Anyway, this is how everything turned out.

After obsessively checking for views re-reading old blog entries last week, I came to realize that a lot happened during my unplanned anxiety hiatus that I probably would have told you about if I hadn’t been so busy lying on my couch watching TV shows about people with botched plastic surgery. So before I jump right back in with well-spun tales of my exotic life (TODAY I FOUND A CUP FILLED WITH MILK SO SPOILED THAT IT HAD BASICALLY BECOME SENTIENT CHEESE), I thought I’d take a moment to catch you up on a few things.

  • After months of complaining about it, we finally did something about the lack of tumbleweeds of fur against our baseboards and got ourselves a dog. Her name is Penny and her hobbies include eating and subsequently pooping out socks, cat wrestling, and aggro-snuggling.

    Penny Coco

    Okay, so this is not exactly the best picture of her? But I feel it is an accurate representation of her daily life, and also a tender depiction of cross-species love.

  • In the time it took me to scrape myself back together, Addie finished kindergarten and first grade, and this year will be submitting her thesis on the rise of the novel in 18th century literature (I think that’s what you do in the second grade, right?). She is also still a Girl Scout, and has even camped out overnight, while I still have a panic attack every time I have to turn on the iron.

    Rosie, meanwhile, has not aged at all, nor hit any major milestones other than becoming super obsessed with the concept of growing boobies, so she’s got a lot going on right now, too.

    Rosie Bbs

    Rosie has been freeing the nipple since before freeing the nipple was cool.

  • Spoiler alert – I never lost any weight, and I forgot all the Spanish I learned, and my skin is worse than ever, but I did finally break down and start getting my hair professionally colored, so at least now I look like a complete mess with highlights.

    Stupid Arty Selfie

    This is supposed to be a super art-y selfie? But honestly I just sort of look like an elderly relative is talking to me about the importance of flood insurance. There is an alternate version with my mouth slightly ajar, like you see sexy ladies doing on Instagram, but on me it’s less flirty and more mentally unhinged.

  • Wow, okay, is this really all that has happened to me in the course of like 16 months? I really thought there would be more than this. I was counting on a whole big list of like awesome accomplishments and shit, but I cannot think of a single other thing. BASICALLY TWO BABIES COULD HAVE BEEN BORN IN THIS TIME AND ALL I DID WAS GET A DOG AND WATCH MY KID PROGRESS NATURALLY THROUGH GRADE LEVELS OH MY GOD ADULTHOOD IS A DEATH TRAP.
  • The other night I had a dream that I was riding the bus with President Obama, and he had full sleeve tattoos on both forearms, and one of the forearms just said OBAMA in really big ornate letters, and I was like, wow, one would not have guessed that he had these sleeve tattoos.
  • Oh! I went to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter! That’s a thing that is definitely cool that you probably didn’t get to do! So there! I’m still relevant!

Okay, so it turns out that you basically missed nothing. Now that we’re all caught up, I can move on to all of my latest and greatest exploits.  For the rest of 2017, it’s nothing but life-changing middle-aged-lady magic! I’m gonna climb some stuff! Maybe symbolically…burn something, I don’t know. I’m gonna impress the shit out of you with all my amazing life events!

I’m gonna start with some sleeve tattoos. Or maybe a nap.

Projects, revisited

As I’ve mentioned in the past, I am a huge fan of projects. Never one to introduce small, incremental changes to my lifestyle, I have always preferred sweeping plans or entirely new regimens. This may explain why I have changed very little since the fifth grade:

fifth grade

Nailed it.

Because to be honest, as much as I love them, the projects very rarely stick. There’s generally a very intense period in which I LIVE, EAT AND BREATHE whatever new project I am embarking on, but inevitably I grow resentful of the project’s hold over my life, or sometimes I just forget I’m doing it one day, and by the time I realize it, I’m like, fuck it, project ruined. Let’s eat.

I outlined my 2016 projects in this earlier post, and at the time, I was really, really into them. But times change, so I thought I’d give you a little update on where things stand now.

  1. Learn Spanish. I have to admit, I did really well with this one until the minute I actually got to Mexico and learned that while the app claimed I was 47% fluent in Spanish, it had only taught me the 47% of words that I would need to talk to a two-year-old. As we were staying at an adults-only resort, I found that there wasn’t really anyone around with whom I could discuss at length the water-drinking habits of local horses, or whether or not my aunt has written a book (she has not).

