Category: FML

Soooo…uh…my fridge smells. Like really badly. I’m not sure what it is, but I AM fairly sure I’m not going to do anything about it.

At least not now. And probably not tomorrow because I’ll probably be hungover. And probably not Sunday because I have plans. And then the work week starts all over again and I can think of at least three dozen things I’d rather do after work than clean a fridge.

Soooooooo…there’s that.

Happy Friday, Fuckers.

It’s been raining in NOLA for much of the past month. To the point that I think half of us here are considering self-harm and the others building an Ark.

Cut to Friday. I came home from work early…just in time to witness a particularly heinous storm. We’ve lived on this street for just over six months and I never once thought about whether it flooded during a storm.



Came out of the house and found that.

Sooooo I am apparently now the proud owner of a 1998 Nissan Pathfinder with a broken heater core, musty smell and plant life AND a 2008 Infiniti EX 35 with a drained battery and water sloshing around beneath the floorboards.


So I parked my car this morning in the garage after making sure that I was properly within the lines. At one point, I opened the door, saw I was a bit close so I adjusted to get squarely within the parking space. As I’m gathering my shit I notice some whore get out of her Lexus SUV that is parked a solid three inches over the line. And of course she’s also wearing a ridiculous outfit that I’m sure she and millions of tweens think is über trendy – a skirt over capri leggings and fuck me heels. Nice work outfit, honey.

So I’m thinking all of these thoughts and silently judging her while waiting for the elevator and while I’m ON the elevator and while I’m walking behind her up to the escalators…

Instead of remembering on which floor I had just parked.

Quittin’ time should be fun! Nothing’s better than wandering around a hot and humid parking garage whilst jonesing for booze on a Friday.

Hope your kick-off to the weekend is better than mine, my peeps!

My FML Moment of the Day

Brought to me by…………BIRDS!

Judging by the smell currently emanating from my laundry room, I can only assume that one of the birds who (which?) had taken up residence in my dryer vent has met an untimely demise.



I have suffered from post nasal drip for three weeks now. Last week, my house was struck by lightning and fried a bunch of shit. Today, I am stuck in a CLE with an old dude who has been clearing his throat, hacking or coughing every thirty damn seconds.

Is this what being smited feels like?

I’m currently loving the fact that I just spent one whole American dollar on a 2 oz packet of salted peanuts from the vending machine and they taste like stale ass.

Unfortunately, I am also entirely too hungry to throw them away without eating a moderate amount.

I’ve found that people these days don’t care about facts. Or who said what. Or where the “information” they’ve quoted comes from.

Just so long as the word vomit regurgitates their own beliefs back to them they’re perfectly willing to pass it on ad nauseum (that’s a lot of vomit for one sentence. FYI.).

I long for days of meaningful political discourse; where intelligent conversations were had without one party devolving into name-calling or abject reliance on MSNBC or FOX News.

When did doubt become a bad thing? Why is a change of heart and mind something to be vilified rather than celebrated?

An open mind isn’t a bad thing. It’s something to be celebrated. It means we are capable of change, of reinvention…capable of outside-the-box solutions to problems that eluded our forefathers.

The thought of a stagnant society for the sake of walking the beaten path is a society that is dead before it’s laced its proverbial shoes.

I’ll pass on that one. Thanks.


HONEY! For the love. I’m pretty fucking certain that THIS precise situation is why baby jesus invented full-coverage underwear AND SLIPS!

Your mother should be ashamed but she’s probably your BFF and shares your clothes.

Excuse me while I go pound my forehead on my desk.


I never have quarters. NEVER.

Mostly because I never pay cash for anything except occasionally my morning coffee.

And every time I pay cash for my coffee, I feel compelled to leave my change in the tip jar for fear that the people behind me or, worse, THE BARISTA* will think I’m an enormous douche for pocketing that 44 cents.

*I really hate the word “barista.” It’s right up there with “amuse bouche” on the “if you say this I think you’re a pretentious asshole” barometer. Just FYI.

I get coffee almost every morning. It’s part of my routine and, frankly, makes the fact that I have to go into work a little less dreary. Most days, my coffee-fetching activities take little time because pretty much everyone who arrives at a coffee shop between the hours of 7 and 9 am are also worker bees headed to an office somewhere.

Then there are “those people.” These are the assholes who are there to “study” (i.e. read Facebook all day) or “read the newspaper” (i.e. converse with other retirees for hours about god only knows what). They have nowhere to be and zero cognizance of how their actions affect others. “Those people” come in at 8:15 am and hold up the line of drones by asking questions about what type of tea they should order, or whether the biscuits are fresh or frozen, or, more heinously, they insist upon ordering some drink that involves a twelve-step process to create none of which involve the actual use of coffee.

I’m a firm believer that there should be a separate line for “those people” because, truly, nothing irritates me more than having to wait twenty minutes for a latte because you’d rather have what is, essentially, a frosty for your morning beverage.