The Sordid Topic of Coin


We had a bit of a scare here recently, the sort of thing that would have been utterly predictable to someone cleverer than I, (or at least not hampered by my weird issues) and it got me thinking about my attitude toward money.


Disclaimer: this is not about to become a financial advice blog—I’m in no position to be anything other than a cautionary tale—but we are going to talk in abstractly frank terms about money; if that is a thing that bothers you (even when it’s presented in my trademark what the unholy fuck is wrong with me go ahead and laugh manner) just… I don’t know, skim for whatever gifs and images follow?  Maybe post them on facebook with a unique quip like “ded” or “mood” and ignore the words altogether.  I promise not to get my feelings hurt.

Text: "current mood: a little melon collie" Image: a dog (border collie mix?) with watermelon rind helmet

First one’s free.


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Butter Veins


Steadfast readers of this exercise in inconsistency already know my husband won’t talk to me in restaurants,[1] and my struggle with his neglect, but now there’s a whole new conversation not being had at our table.


And it’s my fault, because I love him.


ME:  (serving delicious meal I slaved over)
HIM:  That looks great!  Just a bit of the—
ME:  (heaps roasted broccolini on his plate)
HIM:  …
ME:  Because I love you and want you to live a long, long time.
HIM:  … So you can continue to steal the covers?
ME:  Exactly.


Foxes In Love cartoon featuring Blue and Green—Green promises they would do ANYTHING for Blue (Do you want the moon? I can get it for you) but Blue just wants Green to take care of themselves; Green will not


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2019 (Thank God THAT’S Over) Search Terms

First of all: yes, I know it’s been a while.  Offspring was here, and it was nice but also a very emotional Christmastime for me.  Frankly, I’m glad to see the back of 2019 so let’s do this and then bury it.


For me, 2019 was the year I:


  • Lost both of my parents in a nightmare of drama and timing no respectable novelist would pen.
  • Found out my father’s “wife”[1] hated me, and is probably still busy hating me rather than trying to negotiate a more comfortable room in hell.
  • Watched my beloved brindle pup waste away and finally kissed her goodbye.
  • Sent my one and only son off to a warzone.
  • Lost my best friend of 28 years because I—for once in our relationship—needed her emotional support and denied her the opportunity to make my personal tragedies about her.[2]
  • Had emergency surgery[3] to repair a 20-year-old hernia that suddenly tried to kill me.


For some of y’all 2019 was the year you asked google for deleted scenes, how to get out of accepting blame, and what to do if your husband was doing unapproved things with your panties.  I know because Google brought you here, perhaps understanding I’m the only person who can nod sympathetically and without judgement when you have issues like:


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You deserve a real post—two real posts—this week.


But Offspring is home, and I’ve got to go wake him up by bouncing on his bed and asking what he wants to do today.


I really want to brag about the things I got Husband for Christmas, but he reads this blog so it’ll have to wait.  And I can’t tell you about the adorable thing we got Offspring because—though I’ve warned him off—he insists on reading this blog.[1]


And I live in St Louis, a city that just completely lost its shit over two inches of snow.[2]

meme: girl in raincoat rushing off with milk and bread; text reads: "I JUST SAW A SNOW FLAKE"


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11 Stocking Stuffers I’d be THRILLED to Receive (or Give!)


I don’t know how things work in your family, but in this house stockings are Santa’s responsibility.

about a billion (or at least 16) stockings hung on a mantle

I’m not made of money, dammit!


That said, there’s nothing wrong with helping the big guy out once in a while.  The way I see it, the less effort he has to put into everyone else’s stockings the more time he has to devote to my gifts.

me with my red and green hair

The real reason for the season.

It is with this philosophy in mind that I give you the following excellent—and compact!—gift ideas


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I hinted at this before, but our first step in preparing the aquarium for Dibs’s arrival was to stock it with live plants[1] and a little community of fish—some friends and some food—to live with him.  This was more complicated than it might seem, since I wasn’t interested in watching a fishy massacre play out but I wanted the “food” fish to be safe to eat.[2]

(Finding Nemo) Bruce and his shark friends take the vow, "fish are friends, not food.)



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There’s ALWAYS a Worse Flight


Why are you getting a Thursday post this week?  Because if you’re too busy fighting with your racist uncle to Internet today you’ll see it just fine on Friday, and I want to reward those of you who are refusing to engage with family today.


You are the real heroes.


Note for Canadians and other non-US persons: This post is mostly for YOU.  Because I know you’re sick of the entire internet being about our gluttonous holiday.[1]

roasted turkey twerking as gravy is poured over its ample bottom

Offspring escapes Afghanistan this week.  This means I was forced to go days without hearing from him at all whilst he quickly handed off vital information to the next team[2] and I quietly[3] prepared for the holidays, but it also got me thinking back to when he left.


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