big news

So, big news: I got a garlic press. I’ve been smashing garlic and shoving it into animal carcasses for like two weeks now. It took me a decent amount of time to find it, too. None at the grocery store. None at Target. None at Christmas Tree Shop. I finally found it at World Market and by my reaction you would have thought I scored a sweet hit of coke. But no, just a 33 year old housewife finding kitchen gadgets. And by the way, I had to drive about an hour north to go to World Market. One day I just decided I needed to get out of the house so I went up to the Big City and went to Super Target; got lunch at Panera with a free pastry for my birthday WHAT WHAT; found my garlic press and some European candies at World Market; then went to a not-scary liquor store for Talisker. I wore my new blazer and had my little tote bag and made it look like I might be a business lady running errands on her lunch. It was great. People at Panera looked at me like “hmm, what kind of transactions is this lady completing today?” GARLIC PRESSES AND SCOTCH, BITCHES!

Have you heard of Talisker? It is a single-malt Scotch whisky and it tastes like a fucking campfire. I love it.


We were in Cleveland for the Tragically Hip Fully Completely Tour and went to a total hipster bar after the show. I asked the helpful barkeep for a scotch that “is super peat-y” and he gave me Talisker. And it was the best. And my mom paid for the round and it was like $30 for my campfire, a beer for my brother, and her pineapple and vodka (I’m not kidding) and I immediately felt bad but how often are you in Cleveland for your 33rd birthday HOLLA! Also, did you know that bars are far funnier when you are not looking to get laid? But then it gets a little weird when you realize your mom might want to and you are sitting in the middle and you WANT to be a cool wingman but halfway through you’re like KEEP YOUR OLD LIVER-SPOTTED HANDS OFF MY MOTHER!! (No one groped my mom in real life.)

I can’t stop using CAPS LOCK in written communication. I yell a lot in real life. The other day the Major and I were “discussing” something and I reminded him that I am bossy as hell and he said “yeah, and a little mean. That’s why I love you” and now I question every single one of his motives. I realized the other day that we don’t fight about money or real things. We fight about the dishwasher and food. Food is the easy one: he eats garbage. Want to know what he made for breakfast today? A frozen pizza. He also told me the other day that he didn’t even buy vegetables before we started dating. I don’t know if this new nutrition is even helping him but it sure ruins his love of meals.

The dishwasher/dishes: the asinine straw that breaks the housewife’s back. We have a split sink. The right side has the garbage disposal. You can put dishes that don’t go in the dishwasher on the left side so someone/ME can rinse and wash dishes on the right side. Totally reasonable. (Aside: I have tried three times to email myself pictures from my phone to include in this post and they refuse to appear in my inbox in two different email accounts. I love my inability to use technology.) Major will rarely put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. When he does they are clean and then I have to dig them out. “Oh, A for effort, K8!” NO. Or he will put them on the sink and say “I thought the machine was dirty.” YEP, I ALWAYS leave four CLEAN dishes in the machine randomly by themselves. TOTES. (But seriously, this is the worst thing he does and I WILL break him but I’m glad he doesn’t spend rent on the ponies or hookers or at least he’s VERY good at hiding it from me and you gotta respect operative-level deception.) This particular day, he put a salad plate in THE MIDDLE of the bottom rack. Look at this shit:


A dish can’t ROLL into place like this. NO. See how it is angled? Yeah, it was placed that way. Passive aggressive dish placement FTW, Major. He’ll pay.

