Unpopular Opinion #3

Daylight savings time is stupid.

Specifically, springing forward is stupid. I can fall back all day long. An extra hour in the day? Yes, please! But springing forward is an exercise in disappointment. It’s like waking up to find that you overslept and never quite catching up all day long, but without the benefit of actually oversleeping.

I have never been a fan of daylight savings time, in general. I wrote about it in my college newspaper, where I had a humor column for several years, and I wrote about it again on my old, pre-kids blog. This is partially because I am lazy and not afraid to recycle ideas, but also partly because daylight savings time just really, really sucks, and I feel like someone needs to step forward and acknowledge that fact.

I know everyone loves it when we spring forward, because it’s lighter out later, and spring is coming, but I feel like this is really discriminatory towards cave dwellers such as myself, who vastly prefer a state of permanent midnight (which is ironic, because I also love sunglasses, but I could be that cool girl who wears her sunglasses at night, although everyone I’ve ever known who has worn sunglasses at night has had a drug problem, so maybe not). Don’t you people understand that the sooner it gets dark, the sooner it is socially acceptable to put on your pajamas and lay on the couch? You simply cannot do that shit at 6 p.m. when the sun is still high in the sky. But when it’s cold, and dark, it’s not only socially acceptable to spend the entire evening in front of a fire under a blanket watching episodes of American Crime Story, it is encouraged.

The kids add a whole new layer to the debacle, as well, because they can’t tell time, so they only know that you’re trying to put them to bed while the sun is still up and THAT SHIT IS NOT GOING TO FLY, MOTHERFUCKER. So suddenly it’s 9:30, everyone is screaming, portions of the house are on fire and all you can think is IT’S REALLY ONLY 8:30, GOD DAMMIT, WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?

So you can keep your extra hour of daylight. I will be purchasing blackout shades and an extra set of jammies, because I HAVE EARNED THIS TELEVISION MARATHON, DO YOU HEAR ME?

Earned it!

Go Cavs! (Until you suck, then do whatever.)

I’m going to a Cleveland Cavaliers game tonight, because I have been a dedicated fan since my youth, and have an old school Hot Rod Williams jersey and my senior thesis was on the importance of Eastern Bloc countries in the Cavs’ starting lineup.

Just kidding. You can go ahead and remove everything after “because” in the sentence above and just replace it with “LeBron James.”

I am unafraid to admit that I am a fair weather fan. I know there are people out there who have suffered along with the Cavs for decades, and LeBron James is their reward for all their patience and loyalty. I’m just saying, I appreciate them being so patient and loyal so now I can just jump in and only enjoy the good parts.


To me, it’s not how long you’ve been a fan that matters—it’s the intensity with which you dedicate yourself to the team when you’re on the bandwagon. And anyone who has seen me in action at a Cavs game can attest to the fact that, when I’m in the zone, I reach Beatlemania-random-screaming-and-passing-out mode. I have been known to cry at the end of very close games, and honestly, if my visceral reaction to the pre-game routine is any indication, I can be hyped into literally murdering people if you mix the right combination of video footage, inspirational music and pyrotechnics.

When LeBron made The Decision back in 2010, I may have completely lost my shit. My #23 jersey, though not burned, was buried deep in a Tupperware container in my basement, and I could speak of virtually nothing else for months. The horror! The betrayal!


I may have taken this photo of Addie crying after The Decision and e-mailed it to everyone I know.

When the season started up again that October, I vowed that I would keep watching no matter what. I may have jumped on the bandwagon because of LeBron James, but now I was here to stay!

This lasted exactly one game.

But when LeBron came back in 2014, I knew exactly where that jersey was buried, and I went and dug it out. It didn’t fit quite the same, but it still looked good on me.

I know LeBron won’t be around forever, and we may never get our championship. I’m willing to accept that once he’s gone, basketball will probably fade right back into the background for me, but for right now, I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.

I just hope I don’t murder anyone during pre-game tonight.

Unpopular Opinion #2

You guys, I love Kanye West.

