You know what the first thing a person generally needs to do is when he or she awakes after a full night’s sleep? Take a piss. At least, I think that would be the general consensus.

Saturday was no different in this regard. I had slept in until almost noon, when my cats would no longer leave me alone, because they expect food ALL DAY and FOREVER. So I fed them and then meandered to the bathroom to take care of that previously mentioned necessity.

For some reason, the toilet appeared as though it hadn’t been flushed the night before.

I found this odd, but didn’t give it too much thought. I pushed down on the handle…

The water didn’t go down.

No…instead….it began to rise!

“Wait….what…is…happening….? How…does…this….huh??”

I didn’t immediately panic, because I couldn’t quite register what was occurring. Just a few seconds later, however, I noticed that the rising did not cease.

“Shit!! I don’t have a plunger!! WHY DID I NEVER BUY A PLUNGER!???”

This is where my panic set in……AND…

the overflow began.

“Aaahhh!!! Crap!!! Piss!! F***!!!”

Trying to at least avoid wet carpet, I grabbed the rug from the floor and flung it into the next room, while shooing the cats away, because of COURSE they want to come try to walk through the pee-water!

(Oh HI! I’m a happy, little cat!! Watch me prance in the water!! SEE ME FUCKIN’ PRANCING, MOM!??)

“Get back, A-Hole!!!! You’re cute, but NO ONE IS CUTE WITH PEE ON THEIR PAWS!”

I leaped across the puddle to the linen closet (simultaneously pushing the cats away), grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to unroll it.

ALL OF IT…I UNRAVELED EVERY LITTLE BIT…right onto the offending water!

The toilet stopped running, but it was still full to the brim with water, and of course I was left with a dirty pond in my bathroom.

The worst part of it was I still had to pee—badly!! And this little situation didn’t help in that department whatsoever. I mean…running water??!! Come on!!!!

So there it was:

My bathroom–a massive lake of pee-water topped with a zillion paper towels, two cats dancing through it in glee, and me…forced to use the bathtub to take a piss, shaking my head at the fact that I had pee on my feet…just like the cats.

Oh yah…Two hours later, I bought a plunger.


It was the first time in over two months that I had awoken early enough to drive into work and meet Heather for a morning workout. It needed to happen. After gaining approximately a zillion pounds, I figured some treadmill time would do me some good.

After defeating the 5am alarm clock battle, one would think things would be all downhill from there.

I should have known better.

In case you are unaware, I shall tell you now that my “klutz factor” is increased in the mornings, when I first wake up, by at least 155%.

Also, due to my cat-lady nature, the first task I complete when I awake is grabbing the cats’ bowls and filling them with food. And so I did…unfortunately, the clumsiness kicked in.

Cat kibble was spilled not only into the bowls, but onto the floor as well. A lot of it

Of course, it was too early to remember that I have a broom in the closet, and I decided it was a FABULOUS idea to pick up the food by hand…some of them one-by-one.

Things had to get easier at this point, right?

I threw on my workout clothing, filled my gym bag with the necessities for my post-gym shower (office-wear, shoes, etc.), remembered to grab a jacket, and rushed out the door.

BLAST OF ICY, COLD AIR TO THE FACE….and ice on my windshield—one of the joys of parking outside

I texted Heather to let her know I was going to make it in a little later than 6am, because Mother Nature had decided to be a bitch today.

After fishing on the floor in the back of my car for what seemed an eternity, I found my ice scraper. Pretty sure the heat radiating from my annoyance caused the ice to melt quicker than even the meanest of scrapers!

(10 minutes later)

I was finally on my way…until a million cars stuck DEAD in traffic blocked the entire highway!

I was puzzled at how congested it could be this early in the morning. Was this NORMAL?? Was traffic just FOREVER OCURRING ALL DAY??

It wasn’t until I crept up the highway for another ten minutes that I realized there was a road completely closed. I assume someone wrecked on the ice, but I never saw a wreck. I hoped everyone was alright, but continued to think that my morning was cursed. Maybe sleeping in would have been a better idea.

As I finally pulled into work (where there is our fitness center), I received a text from Heather:

“Why the F*** are the locker rooms out of service?”


In the end, after my workout, the sinks became the showers, the paper towels were my wash rags, and the automatic soap dispensers became the bane to my existence.

And now…the day begins

Ozark List

There are a few things I learned this past weekend, after performing at a gig in the Ozarks.