Did you know it is Valentine’s Day in 23 minutes? No one gives a shit. Seriously. The day only exists to set awful expectations that no man or woman will live up to and everyone is sad and sleeps ass to ass for the night and you have to put up with pictures of Michael Kors watches on social media and all you want to do is nap until it passes. I am disappointed that evolution has not come up with a better solution to things like human hibernation to pass time to avoid awkward instances. I am the most introverted of introverts though and you would only see me like three months total all year. I think I would have made a great turtle or a snail because I could just come out and throw an asshole comment out like a grenade then go into my house for a few weeks. That’s my dream. I realize this might make me sound like a “cool girl” but I am not trying to put on any kind of airs. I’m married. No more effort is needed for eternity. Major keeps saying that he feels bad that he didn’t get me anything and I keep telling him I don’t want anything. I got a sweet Kate Spade purse last year from deployment guilt. I didn’t ASK for it but I sure as shit wasn’t going to give it back either, nawwhatImean? I get the impression that he feels like I am going to fucking snap tomorrow when he comes up empty handed. No. I won’t. We will probably go out to lunch somewhere (dinner will be a nightmare everywhere) and then watch a movie from our totally legally-obtained hard drive of current movies. He might do some more homework. It’s fine. Real life isn’t a fucking Folgers commercial. In real life, Netflix buffers 80,000 times and ruins the flow of a movie. Real life has dirty dishes that set you off into Defcon 5. Real life has grad school homework and wine-drunk blogging on Friday night. It happens. It’s fine. You don’t need a shitty box of chocolates to make you feel better. Drink the whole bottle of wine and fall asleep on the couch like a big girl. You’ll be fine.

Here is a sweet photo of Major and me that an usher took at the hockey game for us. I think she has a real future as a photog.




big news


Ugh, I promised myself I would post every other day so here are random thoughts to check the box. System drives behavior! Quantity over quality!

How come some enterprising individual hasn’t invented a service where you pay to NOT see advertising? You would pay to avoid certain products or companies or types of commercials. For example, if you watch shows on TLC because you love the psychology behind obesity and makeovers you have to watch the same five commercials all day. I would pay to never see another fucking Duggar again. That family grinds my gears. It’s a uterus, not a clown car.

I really enjoy the show on TLC called My Big Fat Fabulous Life. The show is about Whitney and she is a large lady but I just really enjoy her spirit. I almost can’t say that without laughing only because it’s so far from something I would typically say, but she really has a tremendous attitude and she just owns it without being obnoxious. I enjoy Hoarding: Buried Alive because I am June Cleaver compared to those housekeepers.

“I know what I want for Valentine’s Day,” I announced as I came out of the shower yesterday. Major was sitting on the floor messing around with his new hard drive full of movies. That sounds SUPER dirty. He keeps asking me what I want and I keep telling him nothing. For real, not a wife trap. Except yesterday when I was in the shower. My shower pouf is white yet it was full of tiny, black shavings. FULL, intertwined in the loops and mesh that cannot be removed. Hmm, what could that be? Oh, perhaps my handsome husband rinsed out his razor almost directly at the shower head thereby dumping all the disgusting beard trimmings into my shower sponge. “Oh really,” he fell straight into my trap. “Yes, a NEW SHOWER POUF, YOU SICKO. YOU DUMPED ALL THE GROSSNESS IN MY SPONGE!!” He skillfully kept his eyes on the hard drive, no eye contact. “They are $2 so make sure you pick a NICE ONE, REAL FLUFFY.” And that is how you nag.


Little Shiner has decided that he hates walks now. I don’t know what to do with him. We get excited. I put on my running shoes and wear my fleece and hat and all things that indicate we are going for a walk. We jump and twirl so I can’t put the leash on because WE ARE SO FUCKING EXCITED! We go outside. We immediately take a dump in the front yard. We take a dump in the neighbor’s yard. Then the magic happens – we hunker down. No more moving for me. I’m Shiner! I am in charge! Mom gets mad but exhibits patience. We just stand in the spot for a minute and then start walking again. NOPE! HUNKER DOWN, BOYS! This weekend we discovered mole tunnels near the spot where he was refusing to move. Oh, that must be it! He smells them and wants to murder their entire mole families! Mystery solved! False. He did it again today. It was cold and between rain showers so I let him sniff around for a bit then we just headed home. Home was about 25 feet away. Sigh.

I need a little refill on my wine before I listen to Jon Stewart announce that he will be leaving The Daily Show later this year so I can pout and be “sad” because a man I don’t know is moving on to do better things with his career or spend time with his family HOW DARE HE??!!


old crap, get out

I got rid of lots of stuff this weekend. I just wanted you to know. The end.

Ok, but for real, after good chats with HeteroLifeMate (HLM) and Major, I decided I needed a bit more gratitude and less clutter. (Mourtney HATED my junk mail clutter and rightfully so.)