I don’t feel like my LinkedIn connections are going to be particularly impressed.

After that, the magic was sort of lost. I pointed out words that I recognized on signs or brochures to Ben with the same zeal that Rosie reserves for informing me that she has farted, but then Ben pointed out that most of those same signs and brochures were also in English. So as of right now, I’m stalled out at 47%, and haven’t logged on since we left Mexico. Maybe I would feel a little more badass if I were 47% fluent in, like, Russian or Japanese, but 47% fluent in Spanish seems a little lame, like there should be a little banner under the 47% badge that just says “You tried.”

2. Learn to Meditate. To be honest, I almost immediately forgot about this one after I blogged about it. Maybe all I had to do to achieve enlightenment was admit that I wanted to learn, and I took an amazing shortcut straight to nirvana? But I kind of don’t think so, because right now my body is made almost entirely of stress and chocolate, so I’m thinking that just saying I wanted to learn meditation didn’t cut it. I may revisit this one once I figure out how to take ten minutes for myself each day without Rosie blowing up a building to get my attention.


I’ve been kicking around some new project ideas in my head, but nothing has really jumped out at me yet– I still want to do everything listed above, but the thrill is kind of gone. I do feel like I deserve some sort of award for keeping my blog going as long as I have– this definitely counts as a project, right?


Geez, you don’t have to be so sarcastic about it, Christian Bale.

So what do you think? Any projects worth sticking to? Any to dump? Any new to start? Who knows– you might be the one who suggests the project that could finally change my life.

Or at least 47% of it.

Weigh to go

You know how the Modern Woman is supposed to be all body-positive and embrace her curves and wear a bikini even though her midsection looks like it was mauled by a mountain lion? (Maybe that last one is just me.) Listen, I try to do that, I really do. 95% of the time, I don’t let three numbers on a scale define me. I don’t care about the numbers on the tags in my dresses, either, as long as they fit me nicely and make me feel sassy. Basically, I don’t care about numbers at all, so my life is very much like my junior year of high school when I almost failed pre-calculus.

But then 5% of the time I care about numbers very much, and basically become like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. 

rain man.gif

This would also explain my hatred of K-Mart

Not coincidentally, this 5% of time matches up almost exactly to the 5% of time that I bother to weigh myself. I generally try to steer clear of the scale as much as I can, because as long as I know that I once weighed 135 pounds eight years ago, I can assume that that hasn’t changed. Logic!

Unfortunately, I made the mistake of weighing myself last night– which you’re never supposed to do, anyway, because by the end of the day you are basically just a walking sack of fatty bloatasticness that somehow magically fixes itself while you’re sleeping– and discovered that in order to reach my goal weight, I will have to literally just stop eating until August 2018.

This, of course, is not feasible, because I have no self-control, so any attempt at a fast would last only the length of time it took me to use my superhuman chocolate-seeking powers to locate the nearest source of free candy on someone’s desk. So instead I need to work on developing a healthier relationship with food– salad and I are good friends, but I’m in a very abusive relationship with pizza– and then I have to do the unthinkable.

I have to exercise.


Photographic representation of my feelings on exercise.

I am fully indoctrinated in the Cult of Fitbit (I HAVE WALKED OVER 4200 MILES SINCE 2013 AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW ABOUT IT!!!), but I’m starting to think that’s not enough. I may actually have to do something that involves sweating, and there is almost nothing I hate more than sweating (maybe kitten murder– maybe). And as someone who managed to live her entire life without participating in a single sport since a season of pre-K t-ball and whose gym teacher once open mocked the way she ran, I can promise you that I am not cut out to be a person who exercises “for fun”. I refuse to accept that it can be fun, and when you attempt to persuade me otherwise, all I hear is “HEY! COME SWEAT SO HARD THAT YOUR UNDERBOOBS BECOME A LUSH AND VERDANT RAIN FOREST, AND THEN GASP MANIACALLY FOR AIR WHILE WORKING YOUR LIMBS SO HARD THAT YOU FEEL LIKE YOU GOT HIT BY A TRAIN!”

So I’ll do it if I have to, but I expect some sort of award ceremony afterward. With cake. There has to be cake.