Y’all should not be surprised to know what a prolific child I was. Unless you’re new to my blog and such, and in that case, Hi! And also I like comma’s and apostrophes and saying maybe and y’all and making up my very own words and saying “ever so” and using quotes in wrong places and ending sentences with prepositions and carrying on and on with the never ending sentences and the like. Hello!

Where were we? Prolificerism childus? Okey dokey.

What may surprise you is the fact that I was quiet. Oh yes. Mostly you just wouldn’t even know I was there because I was achingly silent, vastly skilled at entering and exiting rooms without making a sound and also rather tiny.

For some reason my dad took awhile to get used to this. Or maybe he just liked the routine of asking “Anyone know where Wendy is?” Because on most days I could be found in the closet of the closet. No really. We had a closet that had its own closet. Why does no one make those these days?

Anyways. I loved my closeted closet. I had one of those 70’s plastic tables in there…those ones where the plastic legs were removable and kinda square shaped. Also I had a reading light duct taped (I thought it was “duck tape” until I was in my 20’s) to the wall and a big ole macramé pencil holder chock full of pencils.

That room was my heaven. I would sit in there and write for hours and hours about mostly things that made no sense to the outside world but to my wonderfully fanciful childish mind it was pure novel material.

Just outside of the closeted closet was a painting on the wall that absolutely terrified me. Oh how I hated it. It was a portrait of Abraham Lincoln and he had these eyes that would follow you NO MATTER WHERE YOU WENT in the room. Getting to the coveted closeted closet required a mad dash through the room before one could dive into closet haven. HATE you Abe Lincoln! Hate you oh defender of freedom everywhere!

So I had to research him. Because this is how 6 year olds face their fears, right? Right. And so after hours in the library I did the closet dash and with sharp pencil and that 70’s paper that tore so easily I wrote the following historical paper. And so it is with great fanfare type introduction that I present to you:

“if i was Abraham Lincoln?” by WendyKay

if i was ABRAHAM Lincoln i would sure half to work hard. but i wish i was because it would be fun to be realy inportint. but i am already inportant in some ways. if i was ABRAHam Lincoln i would Promise to work my hardest. but i can already see that i am not ABRAHAM lincoln. and rite Now i’m working hard. but i already went to see the chair that he died in. And i saw were his funral was. and were he lived. but i don’t remember evry thing cause i was only three years old. and i think Abrawham was realy nice because he freed the slaves. and i think that was inportint because if he dident free the slaves for all i know they could be working rite now and that’s why i think that was inportint. yes in lots of ways Abraham lincold is inportent. The END.

Y’all can just see the fame around the corner can’t you?

And last night I longed for that closeted closet in the strongest of ways. And silent me wanted to race through a room to dive into it. And sleep eluded me the entire night. So I opened the photo/story chest and found this vastly important writing material for you. Oh the memories.

And thank God those poor slaves aren’t still working “rite now.”



Ok.  I was SO going to give you the whole “Empty Nester No More!” story. But that would require transferring pictures to my computer. Which would require finding the little cord transfer thingy for the camera. It’s in a very safe place so that I won’t lose it. Any one else know how that usually turns out?




So. Well I suppose we could just catch up a bit while my brain does it’s little “where the HELL is the cord thingy?” processing bit in the background.


On the business trip: We hit Atlanta, Knoxville, Nashville, Columbus, Indianapolis, Champaign, Chicago and Racine. This trip really requires its own blog. Especially because the Columbus part stretched over a weekend and I got to visit Lynn again! Right. There are pictures to go with that too. Moving on…