So on Friday I gathered up all the clothes that were in good condition and I haven’t worn in a good amount of time (mostly because they don’t fit) and took them to a consignment shop. The only stuff they didn’t take was because it was “for the fall, darling.” Then I mailed Christmas presents to my dear friends because I am the worst at mailing things. Then I went to Target to get a new carbonation canister for the Soda Stream.

As I was walking around my foot started to hurt, and not in the usual old-lady-with-bunions-way. Something was digging at my toe. I slipped my shoe off and one toenail had cut the toe next to it! Blood was filling up my sparkly Frye ballet flat like Malarchuk on the ice. Look:


But next time someone tries to tell you that being a housewife is easy you show them this picture and say “WELCOME TO THE OCTAGON, BITCHES!!!!” You don’t need no hater with a job to tell you your life is easy.

Yesterday I did my new workout called LIIC: low intensity interval cleaning (TM). You do a chore, like dust, then sit down and check social media for like 10 minutes. If you have six hours you can get two rooms vacuumed and dusted.

Major brought me into the public and we saw the movie “Inherent Vice” and it was delightful. All I will say about the movie is James Brolin stole the show, as they say. HOWEVER, I would like to say more about how to be a rude fucking theater patron.

  1. Arrive 10 minutes late.
  2. Ask people to move “so you can sit together” despite two consecutive empty seats in the row in front of you.
  3. Talk frequently.
  4. Rattle your cup and chomp on ice LIKE A FUCKING COW.
  5. Fall asleep and start snoring.
  6. Get up during a sex scene and leave like a prudish baby GOODBYE DON’T FALL DOWN THE STAIRS

Today I did more spring cleaning things. This is how I dress now to clean and housewife:


I’m confident that normal people do them regularly but here’s the thing: I’m not terribly normal.  I have been in denial about my new awful role in life but on Friday I just faceplanted into it and I have to say, my house quite nearly sparkles. I also have a bag of clothes and my stupid Magic Bullet that was taking up a SHITLOAD of space in the cupboard for donation to Goodwill. Goodbye, useless appliance and goodbye clothes that are dumb and stupid and no one likes you anyway, Bernice! Get out ma life!


old crap, get out

No street smarts. Moderate book smarts.

I’m slowly trying to get back into this because the suffocating ego-smash that is job searching makes me hate my computer and doing this will get us back to par. So I’m going to tell you random stories.

I have almost zero street smarts. I’m not going to call it common sense because I know not to do things like put aluminum in the microwave or drink bleach or things like that. I did smoke up the whole kitchen tonight but I think there was a little grease splatter on the broiler. I’m not going to count that. What I lack is the ability to understand or maybe empathize with other humans. Is this psychopathic? Sociopathic? We may never know but it has been hotly debated. So I get into situations. Are they comical? Are they sad? I don’t care.

Outside of physics, I’m fairly intelligent. My fourth grade teacher even noted in my record that I am “possibly gifted.” Everyone finds that amusing. Well it’s not so funny when I’m torching your ass in Jeopardy so whatever. There’s almost no practical use of the weird facts I have retained but sometimes it’s funny, like a stupid pet trick. I can also help you strategize, communicate, relate publically, and so on. But please don’t ask me to use emotions. And I enjoy a good aerospace nerd-out.

So now let’s pretend I am on a business trip with a group of colleagues. Half of us spent a week waiting for an event. Another group joined us later in the week for said event. Event is a success! Hurray! Let’s go to dinner and celebrate. As we met in the lobby of the hotel to rally, I noticed one of the guys was not wearing his wedding ring and was also dressed like a dork: plain t-shirt, shorts, tall white socks, athletic shoes. This was my exact thought: “it’s too bad that Guy is dressed like a dork and is divorced now!”


