just a more tolerant person when I don’t know about someone’s political views. I enjoyed talking to people in real life without seeing what meme they just posted.
  7. I didn’t miss much. You could log on to Facebook every five minutes or once a week.  You will see the same things.  There are cat pictures (yay), memes from both sides of the political aisle, news stories about shootings, bombings, and children being left in cars, and a plethora of awkward selfies.

So, I’m officially back on Facebook, but I am limiting my time.  I have taken the app off of my phone and my iPad. I will only look at Facebook on the computer, and that will only be when I have completed my grading, discussion responses, and other tasks for the day.


What about you? Have you ever needed a social media break? How often are you on Facebook?

The Things my Mother did Right

One of the things that a lot of people, including myself, love to complain about is their imperfect childhoods.  We sit on many a couch in many a therapist office talking about it.  We seem to blame our parents for a lot, and our mothers usually take the brunt of that.  So, to get away from that Freudian way of thinking, I would like to share with you some of the great things my mom taught me.

Mom taught me to dress nicely when going to the hair salon.  If you dress like a slob, they will think that is how you want to look. Actually, my mom has always dressed nicely to go anywhere.  There were no sweatpants and Crocs on her.

Mom told me it is better to be slightly underdressed than really overdressed.

Mom pushed me to go to college.  After high school, the last thing I wanted to do was go to school.  I wanted to nap, read, and cuddle kittens.  I still just want to do these things, but now I do them with a master’s degree and an online job.

Mom moved to Florida before I was born.  My father got a job there, and even though they were not getting along, she decided to make the move with him.  I’m glad she did. This enabled me to grow up with people of many cultures and religions.

Mom taught me to tip generously.  She tips everyone, even the cashier at Wendy’s.

Mom taught me to make a family out of friends.  My mom was never one of those “blood is thicker than water” folks.  She taught me that if someone did you wrong, even if they were family, it was ok to get them out of your life.

Finally, Mom taught me to treat myself sometimes.  My mom was not a saver.  She would rather have the better product than the cheaper one.  This is a trait I have inherited.  It is why my husband is in charge of our money.   : )

I learned a lot of great things from my mom.  These are really just a few of them.  Let me hear from you in the comments.  What are your favorite lessons that you learned from your mom?

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Mama and the Manchild: Tap that at the Tap House Edition

The boy, the husband and I are sitting at the table having bagels and coffee on a Sunday morning.  The husband is going through Open Table and finding a dinner spot for when we are in DC for our nephew’s wedding.

Husband:  Here’s a good one — Tap House. It looks like it has something for everyone.

Me: You mean plain things for boring eaters like me.

Son: Tap House – why do they call it that?

Me and the husband:  Beer on tap.

Son:  OH! I thought it was like a tap dancing place.

Me: (feeling hyper from the coffee and getting up from the table)  HI! Welcome to Tap House. Follow me to your table.  (fake tap dancing and walking out of the kitchen)

Son:  (laughing)  YES!! Oh my God! Let that be real!! There needs to be a place like this.

Me: (Still fake tapping) What can I get you guys to drink?

Son:  Yes! See, you’re making it kind of a cheesy, campy place, which is great. I pictured it as a really exclusive place.  You know, it would be really classy and there would be a pianist playing on a stage and then a really serious tap dancer.

Husband: You guys are scaring me.

Me:  Either way, the shifts would have to be short there.  Their feet would hurt.  What if someone called in sick and your four-hour shift became eight hours.

Son: That’s why they would have understudies.  If someone called in sick, the understudy would work.  I can just see him backstage calling his mom.  “Mom! It’s finally my time to shine!”

Me: (laughing)

Son: So, what would we call it?

Me: Tap House!

Son: Ok. I was thinking we’d call it I’d Tap That.

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Mama and the Manchild: Couch Potato in Crime


The boy and I have a mutual friend that he works with.  She is young, funny, smart, pretty, and single.  She has not had much luck with the usual dating apps. She wants to date, but she is also introverted and doesn’t get out much.  As she says, “I don’t bar hop or climb mountains.  I want to find my couch potato in crime.”  So, the boy and I were chatting about her in the kitchen, and the husband was on the couch commenting.

Husband:  Well, she’s never going to find a boyfriend watching Netflix.

Me:  Wait a minute! What if she could? I bet we could design an app for that.

Husband:  Tinder already exists. You can date from your couch.

Me and the son (at the same time) – No!! No!! You could match people by shows.

Husband looks a bit scared because sometimes the boy and I share a brain.  He also looks confused because he’s really not a big fan of movies or TV unless it’s Shameless (American and UK).

Me:  Yes!! People could choose the shows they stream and the movies they like.  We could call it Netflix and chill.

Son: Mom, I’m pretty sure Netflix would sue us for that.

Me: What about Hulu and hug?

Son: No, mom. No.


Friends, does such an app exist?  Can you find your partner based on your streaming preferences? If not, can one of you invent this?  We can go on Shark Tank together.






Mama and the Manchild: The Vibrator Conversation

The boy, the husband, and I are having breakfast.  The boy massages his shoulder and upper back.

Me: Does your back hurt?

Boy:  A little.

Me: Did you hurt yourself at work or something? (He works at the library so this is not likely.)

Boy: No.  It’s fine.  I think I just slept wrong.

Me: Do you want to use my vibrator?

Boy: MOM!

Me: I don’t mean that! I don’t even have one of those.  It’s a back massager!


Husband: This conversation is making me uncomfortable.