1. It is complicated and difficult to put on fishnets in the back seat of a car.

2. It helps to have a friend who can put your super tight shirt on for you…when in the back seat of a car.

3. The mirrors on car visors were NOT meant to use for putting on makeup/lashes, but we gave no fucks.

4. Broken glass on the floor will not stop the dancing.

5. A guy getting knocked out, falling and hitting his head on cement WILL stop the dancing.

6. Police/EMT’s have a surprisingly fast response time in that area.

7. EVERYBODY is ALL about the bass.

8. Sometimes, black guys dance on giant black poles.

9. Drunken guys who knock people out foolishly return to the scene of the crime.

10. Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!

11. Water in the Ozarks tastes awful, so it’s better to stick to beer.

12. We CAN do a live version of Iggy Azalea’s “Fancy”!

13. I don’t remember what else I learned, but I’m pretty sure there was more……

I Am Clean!!

I shower every day, and most of the time, everything goes smoothly. The worst that might happen is a cut from shaving or soap in the eyes.

Today, however, was slightly more…challenging.

I had just washed my face, lathered the soap on myself, and had begun the chore of shampooing my hair. Unfortunately, this meant both of my hands were atop my head, scrubbing, when the occurrence struck.

At that moment, my shower head apparently had had enough…..and it came off….no….more like SHOT OFF from the fixture in the wall!!

“WHAT THE F***!?”

Luckily, I somehow managed to tap into some ninja-like reflexes, and even though I couldn’t use my hands to block it at that moment, I moved to the side so that only my leg was hit by the projectile. Of course, since the water was still on, it was SHOOTING out of the wall at 100mph! (This is merely my judgement based on the power-washer-like pressure with which it was hitting my flesh.)

I scrambled to turn the water off, and I succeeded. I then picked up the shower head and its pieces from the ground and attempted to go about the task of re-hooking it to the wall. I’m not sure WHY I tried, because that is an impossible task when one is covered in soap and shampoo and water. I didn’t care!! I attempted anyways!! I was determined to finish my damn shower!!

After re-fastening it to the fixture, I triumphantly turned the water back on.


It worked for a least two seconds before flying off again! Water was spraying everywhere!! More scrambling to turn the water off didn’t save my walls from being streaked with the backsplash of fury water.

After the water shooting ended….I took a deep breath….at least I survived the shower rebellion.

Bath time…..

Rage Moment

The debate I was having in my head last night involved potentially smashing my bathroom scale into oblivion with a hammer….
Really, it was being a total cunt by telling me my weight. If it really wanted to live a full life, shouldn’t it work on doing it’s job of MAKING ME FEEL BETTER???
Who wants to know the TRUTH, right???

I probably would have smashed it in it’s smug face, but then I’d have to pony over more dough to buy another one….. to potentially smash as well. Thus, a vicious cycle would begin, and honestly, I don’t have the money to buy a new scale every two days.

So it’s still alive….living on its high horse and grinning at me malevolently every time I step onto it.

I started sticking her next to the toilet, so that I can at least do a little degrading of my own.
Take that, SCALE!! First I’ll stomp on you and then throw you and your truth-telling ass next to the SHIT BOWL!

So my Tuesday’s going GREAT….How is yours?

Poppin’ Pills

As a young person, I learned how to NOT open a bag of chips. When one pulls on each opposite side of the package until it opens, if there is too much force, the sack is going to unexpectedly pop open, Jack-In-The-Box style, and chips are going to be flung into the air, onto the person’s head (probably) and all over the ground!
Yesterday and Today: My allergies had begun to bother me. I’m not sure if it’s the grass or if it’s pollen in the air, but one thing’s for sure—my nose has been one itchy bitch!
Generally, I go for as long as I can before taking any sort of medicine. I figure that my body can surmise how to get through it, and eventually be just fine, without the crutch of medication.

This morning, however, I could no longer stand the itchy nose, sneezing, watery eyes, and general annoyance that my face was feeling. I knew that in the cabinet at my desk, I would find the answer in the form of allergy pills.

As I opened the door to the overhead bin, I momentarily thought I heard angels singing.
“Did someone put some sweet cherub in here? Yes! Yes, they did! In the form of Cetirizine Hydrochloride and Pseudoephedrine!! COME TO ME, MY ANGEL!!!”

