Today Is The Anniversary Of The Day I Didn't Kill Myself

I love Enya. So, it's little wonder that two years ago today, I planned to slowly drift into a permanent sleep while cuddling my kitties and listening to that Irish goddess's mollifying melodies. Sail away, indeed. To answer your immediate question, yes, I was a tad disappointed that my life's final bow was a middle-aged cat lady's wet dream, but my preferred options weren't workable. Initially, I wanted be like Beth in Little Women and contract scarlet fever whilst nursing impoverished scamps. But I'm not really an other-people's-kids person. Then I envisioned myself as Juliet, dying in the arms of

Nana and All The Other Old People Were Diiiiirty (A.K.A. What I Learned From Vintage Valentine's Day Cards)

Today's sexually active humans no longer woo potential boinking buddies with poetry or pretty pieces of paper. Why spend $4+ on a Valentine's Day card when you could use your unlimited texting plan to shoot off two characters -- an eggplant and a peach -- to indicate your desire to get vertically nasty? Let me tell you why: Because Valentine's Day cards are dope. No. For real. They are dope af. They are infinitely more creative than some digitally-created piece of produce. I know you're all, "How am I supposed to let my bae know I want to commence coitus

The First Rule of Fat Girl Club is Don't Talk About The Recipes Shared at Fat Girl Club...

I'm a super swell human. Don't believe me? Check out my Nobel Peace Prize. It's right up there on the shelf with the 1st Place trophy I won in the The Do-Gooder's 15th Annual Mother Theresa Impersonator contest. And because I'm such a super swell human, I spent my perfectly sunny Sunday afternoon driving my former boss to the airport. Here's the thing: I'm a people pleaser. Half a dozen personality tests, three separate therapists, and my bank account all agree that I need to set better boundaries. So, when my former boss asked if she could drive to my

Here's To The Posts That Didn't Make It

Things have been rough lately, with the last several weeks involving everything from steroid shots in the ass to calling the police regarding a missing person. Yup. You read that right. Shots in my ass. Oh, and, yeah, a missing person. That part was weird, too. Unfortunately -- spoiler alert -- not everyone survived. And by not everyone, I'm referring to numerous nascent blog posts that sprouted in my mind, only to be stomped down by everyday burdens. While these fallen soldiers are no more, they are not forgotten. So, in tribute to those witty musings dropped by the wayside,

You Can't Make Me Be Thankful For Your Fake Anne of Green Gables, Dammit!

I'm so pissed right now at some of y'all. You know who you are. You will argue that you are intrigued, bored, or worst of all, fans. But I know what you really are. You are traitors and worthy of waterboarding. Today, you will eat your turkey and potatoes, sit on your couch with your coffee and your pie, and you will turn on your TV to PBS and then watch gee-dee Anne of Green Gables. What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. Y'all? Let me back up and provide some context, although, if you were a true fan, you wouldn't

Thanksgiving Bingo Won't Make Time With Your Family Any Less  Shitty, But Here's A Bingo Sheet Anyway, So Don't Say I Didn't Try...

My Great Grandma Ruth was a badass. She made bombs during WWII, and she once told me that she'd kissed 100 different guys before she got locked down by my great grandfather. And when she was in her 90s, she became something of a local celebrity. She and her best friend, Janine, attended Bingo every Tuesday without fail. They once were in a car crash, and despite being old as dirt, they told the EMTs that if it was their time to go, they'd rather go in the Bingo Hall. While there, a local TV scout spotted my Great Granny,

I've Got 83 Problems, But Buddha Ain't One...

I’d barely exchanged pleasantries with the mustachioed man named Ivan before he pressed a gun against me, drawing blood. Five painful minutes later, he tossed me aside, leaving me to survey the damage that was my first tattoo. I sat, staring at the black blot, tears dripping down my face, and whispered, “I did it. I’m alive. And it’s perfect.” * Of course I survived. Ivan gave me a skin lesion, not a lobotomy. And of course it was on fleek. I wouldn’t let my dermis be forever marked with just anything, unlike my sister, who permanently

The Only Creature In The World More Upset Than Me This Month Is A Friggin' Turkey

Oh, y'all, my kingdom for a cruise. More specifically, a cruise that sets sail Nov. 21 and doesn't return until Jan. 5. I'm not without a soul. I love the holidays as much as the next gal. Food, festiveness, parties, presents, decorations, drinks: what's not to love? Family. Family is what's not to love. Stop giving me that look. Stop it right now! You tell me TO MY FACE that your grandmother's politics give you reason to be thankful. You tell me TO MY FACE that your mother-in-law makes the season merry. You tell me TO MY FACE that you

Those Poor, Poor Pussies (and Puppies...): A Little Something-Something To Make Your Face Smile In The Wake of Armageddon

Last night, as America ran headfirst into the arms of an Orange Armageddon, my lesbian aunt-in-law sent me this text: "Do you think they will repeal marriage equality?" Then shit got even more real: "Or will his supporters just beat me to a pulp while wearing their white sheets and then go out for a beer?" If y'all are anything like me, you're flabbergasted that a Cheeto just became our country's President. Welp, them's the breaks, folks. I did my part and voted for somebody not him. It was up to the rest of you to do the same so

8 Steps To Getting That Quick and Nasty Divorce You've Always Wanted...

1) Buy something he/she absolutely hates. 2) Let he/she talk you into donating it to Goodwill. 3) Visit Goodwill later that week, spot that item on a shelf, and when your partner's back is turned, place it in your cart. 4) When he/she looks in the cart and asks, "What is THAT?," pretend you have never seen this item before your trip to this Goodwill. 5) Innocently say something along the lines of, "Isn't this fabulous? This would look SO good on our dining room table." 6) When he/she freaks out, raging, "We had that! That