Putting effort into activities and my appearance can be fun, but nothing beats the exercise pants that I don’t exercise in, an oversized hoodie, and lazy hair. I’m probably the most extroverted introvert you’ll ever meet. I love being around people until I’ve had enough. Most of the time it’s not even personal, it’s this switch inside of me that can go from mingling to, I’m-ready-to-leave-right-now, and it can flip pretty fast.

Why do I always regret making plans? Even fun plans, I can’t resist the comforts of my home. There will always be a piece of me that’s thinking about pajamas.

I hate going to the grocery store. It’s my least favorite place to be… but I still find myself there like every day.  The husband usually does the big grocery shopping, because I get super irritated by other people, I constantly feel in the way, and long story short, I need to get the fuck outta there if we’re in there more than fifteen minutes.

He sometimes feels the need to give me “the talk” beforehand that goes something like this:

Okay, we have plenty of time, we are not in a rush… don’t start getting pissy in aisle three. 

Taylor Swift, playing the role of Me. 

It just comes down to comfort… I love being comfy. Give me a rainy day or shit, even a snow storm in April and there will be a small large part of me that is super stoked to be stuck in the house. I’m a monster who gets annoyed by sunshine because it’s making me feel guilty for wanting to chill inside the house. Ugh, can a girl get some clouds!?

When you become a parent the guilt of being a homebody will result in doing things that you, and occasionally even your child, don’t even want to do. Easter egg hunts? Birthday parties? The meeting of iconic childhood make-believe folks like Mr. & Mrs. Clause?

My kid never wanted to sit any anyone’s lap and never once even got close to a person in an Easter bunny costume. One year I took him to see Santa. We waited in line, him being all wishy-washy about going through with it the entire time.


Now, I don’t think less of the parents who make their child pose for a picture while crying with a stranger who’s getting paid to put up with that bullshit… I just don’t subject myself or my offspring to it.

We were almost up when he made a solid two-year-old stance of I do not want to do this. We exit the line, get about 10 feet away and Bennett whips around and yells out, as loud as he can, I WANT A FIRETRUCK! A TRUCK! It was adorable, but then I felt like all the other parents were looking at me thinking, what a bitch of a mother, won’t even allow her son to sit on Santa’s lap…he clearly wants to. We should have just stayed home and written the fake man a letter instead.

Staying home is just always a better option.

H is for Homebody: A to Z Challenge


I have grieved more friendships than I have loss of life. I’ve actually grieved more of anything than the loss of life. For a thirtysomething, I should feel lucky. The last, and only person close to me who has passed away is my Grandma Vie, and I was thirteen.

Grandma Vie

My grandma was a career waitress with a bluntness about her. When I’m questioning my own choice of things to blurt out, I like to think she’d be proud of who I became. She served at a restaurant called The Normandy, while I currently work at a local supper club inside the building that was once called The Normandie back in 1948.

When my siblings and I were little, if my dad told us not to stir up our ice cream she would come up behind us and start whipping the spoon so fast around the bowl, until she could hold it upside down and the ice cream would stay put. She’d look at my dad and say, “We aren’t stirring it up, we’re mixing it” – or something along those lines.

She moved to California and we’d chat on the phone here and there, but then she passed away. I grieved her. I remember feeling overcome with sadness at her funeral and wishing that I’d made more of an effort, and asked her more questions. I grieved as much as a selfish thirteen-year-old girl can grieve.

Twenty years later and I’ve skated by with only celebrity deaths catching me by surprise.

The only other funeral I attended other than my grandmas was my mom’s uncle. I did not know him, and I also did not know it was going to be an open casket. When I laid my eyes on him, from afar, I never got any closer, the pit of my stomach dropped and I can still remember how it felt. Am I going to faint? Puke? That’s a dead fucking body… A lifeless, soulless, shell. The awareness of that feeling makes my situation bittersweet.

Two funerals in my entire life. That seems unheard of and kinda bizarre. So many people in my life have lost people they love – sisters, brothers, parents, friends. I offer my condolences, if they want a hug, I’m always good for that but I have not the slightest idea what they’re going through. My adult-self has zero experience in that category, therefore, there is no advice I can offer, plenty of sympathies, but zero empathy.

When is that day going to creep up on me? How am I going to manage my already kinda chaotic emotions? It’s morbid to think about but I’m sure you think about fucked up things too.


G is for Grieving: A to Z Challenge


Frisbee Challenged

I can’t throw a fucking frisbee. I know this sounds petty, and you’re probably wondering how the hell I’m going to fill this page ranting about something so stupid. This could end right here, and I’d still feel like it’s legit.


I can’t throw a frisbee. The end.

It’s embarrassing. I want to play disc golf, and I can’t. I play the first two rounds before I’m so mad and annoyed with myself that I just bitterly walk along and refuse to play. I’m not a competitive person, I don’t care that I would lose… I care that my disc is going into the pond. I care that I actually try to be good, and there are only a few select things I do that for. It seems like it’d be so easy. I’m all like… just point where you want it to go.



Cartwheels also fall into this category but I’m not talking about that. Diving face first into the ground counting on my arms to keep my chubby ass suspended, hoping I land back upright is clearly harder than flicking a disc outta my hand. Just once, I want it to soar flat.

Sidenote/Fun fact: A long time ago,  my older sister and I were in the backyard at my dad’s house, I think it was around the fourth of July. This was one of the many times I tried to toss a frisbee around casually. This story, however, is not about my ability to throw it, it’s about my lack of skills for catching one too. In my defense, it was dark out… who plays catch with a frisbee after dark? She flicks the disc in my direction and I’m not sure if it was my lack of grace, the lack of light, or my lack of attention… but the frisbee hit me right on the bridge of my nose. I don’t even know if I put my hands up in an attempt to catch it. It was just like…

Minus the beach.

F is for Frisbee Challenged: A to Z Challenge


Sometimes other people say things or post things on their social media that instantly make me feel like we’re on the same page, or perhaps soulmates, at the very least be friends. People are so clever and smart, who doesn’t enjoy like-minded people? Other times I just get jealous and annoyed that I didn’t come up with whatever it is first.

Here are some things that made me all…


A few podcasts you should check out: Risk, Criminal, Mortified, S-Town, Serial, Up and Vanished, Atlanta Monster, The Daily… if you need more recommendations, you just let me know, I have plenty more in my pocket.


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At least once a month @kiracohen

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This also happens after a busy shift at work. Who the fuck is that bitch? That is not who I left the house as…


I promise this is the only political one, but trust me, I could have filled this entire post with them. You’re welcome.

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the shower has become my home 💦

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I like to play this game called, how hot can I handle it? Which is not nearly as sexy as it sounds… It’s just turning the water temperature up until my skin melts off.

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V elegant

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Face and all.


E is for Exactly!: 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