A grin spread across my face as I reached for the box that held my salvation….I knew that relief would follow soon.

The box felt very light, and when I peered into it, I realized there was only one tablet left. This was okay, because the box said this one pill would provide up to 12 hours of relief. HALF A DAY OF HAPPINESS!!!!

I could deal with that! ANY relief was better than none, at this point!

I pulled the little bubble-shaped plastic/foil packet out, found the “tear here” slit, and began my ATTEMPT to rip into it!

**Tries to rip plastic and foil packaging——no rip occurs.**

**Attempts to rip in opposite direction——to no avail.**

**Begins the “using canine teeth” method——package is still intact, albeit now full of teeth marks.**

At this point, frustration began to set in, and the panic caused me to just start pulling the two sides apart with ALL of my strength!!

AND THEN!!!!………..

(I didn’t count on this sort of thing happening with a NON-bag shaped container. I should have known. Just like potato chips.)

The teeny package burst open, and its contents went flying! I didn’t see where the pill landed, but I HEARD it “tap, tap, tap” across my desk to some unknown place.

I’M SO SORRY, MY ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Five minutes later, after searching the entire premises that is my cubicle, in hopes that no one would walk by at the moment that my ass was sticking up in the air from under my desk, I had my allergy medicine. Still currently waiting for it to kick in….)

Target Cart

The shopping carts at Target remind me of giant versions of toy carts—the kind you would play with when you were three years old and load up with plastic versions of fruit, vegetables, and empty food boxes.

I think they’re ridiculous.

THEY…. think I am ridiculous.

Last Sunday, I went grocery shopping at Target. It was a normal trip…. followed by an abnormal ‘trip’.

In the parking lot afterwards, it was raining. As I walked my cart back to its designated spot in the lot, I somehow managed to lose my shoe. I swear to you, it just HOPPED RIGHT OFF my foot!! As I turned to retrieve the flip-flop, the cart began to tip.

So picture this: A girl in the middle of a busy parking lot, with a cart toppling over while wearing only one shoe…in the rain……EXCLAIMING,

“Why is this so hard???”

This is just typically me.

How NOT To Open the Convertible’s Roof

“It couldn’t be that difficult; we’ll figure it out!”

I was so optimistic! So genuinely happy……so fucking clueless.

Heather and I were looking around the dash of the Camaro SS Convertible for a button that would put the top down.
Our luggage was crammed in the back seat, and after over three hours on a plane, we were ready for some fresh air! (Or at least some free-flowing air, considering I don’t know how “fresh” the air is in L.A.)

We found the button that depicted the car’s roof and knew we were in store for some fun next.

Heather pushed it.

Not a damn thing happened….OH…except the car yelled at us through its illuminated screen to tell us the roof wasn’t unlatched. (Pretty sure it’s bright, red letters read, “Unhook the roof first, dumbasses.”)

Oh!! RIGHT!! ON IT!!!

Immediately we see the handle above our heads. Heather tried pulling it first…and pulled, and yanked, and struggled.


It was my turn to give it a go. I pulled….and yanked….and pulled again…and just when I thought my hand was about to slip off, the handle turned.

“A-ha! You have to TURN it, too!!”

At this point, we’re both feeling like the car almost outsmarted us.

So then we push the roof-retracting button again. It begins to make a sound like it will go down, but then immediately stops and flashes some message on the dashboard screen. Another SOMETHING has to be latched.

“WHAT??? (Looked around in bewilderment.) There IS no other SOMETHING TO latch!”

So we begin searching all around the dash again, and after a few more minutes, Heather pulls out her phone.

Yup…we had to Google how to open the rooftop. It turns out that you have to move some cover back into some grooves INSIDE THE TRUNK before opening the ROOF.
Fine. Way to be DIFFICULT!!!!

So now the search was on for the trunk release…which turned into another 3 minutes of our lives used looking for buttons in this car. We found it…pressed it…


At this point, we are at the verge of becoming like chimps and just pushing ALL THE BUTTONS and slamming our fists into the dashboard, as if that will take care of everything!

I grab the owner’s manual from the glove compartment, in search of our answer, when an middle-aged gentlemen who worked for the rental car agency noticed our struggle, and stopped to offer his assistance.

We explained that the trunk wouldn’t open, but we needed to get in there so that we could hook up “the thing into the other thing” so we could open the ROOF!