I know I’m not supposed to. I know that Kanye is a terrible person and also probably clinically insane. And I know that his association with the Kardashian family is supposed to make me literally wither and hiss like a vampire exposed to the sun, but honestly, his music just makes me happy, and I find his confidence in himself inspiring. As someone who generally spends much of her day second-guessing if she even belongs among polite society, sometimes I just need Kanye to tell me “with my ego/I can sit there in a Speedo and be looked at like a fucking hero”. His confidence rubs off on me.

A few months ago, before Kanye went insane, this wouldn’t have been such a risky announcement to make. Sure, there was the whole “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” situation, which I sometimes revisit on YouTube just to pinpoint the exact moment at which Mike Myers realizes that everything has gone horribly wrong and he is probably about to die. And that time that he stole the mic from Taylor Swift and declared Beyonce’s video “one of the greatest of all time”, but let’s be fair, this was pre-1989 Taylor Swift, who even modern day Taylor Swift is pretending never existed.

But over the last few weeks, it’s almost as if Kanye is on a one-man crusade to make me look like an idiot for liking him.

I was just sitting around, patiently waiting for Swish to come out, when one day he announces he’s changed the name of the album to Waves, and then out of nowhere he’s in some sort of Twitter war with Wiz Kalifa, which I don’t even know what that is, but it ends like this:


Okay, Kanye, that’s good to know, but maybe it’s time to cool it on the Twitter for a—


Kanye, what? No, stop.

But then he changes the name of the album to The Life of Pablo and creates the cover art in MS Paint or something:


And there’s a giant butt on it and I don’t know what’s going on anymore, and then he releases a song in which he asserts that he could totally have sex with Taylor Swift if he wanted to because he made her famous, and then acts like it was her idea:


And I’m like, Kanye, please stop, this isn’t working, but instead he doubles down by announcing that he is $53M in debt and asks Mark Zuckerberg to help him—


To which I’m sure Mark Zuckerberg was like “I’ll get right on it.”

Long story short, it’s gotten to the point where people who already know of my love for Kanye West are taking great glee in updating me on his daily exploits as if I personally am responsible for Kanye West’s actions, and all I can do is shake my head sadly and pray that someone changes his Twitter password and doesn’t tell him. In the meantime, I hope he’ll take some of his own advice:


Unpopular Opinion #1

I am not happy about this non-winter we’re having.

While the rest of you are basking in the 50 degree weather in January and keeping your fingers crossed that winter really isn’t coming this year, I am inside, moping that I have yet to experience a time this year that I haven’t been able to feel my toes. My kids are outside drawing chalk rainbows on the driveway right now, and I haven’t even gotten to take one obligatory rosy-cheeked-from-cold photo montage of them. The older one isn’t even wearing shoes (which, to be honest, is probably ill-advised, since it’s still only like 45 degrees outside right now, but my kids are weirdly impervious to cold, lending credence to my alien replicant theory).

I might be the only one, but I am honestly a huge fan of winter. The cold air feels cleaner, the pressure to eat salad is at a minimum, and people are much less likely in general to go outside, which means I get to live my dream of surviving an apocalypse and never having to wait in line at Potbelly for lunch. It gets dark sooner, and I am actually much more productive when it’s dark– when it stays lighter longer, I feel like I need to spend all the time I can outside, which I’m sure is great for my physical health, but wreaks havoc on my many hobbies, all of which involve a couch and blanket to adequately complete. I also hate being sweaty, so winter is a welcome change from armpit swamp.

But I think the main thing I enjoy most about winter is the fact that I can wear black leggings essentially everywhere, and because I’m wearing a giant parka, no one can judge me. After all, under this coat, I might be wearing a chic sweater dress or artfully draped tunic. I mean, I’m not– I’m probably wearing a Turtle Beach t-shirt I’ve had since the fifth grade– but no one can know that for sure.  So until it gets cold again, I am forced to actually dress like a grown human being (which really just means pants with buttons, but seriously, I would get pregnant again right now if it meant I could just wear maternity pants without shame for the rest of my life).

So bring on the snow and the sleet and the perpetually frozen snot nose! I, for one, am ready to be forced to spend the day under a blanket marathoning Making a Murderer while a blizzard rages outside. It’s a terrible sacrifice, but I am prepared to make it.


Although then I went outside and saw what they had been drawing and now I feel guilty, but not guilty enough to not wish for unlimited leggings time.