Sad, right? I sit across from coworker (let’s call him Ted) and next to Guy at dinner. Everyone is happy! Chat chat chat! Our waitress was a lovely younger gal and Guy was really being flirty with her. Ha, that’s funny. Ted is asking me weird questions and kicks me under the table. What a klutz! After dinner the group splits in half: lame-o’s go to bed, the rest of us have a nightcap at the hotel bar. I’m having a good time chatting with these coworkers because I don’t get to work with them often and it is good to get some networking done and IS GUY’S HAND ON MY KNEE!??! WHAT DO SALLY AND BILL THINK OF THIS??!! DO THEY THINK I APPROVE OF THIS??!! DO THEY NOTICE??!! So now I have to drop in the awkward “Oh yeah, my BOYFRIEND likes that show” etc. Guy gets it. Back in the office after the trip I confide in Ted about this. “YEAH, stupid! That’s why I was asking you all those questions about Major at dinner. Didn’t you notice that I kicked you at one point? He was flirting with you the whole time.” K8 fail. Ted ran point for my human interactions after that. Also of note, GUY IS NOT DIVORCED. Took off the ol’ ring.

Our new location is southern and it gets hotter than hell here. I’m from Buffalo. I am not made for any temperature over 75 really. As part of my bored housewife routine I was making weekly trips to Michael’s for craft items. Every time I was there I would find something and think “what the hell would you ever use that for?” and be right back to buy it two weeks later. As I was heading back to the car one spicy afternoon, I was approached by a man selling items to pay for him to go to school to be an addiction counselor, I think. He had a good story: was in a foster home when he was young, got reunited with his dad later in life then quit school to take care of his dad when he got sick. He looked unfortunate: about 6 feet tall, 110 pounds, not all his teeth. But he was very charismatic. And I felt guilty. It was like 3 pm in the middle of the week and I was buying craft paper or some unnecessary shit.

He showed me a long list of things I could purchase and I settled on The Atlantic magazine. I like to buy it when I’m at the airport and I had/have free time now. “Ok so just bill me, right?” This is where my stupidity could not be stopped. “Well, I actually need cash, at least 50% of the total. Here’s the statement from the company that says this isn’t a scam…” and he showed me a disclaimer from a company saying they were ethical, this wasn’t a rip off, etc. “I don’t have any cash on me though.” He looked devastated. He was good. “Ok, I’ll tell you what – I need some things from Target. I will go across the street and get the cash and bring it back to you. Ok?” IS ANYONE STILL WITH ME AT THIS POINT IN THE STORY? I get in my car. I drive across the street. I buy things I actually need PLUS two waters (one for me and one for him because he was sweating buckets in his parking lot swindle scheme) AND I bought him a cheap pack of pens because he only had one and he had to dig around to find it. I could only get $40 in cash back. As I was walking out of the store, I saw him walking in. I gave him the water, pens, and cash and he wrote a receipt where I could send a check for the remaining balance and kept saying “bless you, ma’am” over and over. Look, here’s how I look at it – it’s HIS bad karma if he was lying to make a few bucks. I was just trying to help someone out. And it was $80 I was going to probably spend on boxed wine or fucking paper rosettes or something weird.

I recently found the receipt and went to the website to see if I could contact them to ask about my subscription. It was a very vague webpage that said my magazine would arrive in 90-120 days. It’s been six months now. My sister made a valid point that maybe the company ripped HIM off. I hope not. I would prefer if no one ripped anyone off and I got my damn magazine. Until then, every day I check the mailbox with hopeful anticipation that there is good in the world and The Atlantic will be there.


It’s time for Conan now. Bye.

No street smarts. Moderate book smarts.

Let it goooooooooo

My birthday is in early January so it aligns nicely with making New Year resolutions I won’t keep. This year I decided to “let it go.” I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little high-strung over small things. When I drop things. When things fall over. Anytime at all when I’m driving. Anytime I am woken up. Anytime I am hungry. Before coffee. (If I have a job) almost any time at all at work. You get it. I don’t think it’s really maturity that has caused this new shift. Mostly I am tired and am noticing physical fatigue from so much effort to be that pissed all the time. So, I’m just letting it go.


