It’s something I’m familiar with, I might even say it’s comfortable for me. I thrive on the chaos that often times I create myself. Age has tamed this part of me, but it’ll always linger and tempt me. I understand it more, rationalize it better and absolutely show it less. Priorities and stuff.

A lot of people blame their parents for how they turned out as adults. It’s easy, just different degrees of the same issue. My parents were too strict. My parents beat me. My parents dictated my whole life. My parents fought all the time. My parents didn’t pay attention to things that mattered to me. My parents cared too much and smothered me. Everyone’s family was dysfunctional if you ask them.

One of my favorite books taught me this:

It’s not your fault that you’re fucked up. It’s your fault if you stay fucked up, but the foundation of your fuckedupedness is something that’s been passed down through generations of your family… ― Jen Sincero

The book is called You Are a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life. It’s true, I read a self-help book, but it used the word fuck a lot, which made me feel less judgy about it.

Prior to reading this book, I went to talk therapy for about a year. Something I’ve over-preached ever since is that everyone could benefit from some good talk therapy. There’s no shame in sitting down and talking about things you need to get off your chest, with someone who is not only 100% unbiased, but literally went to school for that shit.

I don’t need to throw away the parts of me who severely damaged perfectly good things, the girl who couldn’t let things get too good. Self-sabotage, fucked up thoughts, and poor decision making has ended up making me into this unapologetic person who I love being.

Dysfunction isn’t always negative, it can consume you in good and bad ways, sometimes simultaneously. I still find myself thriving on it from time to time, sometimes I put myself in check, and other times I run with it, but I’m over the self-sabotage, that was always the worst part. I’d rather just be dysfunctional and happy.

D is for Dysfunction: A to Z Challenge

Cold Sores

Seriously. I can’t. I was supposed to work the other night and had someone cover my shift because of a fucking cold sore. I knowingly just handed over probably, $100 to a coworker. Waiting tables with this thing, people will think I have herpes! (Which I do not just so we’re clear, 100% STD free.) But that’s a general fear. I don’t even want to walk outside in public, let alone tell patrons what the soup of the day is.

I don’t know why, when someone else has a cold sore I don’t assume they have an STD wart on their lip, I assume they’ve probably been a little stressed out. I do, however, take note of how nasty it is, which is exactly why I could justify handing over my shift (tips) to another server.

I’m the girl who wears red lipstick so people use their eyes, not only their ears. One of the coolest chicks I know taught me that trick. Waitresses, even if it’s not your thing, throw on some lipstick and you’ll repeat yourself less. Today though, I put lipstick on hoping it would somehow disguise this atrocious monstrosity on my lower lip, and instead wound up looking like the fucking joker.

How can one little sore make you feel so nasty?

For lunch, I made myself a burrito and couldn’t even enjoy it. It was stupid to even try, seeing how it’s painful to open my mouth. Why is this happening to me!? That’s when I went back to the store and purchased some Abreva and smothered it. I say I went back because I had already gone and purchased some Oragel stuff that was half the price. I’m not playing games anymore… but now I’m $126 into this fucking thing.

Have you ever had a $126 cold sore? Fuck my life!

C is for Cold Sores: A to Z Challenge


I enjoy drinking, but I’m going to start taking it easy. I wouldn’t say I have a drinking problem, but sometimes I cause problems when I drink. Rarely do I have one and call it a night, and I get even louder than I am when I’m sober. For the record, I am not apologizing for any of that, nor do I expect any words of encouragement. I’m just reeling it back and working on getting a little healthier.

I’ve done some things while buzzed. Some funny things, some crazy things, some embarrassing things… and I’m going to share a few of them with you.

Brandin’s brother got married and there was free beer at the reception. Everything was great there, I danced and mingled around and when the party was over we headed back to my in-law’s house to spend the night. We were sleeping in a room upstairs and the last thing I remember is going to bed. I woke up in the morning, drank coffee, and on our way back home Brandin put it all together that I had no idea what I had done the night before.

Per my husband, I got out of bed, stood at the top of the stairs and dropped trou. He could hear his sister and mom chatting at the kitchen table at the bottom of the stairs when suddenly it went quiet. They sat in silence while I moved about the kitchen in nothing but a tee-shirt and bare ass. He’s telling me this – which has already been confirmed by him with his sister and mom – and I can’t even think of anything to say. I tried to deny it in the beginning, but then I called his sister. She provided confirmation but followed it up with saying that imperfect people are the best people and ultimately it made them like my crazy ass more.

Another time, at Bridget’s bachelorette party I got our group kicked out of a bar in St. Paul, Minnesota because I yelled at a girl who ran into me. We exchanged a few words when she told me to get out. My response was something along the lines of “Oh, so this is your places now!?” and while it was not technically her place, it was her place of employment and we were outta there.

During this same bachelorette party, I went around multiple establishments playing Lil’ Wayne on the jukeboxes while telling anyone who would listen that he is the modern day Dr. Seuss. 

… And if that all wasn’t enough, here’s this tidbit.

Wine. It strengthens our bond. #InOtherNews #CatLady #TypicalWhiteGirl #twitterpost

A post shared by Jen Boggs (@jenniboggs) on

Sometimes, I do this thing where I waitress until 9:00pm and then drink one too many gimlets without eating dinner. This is never a good idea and many are now on board the, make-sure-Jenni-eats, train. Have you ever texted your boss the truth when calling into work hungover? I have because I am not a liar.


I live in Wisconsin… what do you want from me? 

B is for Buzzed: A to Z Challenge


Looking back on my 33 years of life I absolutely owe a few apologies, owed a few also, but we’ll save that for another day. In lieu of the A-Z Challenge I’ll be handing these apologies out in alphabetical order, clearly not in order of importance.