Me: But you bought it for me!

Boy: OK. I definitely don’t want to hear any more.

Me: It’s for those knots I get in my back.  It’s HUGE!

Boy: OK, mom.

Husband: You’re not making it any better.

Me: Come on! You know what I’m talking about.  It has these big balls on it.

Boy: MOM!!

Me: Massaging balls!! It heats up, too.

Husband: That sounds painful.

Me: I give up.

Later, the boy’s girlfriend comes over after work.

GF: I moved a lot of stuff at work today.  My back hurts.

Me: You wanna use my vibrator?

Boy: Mom, just don’t start.

Universal Truths for Pet Owners

Today, as I washed my hands in the margarita scented foamy hand soap, and followed that up with some nice vanilla hand cream, I knew I was doomed.  As soon as that vanilla creaminess hit my hands, I thought, “Shit! I should’ve checked the laundry room first!”  You see, in our house, the laundry room is where the litter box and the puppy pad is.  Lola, our Maltese, does not use the bathroom outside.  She is too small and too white for that.  She goes on a puppy pad near the litter box, and she usually misses the pad when she poops.  That, of course, was the case today.  As soon as I washed my hands, I had to clean up shit.  So, in my head, as I was cleaning up dog shit, scooping the litter box, and then rewashing my hands, I started to come up with this list of universal truths for pet owners.

You don’t really want to know what that wet spot is.

The cat will always make it to the carpet before vomiting.

The dog will help you clean up the cat vomit.

If you have just washed your hands and put on the good, nice-smelling hand cream, you will need to clean up some sort of animal excrement from the floor within two minutes.

Always use a paper towel when picking up that unknown brown chunk from the floor.  Don’t lose a game of mud or shit with yourself.

There’s really no need to buy new dog toys.  Just move the couch.  Your dog will think it’s Christmas.

If your dog is barking as though the SWAT team is in your yard another dog is probably walking down the street.  Or a leaf blew by.  Or there is a bird sitting on the bush.  Or it’s the evil mail carrier.

Use earplugs if you ever want to take a nap.  See above.

Just have someone else express those anal glands.

Ditto for trimming black toenails.

And cat bathing.

You could make your millions by inventing cat-ass flavored dog food, and the cat really wishes you would.

What am I missing, pet owners?  What always happens in your house? Leave me a comment so we can build this list.

Mama and the Man Child: The Rock is Jesus Edition 

Son: [sitting at the table with his egg sandwich]  Mom, I know we are boycotting the Today Show because you hate Kathie Lee, but I need to see Megyn.

Me: You know that you are the only person under 42 who likes her, right?

Son: Yeah, I know.

Me:  OK, well it’s only 8:45 now.  Kathie Lee doesn’t come on until 10, so it should be safe.  [I change the channel to NBC.]

Savannah Guthrie: [On TV – she doesn’t live with us.]  Now, we are going to talk to our own Kathie Lee Gifford about her new book on faith – The Rock, the Road, and the Rabbi.

Me: Oh, fuck my life.  I can’t get away from her.

Son: [laughing]

Kathie Lee:  [On TV – I would NEVER invite her to breakfast.]  Blah, blah, blah. Trip to Israel.  Blah, blah, blah.  My faith.  Blah, blah.  The rock is Jesus.

Me: What did she just say?

Son: She said The Rock is Jesus.

Me: Did you just picture a metal band with Jesus as the singer?

Son:  No. No, mom.  I just pictured Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson in a Jesus robe and sandals.

Me: YES!! He would make a great Jesus.

Son: [gets up from the chair and begins mimicking Rock Jesus]  I’m here for you, my child.  [Gets louder]  Now, it’s time for a pec pump!  [grabs his chest and makes his pecs go up and down.]

Me: [laughing and choking on coffee and then attempting a Rock voice]  You can crucify me but you will never take my strong 8-pack abs!

Son: We’re going to hell.

Me: Totally, and all of the fun people will be there.



Gump Trump

Mama and the Manchild: Forrest Gump Trump Edition

Son: I love me some cheese curls. [Sitting at the table with a sandwich and a little bag of Aldi’s Cheetos knockoff.]

Me: You should bring some of those fake Cheetos to your training class tonight.  [The boy works at the library and they are changing computers systems.  He has to attend two four hour training courses.]  You could get orange dust on the keyboard and people will think Trump was there.

Son: [chuckles]

Me: You could trick a kid like that on Christmas.  Instead of putting fake reindeer footprints you could put Cheeto dust footprints and tell the kid that President Trump is the new Santa.

Son: Yeah, and there would just be a piece of chocolate cake under the tree.

Me: A BEAUTIFUL chocolate cake. [Attempting a Trump impression.  Alec Baldwin’s SNL gig is safe.]

Son:  [Takes over and does perfect Trump impression with hand gestures]  It would be a BEAUTIFUL piece of chocolate cake. [switches back to his regular voice] And it would have one bite out of it because Trump feels the same about chocolate cake as Forrest Gump feels about chocolate.  [Does perfect Gump voice] I ate some.

Me: What, like Forrest Trump or something, or Gump Trump?

Son: YES! That would be perfect.  Can you just see Donald Trump sitting on a bench with his suitcase talking to some woman saying, “And then my father gave me a small loan of a million dollars and I bought a shrimping yacht.”  [The boy somehow manages to combine Gump’s and Trump’s voices and mannerisms.


Hey, Lorne Michaels, are you reading this? You need to give the boy a job!