Pretty sure the guy was convinced we were both airheads as he asked for the keys to the car. We unhooked them from the ignition and handed them over. He proceeded to continually press the trunk button on the key-pad, but to no avail. Then HE started pressing the release that was inside the car, REPEATEDLY…and began scratching his head.


Inside, I think we were dancing with joy together, and throwing imaginary flowers into the air and lifting our hands up to the sun in glee!!!

“Look at us and how we’re not total ditzes! YAY!”

But then, after a few seconds, he says, “OH! You have to hook the roof latch back down before the trunk will open.”

**sad trombone** Waaah Waah Waaaaaah…

So then we struggle with THAT latch again, manage to hook the roof BACK onto the car, pop open the trunk with ease, stretch and insert the bar w/ the trunk cover into its place, UNLATCH the roof AGAIN, press the button….and then it opens.

It only took us about 25 minutes to figure out how to open the damn roof on that pretty car!



I’ve officially decided my stance on sprouts.

I don’t like them.

If you took dirt and dressed it up with green colors and a bow-tie, you’d have sprouts.

I allowed them on my sandwich today, thinking that they’d merely add a “crisp factor” to it. They DID, in fact, add that slight crunch….but their flavor overwhelmed any sort of ‘crisp benefit’.

Not even cream cheese was capable of hiding that horrible choice. Cream cheese is powerful too, People!!!!

1 hour later…..

I have officially annihilated the taste of “crispy plant decay” from my mouth…with Doritos.

Doritos, 1
Sprouts, 0

20 minutes later…..

I completely obliterated the Dorito breath by drinking a Lo-Carb Monster.

Doritos, 1
Sprouts, 0
Monster, 1

1 hour later…

The Monster breath has been shunned by a piece of powerful Dentyne Ice…

My point is….everything is better than sprouts…even the unhealthy shit.

Hefty Buffet Bags

This is just a typical email conversation, as of late….all direct quotes.


Me: Okay, I’m going to be a Shitty person now.   I just got a call from Shan…he says “Do me a favor…meet me in the lobby…  NOW.”   So I do…. He brought me cheesecake.  Tiramisu cheesecake.  And I’m really hoping you’ll come have a bite or two of it…………because you gave me truffle yesterday.


 Heather: Uh, YES. Partially so we can chat about this with our mouths full.


Me: Good…I already grabbed a spoon for you. Come now!!!


(This is the part where we stuffed our faces with deliciousness and whipped cream and joy-ness….then Heather retreated to her desk.)


Heather: I am now eating a milk chocolate truffle.  #becausefatLA


Me: That hashtag is so much better than our previous one.  Heather….I’m supposed to go to a pool on Saturday…I don’t know that I want to be seen in a bikini though!! WAAAAAAAAAH


Heather:  Sundress over swimsuit, my friend. That’s my go-to.  Or I may just start wearing a full on trench coat. So I can eat whatever I want.


Me: Why don’t we just start wearing giant garbage bags?


Heather: I’m just worried we will look homeless. I’m like, “Do I want to look dangerous and fat? (Trenchcoat.) Or crazy and fat? (Giant rain poncho.) Or homeless and fat? (Trashbag.)”

 Fourth option: Actually lose weight.

Just kidding, that’s a horrible idea that takes too much of a time commitment.


Me: I don’t even know what that fourth option MEANS……I don’t think it’s possible……So, I guess dangerous and fat….. (trenchcoat)….but I am going to keep a trashbag in the pocket….for leftover food scraps…like bones from Peanut Wings, and wrappers from candy bars, and leftover, whipped-cream covered spoons……


Heather: Better yet, you could put more food in it for later and bottomless buffets.

 So it’s settled. Trenchcoat + trashbag.

 Dangerous and crazy. We sound like 99% of women on earth, honestly.




Lil Alarm

The beeping began at 5:30am, and my hand went flying towards the nightstand.  This is a natural reaction, since I am a habitual snoozer.  (I hit the snooze button at least five times before taking any alarm seriously.)


The sound….wouldn’t…stop.

Likely looking Like a drunken chimpanzee, I began to frantically hit all the buttons on top of the clock, and still, the annoying racket continued! 

I decided to open my eyes a little wider, and pick up the noise-making jerk-face to find the button marked, “snooze”. 


How can an alarm clock exist that doesn’t have a snooze button!??  I see one that says “On/Off”, and press it, with my hopes high.