Major and I flew to Seattle for Christmas and on one of the flights I was watching Frozen because it was free and I had about two hours to kill. I got so engrossed that I didn’t notice that we were landing until the thrust reversers kicked in. I may never know if Anna and some dude made it before the wolves chased them down in the sleigh. My niece informed me VERY matter-of-factly that they did.
I still don’t have any employment. I had one phone interview, conducted by an HR rep, and I managed to NOT answer “why do you want to work here?” It was one of my finer moments in my career, if I do say so myself. FIRST, when she emailed and asked for my availability and I asked who would be conducting the interview and should I prepare anything specific she responded “it’s just a casual conversation between you and me to get to know you and see how you would fit with our team.” Fair enough, BUT asking me “tell me about a time when you had to grow an audience” is NOT a general question. I was not prepared. As we discussed further I realized it was more of a sales job than a business development job and I’m not good at those jobs. More on that in a bit. The job was also about an hour away, which I didn’t love. But they were the only ones with any interest in me. At the close of our discussion she said they weren’t in a big hurry to hire but would let me know in about two weeks if they wanted to move forward. The next step was a test project. STOP. The next step was not an in-person interview. They would email a project and give me two hours to complete. If I passed that then an interview. Let me summarize this process for you:
1. Application
2. Online questionnaire
3. “informal” phone interview
4. Test project
5. Formal interview
6. Job offer
Since I am taking a new and mature approach to life, when I received my “thanks but no thanks” piss-off email from HR I did not reply “FINE, but you aren’t fucking Google so get off your high interview horse.” I was waiting at Dulles for my flight home on a different trip and was already irritated because flying on a regional carrier is like asking someone to kick you in the lady balls while they drag your luggage on the taxiway with the suitcase open and spread your underwear all over the ramp.
Now I apply for any half-reasonable part time retail job that I can do while I am in grad school. I start in March. I’m not super stoked about it but I can’t get my resume passed the filter internet machines with just job experience. Aviation is a life-ruiner. I have noticed in this new world of job applications that the shittier the pay, the longer and more obnoxious the application. Large companies that pay well will also give you a piss-off letter in about three to four business days. I appreciate the closure.
That’s all. Happy Katy Perry National Concert Day tomorrow!!


Let it goooooooooo

daytime tv review

My space-out time has increased over the last two weeks. I keep finding and applying for good jobs and even the crickets have gotten bored of me. SILENCE. So like a good little wallower, I watch a lot of TV and pout. It used to feel good to take a sick day occasionally to watch some bad daytime TV, take naps, and wear pajamas all day. Key word in that sentence is OCCASIONALLY. This is my MO now: roll out of bed, take vitamins, take dog out, have coffee, watch TV/nap, go to bed. There is intermittent eating sprinkled throughout the day, which is why I wear pajamas so often.


ANYWAY, I want to give you some insight into why I love the shows that I do, no matter how vapid, asinine, juvenile, and rotten. Let’s begin!

Dr. Phil – oh dear LAWD I can’t even be mad. Down here he is on at 9 am. I often hop out of bed and do all my morning “chores” just so I can watch baldy. The topics are all over the place but I enjoy his condescending attitude mixed with empathy. It’s funny how he combines them. The absolute best part is the shameless advertising where he hands his crying guests a strategically-folded Dr. Phil handkerchief. They are dabbing their eyes while simultaneously plugging his show. Genius. It’s like Ricky Bobby advertising on his windshield.


The Doctors – this is the show I love to hate. I imagine this is what it looks like when TMZ and Dr. Oz have a dumpster baby. I don’t watch either. (Do NOT Google “dumpster baby”, please.) It’s salacious medical “advice” and “information” mixed with local news-esque teasers about “the item in your cabinets that will KILL your children. NEXT!” And it’s always some idiot thing that anyone who doesn’t watch this show already knows to keep away from children, like ammonia. There are three women doctors that seem like they could hold down a show that I would actually watch, but the rest of them are irritating. If nude photos of Dr. Travis leaked, I would look at them. I think he might have been on The Bachelor, which just sends me into a self-loathing shame spiral.


I finally reached my saturation point of The Doctors one day and found Wendy Williams. That is one sassy broad. I assumed she was a comedian but after a very scientific search of Wikipedia she is a former DJ. (She has a degree in communications from Northeastern, which I did not see coming.) What I appreciate is her giant personality which is reflected in her giant accessories, her bright clothes, and her big voice. Mind you, she gives HORRID advice but it’s so obscene you have to laugh.


