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 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.

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

E is for Election

Here’s the deal – I wasn’t always this crazy. I swear. Today, I will not rave about Bernie Sanders or go on a rage filled rant about Donald Trump; I just want to figure out how this happened.

It’s unclear when I first was introduced to the idea of this man named, Bernie Sanders. What I do know? It snowballed awfully quick. I went from being this person with zero opinions to give regarding anything political and preaching that an uneducated vote is worse than not voting, my go-to excuse for avoiding the whole process.

Now? Well, it basically consumes my soul.

Is it because my son is getting older and I’m concerned for his future? Is it because finally a politician is speaking a language that makes sense to me?  Maybe this is just what happens after thirty…?  No. That can’t be right – I have plenty of friends older than thirty who observe from afar and are too nice to say so, but they’re more than likely tired of my political posts on social media.

If someone would have told me even two years ago that I would have a political sign in my yard and bumper stickers on my car I’d give you a look that screams, Get the f*** outta here with that nonsense.

Currently, I’ll talk Bernie to anyone willing (or not) to listen to me and Lord knows, once I start I can’t stop. Let’s be honest, one of the reasons I signed up for this A-Z challenge was so I could grace Properly Ridiculous with things other than politics…

…cause I guess not everyone is into all that.

Long story short, I’m sorry I have allowed this madness to consume my soul and I’m sorry if you’ve ever wanted to tell me to just shut the F*** up.

But in reality, I’m not sorry at all.

Feel The Bern, Bitches.

 A-Z Challenge : Day Five

[If you actually do want to read some Bernie posts feel free to click here, here, here or here. If you want to read some Donald Trump rants click here, here or here.]


A is for Acting Out

The day I noticed my stepdad kept the keys in his black Pontiac Grand AM is the day I started planning. You can’t just take a car, at 15 years old, no license and cross state lines to skip school with your best friend without proper preparation.  It only took a few days to build up the courage and to feel as though my plan was foolproof.

I’d recently moved from Minnesota to Wisconsin and I missed my best friend… that’s how I justified this madness.

I watched the parental units pull out of the driveway, carpooling to their jobs and a twinge of excitement rushed over me. Running to the phone, I couldn’t get Jenny on the phone fast enough. She had no clue what was in the works – true schemes like this can’t be jeopardized by doing something willy-nilly like talking about it on the phone. That’s how you get caught. Duh.

“Do you want to go to school today?”

…’Well, no?’

“Pack us some lunch, and I’ll pick you up at your bus stop.”

Jenny and I had the kind of friendship where after something like that was said, no questions were asked.

I slam the phone down and get to work. I marked the garage with tape so I knew the placement of the tires – and you can’t drive as far as I planned and expect the gas gauge to keep a secret, so the tape had multiple purposes. It didn’t stop there… after I placed the cheat tape on the floor of the garage and the fuel deal – it went on the seat adjusters. My young lady legs were shorter than the regular occupant and the goal this whole time is to make sure the next time Clarence sits down to go somewhere – everything is just how it was.

I told you it was an elaborate plan.

Looking back now as an adult I’m surprised I didn’t have any concern for the neighbors, who easily could have saw me backing out of the driveway, if they did they kept their yappers shut and for that, I thank them. It was roughly an hour drive to Jenny’s bus stop and at no point do I remember being concerned. I was not worried about getting pulled over, I wasn’t worried about being absent from school and I certainly wasn’t worried about getting caught at home – I’d put the work in.

Confidence is key, apparently.  

Jenny packed us tuna fish sandwiches and I hate Tuna – everything about it, especially the smell. After she chucked the sandwiches out the window we made our way to the good ol’ Mall of America. I’d never tackled a parking ramp before so that was an adventure all in itself. We found somewhere to park, but being an unlicensed, inexperienced driver I bumped into the concrete barrier with his bumper. Our quick looks of fear didn’t take long to subside and we were back to being carefree in no time. No harm no foul.

We did some serious cruising with Missy Elliot, too. We opened the sunroof and laughed while we watched the rearview mirror shake with the bass vibrations. Eventually, the day had to come to an end and I was on a time crunch.

Often times, I wonder how I ever managed to get anywhere before GPS and then I remember the time I got lost on the way home from stealing my step dad’s car. I stopped for gas and was too paranoid to ask for directions because if I asked the gas station attendant they might ask for proof of a driver’s license. Simple 15-year-old logic.

I was on my own, lost, and that moment was the only time I felt nervous. Clarence and my mom were due home soon and all my fun was about to come crashing down around me. Not that I deserved God’s help but I give him credit for getting me home and in that garage – all lined up – approximately five minutes before their arrival. I erased the message from school, threw my backpack where it’d ususally be thrown after school and plopped down on the couch – full of relief. “Hey guys, how was your day?” I said, with a smile as they made their way into the house.

The moment of truth came and went – I got away with it.

Fast forward 3 years or so – my mother went and read all my old journals. Remember when I said, “true schemes like this can’t be jeopardized by doing something willy-nilly like talking about it on the phone. That’s how you get caught. Duh.” … I did not feel that the same standards were there for writing about it. She made me confess – three years later. We were out to eat, mowin’ down cheeseburgers when I spilt the beans.

“I TOLD YOU!! I TOLD YOU!!” – Clarence

Low and behold, I didn’t do as great of a job as I thought and he asked my mom about it that night and for a few weeks after, to which my mother responded

“Jennifer? No…no way, she wouldn’t do something like that.”

I am looking forward to the month of April because I’m participating in the A-Z Challenge. Mostly to get in the habit of writing every day, but also to re-enter the blogging community and make some new connections. Looking forward to reading the other submissions for day one!