Nothing happened. 

I press it again, harder, and STILL no response!! 

At this point, I’m becoming annoyed, and I snatch the clock from the nightstand AGAIN to take a closer look.  Unfortunately, my klutz factor is multiplied by 100 when I first awake in the morning.  This resulted in my dropping the clock onto the HARD and Non-carpeted floor!


For a split second, I grinned, thinking that I probably just killed it, so then I COULD snooze!!

“See!?? Take that, Motherfucker!  You’ve been SILENCED!!!”

But as soon as that thought passed through my mind, the radio on the clock turned on instead.  So, my beeping was then replaced by a loud, fuzzy, distorted sound.  A bunch of loud, white noise!

AAAAHHH!!!  That’s even WORSE!!!!!

“How is this thing still ALIVE!??”

Since I was obviously not going to make it turn off right away, I reached for the tuning knob so I could at LEAST have some music going while I figured out how to remedy my snooze situation. 

(Side note: HAD I actually been awake and functioning, then simply unplugging the clock from the wall would have occurred to me.  Hindsight, People……..)

When I attempted to find my favorite station, 96.5 The Buzz (<–Shameless name-drop!), the clock radio started playing some other song…no…wait….could it be?  There was no EFFING way…….but yes….

  Next thing I know, I’m hearing Lil Jon yell at me…

“TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!!!??????” 

That’s IT!!! My alarm clock was officially channeling through the radio and attempting to communicate with me. 

And what was it saying to me?  

“Fuck you, I’m making all the noise I want!!! Now get the Hell out of bed!”


If anyone is in need of an alarm clock, let me know.  I’m giving mine away.

It works great.




Lizard Lint

This morning, I did THE ULTIMATE impression of a lizard, in the beginnings of its shedding cycle. 

That’s the thing about new bath towels–even if you wash them beforehand, the first few times you use them to dry off after a shower, you WILL be covered in tiny, lint balls.  If the towel is white, then those lint balls look like bits of dried up skin.  Hence, the “Shedding Lizard Effect”.  I had forgotten this tidbit of information just a little too late this morning…..

Have you ever tried rubbing lotion on your skin when it’s covered in lint?  It makes the little fluff balls stick to your skin.  I wouldn’t recommend it, because then you turn from lizard-like into a wet sheep, and you have to spend ten to fifteen minutes using a hairdryer over your entire body to blow-dry all the lint away.  AND THEN you have to sweep the lint up off the floor (or leave it there for later)…

Of course, if you DO leave it there for later, you’ll probably just see the pile of white fluff, say “Fuck Lint!”, and have a beer instead.

Then you might tell a friend your lint story the next day, and if anyone religious overhears your exclamation, they’ll take it out of context and think you’re just some heathen who doesn’t respect their religious choices.  They might call you out on it, and then you’ll start blurting out nonsensical phrases like, “No! It’s the towel-lizard-skin affect!!  I only washed it once! Wait! Don’t walk away angry, you just don’t under-….awww….dang it.”

Just, don’t tell your lint story in public.  Or, don’t buy new towels. 

Gurgling Is A Language

When it happens, it gives a disheartening feeling……one that almost destroys my morning…almost.

Meandering over to Susie’s desk, where my African Cinnamon flavored brew was waiting, I awaited the happy feelings that come along with consuming the wonderful drink.

I pressed the top button of the coffee carafe, and after my mug was merely a third full, I was met with the burble and spitting sounds of an empty pot. I’m going to go ahead and say I’m fluent in the language of “gurgling”, because I CLEARLY heard the words “Fuck you! Ha ha ha!” come out of that carafe!

I WAS APALLED! To CUSS at me in a place of business—it’s downright rude and ridiculous!  SHAME ON YOU, GIANT COFFEE DISPENSER!  Shame…on…you!  (Never mind the fact that I had intended on consuming your insides and turning them into coffee-scented pee…’re the one with the shame, Carafe….YOU.)

After being thoroughly disappointed at the audacity of that hot beverage distributor, I stomped to the kitchen.

I was still fuming, offended, disappointed, and above all, IN NEED OF CAFFEINE.

I planned on topping off my cup of cinnamon-Joe with the regular stuff…and so I pressed on yet another carafe.