The best, the king, the McDonald’s of my daytime soul, Maury.
Maury used to be a legitimate journalist yet somehow he is in charge of remediating middle school health class. If people paid attention in sex ed class, understood ovulation, and took responsibility for their actions, he would be out of a job AND THEN WHAT WOULD I DO????!!!! It’s all paternity tests and lie detector tests now but once in a while you will still get a wild teen episode to break it up. He’s also on twice a day here, which is twice the grandpa hugs.


After Maury I do really unproductive things like space out, check Facebook and Twitter, nap, eat, repeat. But I wanted to share a few of my favorite things.
YOU get a Maury! and YOU get a Dr. Phil! And YOU get a Wendy!

daytime tv review

goodbye, eggs

Last night I sat here and typed out my review of my favorite daytime TV shows and biffed up the photos so they kept inserting in the wrong spot. So now you get to hear about why I have to break up with eggs until I figure it out. You’re welcome. Plus Sunday morning means eggs. CHICKEN EGGS, morons.

Since high school, I have been getting “sinus” headaches. Awful, painful, throbbing, misery that has ruined plenty of mornings, nights, and afternoons. I always thought my sinus areas were just messed up and it was something I needed to deal with. About two years ago, I started training for a fitness competition and was having some trouble with my left arm. I would lose grip and my whole arm would go numb occasionally. I went to a chiropractor and it turns out it was my neck that wasn’t properly aligned and that took care of a LOT of headaches, but not all. La la la, we moved to the South this summer and I found a new chiropractor and one day I mentioned that I got a migraine only because I was concerned my neck was pinching. I was wrong.

Ol’ Doc McCrackin’ said he was going to do a muscle test and called in one of the lovely gals that works for him. I sat on the adjustment table and he gave me a handful of magic crystals to hold in my left hand and Assistant held my right wrist. I say magic crystals because he opened a drawer and had a little box of dozens of little tubes and they all looked exactly the same. Then he proceeded to push and pull Assistant’s arm, which in turn pushed and pulled mine. After that I laid down and he pushed on my stomach a little and said, “You have a leaky gut. Stop eating eggs.” And I was like “Ha yeah, ok.”

I did nothing he said to do for a few weeks. He tried to get me to go on an elimination diet where you can basically only eat lean protein and certain vegetables. No soy, gluten, dairy, eggs, fun. I’m not sure what cracked but I thought “self, you can probably at least give the eggs a try and not eat them and see if Doc McCrackin’ is right.” NO HEADACHES. Went away completely. Son of a bitch. Now I am sorta kinda following the elimination diet (I totally eat some gluten and dairy/cheese still) but eggs are a huge no-no. I got my flu shot on Thursday and it is derived from egg protein. I’ve had a dull headache for three days. Also my face stopped breaking out in those awful breakouts so less chemicals on my face, less makeup, less orange smears on my jaw line.

This magic crystal method is called “Applied Kinesiology” and if you search Google, you will first get an article from a site called “Quack Watch”, which made me laugh. I don’t really care about the gluten or dairy but if this happened to be a good coincidence and McCrackin’ guessed right and eggs have been my enemy this whole time, then whatever.

Did you know that eggs are in EVERYTHING? I found some bread that was rice-based and it fucking tastes like pure evil. The texture is bad, the taste is nothing, and it costs like $5 a loaf. I also made some vegan pumpkin bread and it was ok, but nothing like regular bread. (Special shout out to my Ninja food processor. That thing is amazing.)

This makes me sad because I love eggs and they were my go-to food because I am very lazy. The Major makes really good egg sandwiches in the skillet and now they are a thing of the past, unless I want to vomit them up later from a headache. So goodbye, eggs. It’s been real.

Today we have a nice little day planned. We have to go to Barnes & Noble so The Major can get some fucking book on war or something; Michaels for craft paint for a super secret project; Target for toilet paper. Don’t know if we’ll have time to punch ourselves in the face.


goodbye, eggs