A few different folks: I’m sorry I ordered pizza and had it delivered to your house. I’m especially sorry to Lisa, who I would sit on the hill across from her house and watch the confusion go down.

Bridget, Niki, and Brandin: I’m sorry I’ve slapped you all across the face (once, I am not an abuser).

Cathy: I’m sorry Bridget and I drank your alcohol while I was house sitting for you as a teenager, and got mad at you for confronting us about it. Also, I’m sorry I ate a ridiculous amount of Halloween candy that year we shared a room with bunk beds and threw up all over you from the top bunk.

David: I’m sorry I called you that nasty word that caused you to shove me up against a wall and demand I take it back. Sometimes my humor is tasteless.

Everyone: I’m sorry I’m habitually late.

Friends and Family: I’m sorry for making you question my morals while using excessive sarcasm, also for never calling or texting back in a timely manner.

Gentry: I’m sorry I stole your grey Old Navy sweatshirt in 7th grade and wore it to school claiming it was mine and that you were crazy.

Harrison: I’m sorry that I’ve only met you one time.

Innocent children: I’m sorry if you’ve ever been witness to one of my passionately strung together, not appropriate for you, choice of language.

Jessie: I’m sorry we haven’t gotten together for coffee more recently, especially considering our close proximity.

Kwik Kevin: I’m sorry I stand at the server station and make it awkward when you aren’t making my tickets kwik enough.

Lizzy: I’m sorry I temporarily unfriended you in real life and kept you on my Facebook friends list.

Mom, Dad, Debbie, and Clarence: I’m sorry for making you worry about me and my questionable decisions I made as an adolescent and teenager. Clarence, I also apologize for stealing your car.

My old neighbors: I’m sorry my cat got out and ended up in your house that one time.

Noone in particular: I’m sorry I can be ridiculously loud at times and occasionally put you in a position to have to shh me, repetitively. It will probably never stop.

Overly competitive people: I’m sorry I have a lack of passion for winning. I don’t care, and it seems to inconvenience both people who want to beat me, and when I’m on a team with you folks… I apologize.

People who are easily offended: I’m just sorry.

Quentin: I’m sorry it’s been a few since I’ve snuggled and smooched on you.

Rhoda: I’m sorry I had too many adult beverages on a Friday night and called into work hungover on Saturday, and then showed up anyway and laughed about it.

Sarah: I’m sorry I stole the lock from your locker, more than once, in middle school. Also for calling the music teacher, pretending to be you, and asking for private lessons. That one went a little far.

Taylor Swift: I’m sorry I can’t take you seriously when you dance, even when it’s good the strange takes over.

Ungrateful bitches: I’m sorry you’re miserable people.

Violet: I’m sorry I didn’t take more advantage of the short time I was able to have you in my life.

Whitney: I’m sorry I made you play the role of my noble steed while I was the princess when we were kids.

Xenophobia Folks: I’m sorry you’re so close-minded and your life is so sheltered that you are fearful of other innocent human beings.

Yelawolf: I’m sorry I asked if you were Yelawolf (and maybe pronounced it yellow wolf) when I ran into you in Nashville. Rookie move, I should have just known.

Zzz: I’m sorry I don’t get enough of you, ever, even if I nap every day.


A is for Apologies: A to Z Challenge

A to Z Challenge: Theme Reveal

I miss writing for fun.

I’ve been doing this freelance stuff and it’s awesome and super validating but not the same. It doesn’t give me the same feeling as flinging my personal opinions, rants, and dazzling personality in all of your faces. Stirring the pot and thinking I’m hilarious trips my trigger, it makes my world go round.

April is creeping up on us and that means another A to Z Challenge is around the corner – staring me down. Two years ago I completed it, last year I started and never finished (which is the truest to myself thing I could do), and this year I already have my posts mapped out – and it’s only March 19th.  I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna finish it, and I’m going to feel really good when it’s all said and done.

This theme reveal is not exactly that. I’m not even sure I have a theme, or if it’s just a smorgasbord of things that will be fun to write about. What I do know is that they are all true to me. Every post in the month of April will give you a little insight into who I am, why I’m this way, the people who are important to me, my past, present, and future.

Tomorrow I will start drafting the posts, and for the entire month of April, I invite you into my world, there will be venting, apologies, judging, flash fiction, and zingers. I will only get political once (or twice), and you’ll laugh more than I get political. Promise.

Until then, here are five of my favorites from the previous A-Z challenges. Check them out and then come find me come April 1st.

U is for Uneasy“Some worries are rational, others are not. If I say this, how will it be perceived? Rational.  How am I going to get all this done? Rational.  Did someone just break into my house while I’m showering? Irrational.

T is for Twerking:

“Bennett [my kid]: Can you show me what that is?

Me: Um, moms don’t really twerk.

Bennett: Oh, so it’s like a kid thing?

Me: No!”

L is for Loud“I’m so used to people shh-ing me that sometimes I beat them to it. I’ll put my own hand up and lower the hypothetical volume as if I’m trying to announce that I have it under control.”

I is for Illicit“Now, as a parent myself, I have to imagine there was a time or two that it was a bit uncomfortable to be around me and my love for risque tunes. I’d like to issue a public apology to the adults – especially my parents – who encountered my illicit taste in ’90’s music.”

H is for HandwritingIn school, we learn the proper way to write each letter and once we feel safe and confident we’ll start connecting the tops of our fours – and refuse to make every ‘r’ lower-case. Some people actually don’t care at all how their freehand writing looks, or maybe they do but the effort to make it legible is just too great. Who knows? 

Here’s to another A-Z Challenge and, more importantly, completing it.