“Gurgle, spit, fuuuuhhhck yoooooou, haaa haaa haa…gurgle”


**Shocked face, mouth agape, moment of defeat**


Me, now: Back at my desk…drinking what coffee I happened to obtain…and plotting revenge.

Chicago: Part 1, The Scary

I had inadvertently risked my neck by behaving like a “typical girl”.  But, it was GIRLS’ WEEKEND!!!  Over-packing was a necessity, in my opinion.  I didn’t realize that when I filled my TWO suitcases (for a three day trip) in order to have various “options” in apparel and footwear, I would be lugging them downwards towards possible doom just hours later.  Not ONLY would I be carrying the 30-40 pound bags to (maybe) imminent death, I would be doing it in high heels.  This was the scariest part of Chicago. 


Heather and I left straight from work on Thursday.  I had already packed my two suitcases the night before, and swiftly moved them into Heather’s vehicle for our ride to the airport.  Leaving straight from the day job meant I would be donning my work outfit all night.  This is the reason I was wearing heels when we landed in Chicago, a little after 9pm.

Once we arrived at Midway, H’s friend, Lisa, met up with us at the baggage claim.  The three of us trekked out of the terminal and headed towards the station for the “L” (Chicago’s public transportation train system).

I had never ridden the “L” before, and by the way I became entangled in the metal arms of the turnstile, one would think I’d never walked through one of those either.

“What?? You mean a woman and two suitcases won’t fit through this entrance AT THE SAMETIME???”  (My thoughts.)

I struggled for what felt like ten minutes, backing up and retrying to pass through the thing, angling my body and suitcases in various positions.  Eventually, I figured out that if I chucked my suitcases through first, I could walk through afterwards like a normal human being.

Pretty sure the security guard was shaking his head a little bit and feeling my shame radiate like the rays of a thousand suns.  After surviving the metal monster, we boarded our train…..

The walls were covered with advertisements for some YouTube “celebrities” who I had never heard of, showing off their fancy cupcakes and makeup.  Various strangers entered and exited the “L” as we journeyed to our stop.  At one point, a gentleman walked in, sat down, and proceeded to blatantly stare at me for a solid ten minutes.  I can only assume that he could see my “turnstile shame” from earlier and was laughing hysterically at me in his head. 

“Look at all the klutz-shame glowing in this girl’s face!! Ha ha!! She must have recently done something idiotic in public…it’s shining off of her like the RAYS OF A THOUSAND SUNS!!!!!!!”  (The Stranger’s thoughts.)

several stops later, we exited…..

And there it stood…..

in all its scary splendor. ….

(pause for effect……………………………………… read the next line in a booming, exaggerated, echoed voice….)

Bum, bum, buuummmmmmm………..The staircase from HELL! 

It glared at me with it’s grate-like steps, and I am fairly sure I heard a sinister laugh emanating from its depths.  I peered down into the dark and wondered if I would survive.

For a moment, I contemplated removing my heels…but the thought of stepping barefoot onto the unknown Satan-metal was too unnerving.

I took a few deep breaths and began my descent.  In my mind, I could see myself toppling head over suitcases over heels to the cement, breaking my ankles, arms and neck.  I am pretty sure that not even Heather or Lisa would have been able to help me if I fell.  In fact, since they were ahead of me, I would have most likely knocked them over the railing on my way down, and we would all end up as splatters on the street!

Still, I continued…..

Three steps done….stop, gain balance…..three more steps….twist ankle slightly sideways…..catch my balance….two more steps…..stop, gain composure…lean against the railing for DEAR LIFE…(repeat this about four times)….

Finally, after an AGONIZING 3 minutes, I was safe on solid ground.  I won…I beat it…..I WAS UNSTOPPABLE!! 

The stairway didn’t lead to death after all!!!  It merely led to the streets of Chicago.


A couple random things..


I have this BAD habit of leaving a mug half full of coffee on my desk, undrank….unused…sad…and forgotten.

Not today. Today, I am chugging it so that I won’t have a caked-on-goopy mess in my mug, come Monday! 

Besides, I smile every time I pick up my mug, because it rests on a coaster that holds the face of Ron Burgundy, and when I see it, I then quote “Anchorman” in my head while drinking my bev.  Good times….Stay classy, San Diego.


Sometimes, I get the urge to walk around with something on my face, just to see if anyone will notice or point it out to me….

Then, the urge passes….

And I remove the fake mustache.