On the new job: Can you believe I have already been back working for longer than the amount of time I went without a job!? I know! The Unemployment seemed to last forever! 6 whole weeks without a CAREER. Awful. Hated it. A horrific lapse in shoe shopping funds. But all along you Pollyanna types kept up with your little “this too shall pass,” and “it all happens for a reason,” and “something better is out there,” cheerful sayings and oh how I wanted to type mean things at you… but you were right. Because I LOVE my new job! Truly! It is ever so much more interesting and the pay is great and I can really see myself doing well and growing with the company. So while I haven’t yet hit my stride (and have a long way to go before the boss will be impressed with me), I am happy. I will be the sales diva darling of the company. And many shoe bonuses will commence. And I will stomp up to some future podium and accept my fabulous future award and my old employer will be sitting in the audience just sobbing with the despair and the sadness of losing such a fabulous woman and Johnny Depp himself will escort me from the stage and there will be many pictures to go with that too, so, y’all know, moving on…


On the increase of gas prices now that I commute 45 minutes to the office and 45 minutes home: I mean really. I should just open up a website on gas price predictions. I would be rich. Because the jump in prices magically corresponds to the day that I have to fill up again and then magically drops back down about 5 minutes later. Seriously. I should start snapping photos with before and after pricing. And transfer the photos to my computer with that godforsaken hidden cord. Moving on….


On downsizing: Because it is time to go from Suburban Mama to City Girl! And I have found the perfect little loft (or, you know, 10 of them) that I simply must have. So it’s time to get rid of eleventyseven years worth of stuff in a fabulous sale so that my shoes and I can move into a trendy little condo in the city. And the floral couches are SO not moving with me. I shall have to post photos of the new places.  And sell the current place of course. Eventually. Moving on…(hopefully in the literal sense)


On downsizing in other areas: 4 pounds people. FOUR. It is maybe not pretty. I am not talking about an unnoticeable or gradual spreading out. No. There was maybe a small chocolate donut celebration when I got the new job? And one of my fat cells maybe noticed? And called all its friends? And in the interest of efficiency they apparently decided it would be great to just congregate in one area. MY ASS. That’s right. Junk in the trunk. Baby got back. Eww. Maybe it’s the gravity of sitting on it all day long at a desk? So I shall punish them by putting my new goal weight to 100 rather than 102. But that’s another blog. And may I just say, “Hydroxycut! I love you!” And fat cells? You are SO moving on…


On time management: Leaving the house early and getting home late does not allow for many of the downsizing functions such as organizing or working out or blogging or anything really. I’d blog more about that but I used up all the time to do so while planning how to come up with the time to do so in the first place. So. Moving on.


On being in love with the boss: Whoops! I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today. Time management issues and such. :)


“You know this room would look a lot better if you got new couches. Pass the frosting.”

“Yeah, well, that would require having money,” I said while ignoring his request. “Do you know that I have sent out no less than 47 resumes so far? Oh, and the worst part is that I sent them out before HWSNBN helped me to write a new one. Really. You should see the difference. He did an amazing job of making me look good.”

“Helllooooooo. Frosting! And I beg to differ with you cupcake. He made you look like hell. You have bags under your eyes, you clearly haven’t conditioned your hair and don’t get me started on your outfit. I’m trying to be nice to you today.” Jade reached over and ripped the container of chocolate frosting from my hands but I managed to hang onto the spoon.

“Is that so?” I asked while licking the spoon. “You wouldn’t know how to turn off the bitchiness if your life depended on it!” I sneered and shook my spoon at him. “Hand over the Pringles. Stat.”

He set the frosting on the coffee table and I snagged it at the same time that he handed me the bowl of Pringles. “God I can not believe how good chocolate frosting and Pringles go together. Why has no one marketed this?” I asked in amazement.

“Seriously, sugar? You’ve never heard of chocolate covered potato chips before? What kind of house were you raised in? You don’t honestly think that you’re the one that invented this combo, do you?” Jade inquired while shaking his head. “And what’s with the medical stuff. You’ve said stat like 4 times today.”

“Noooooo for your information I do not take the credit for this. I was talking to a friend online and it was her suggestion. Damned good one too. Except the chips keep breaking off in the frosting.” I dug my spoon into the container and rescued a Pringle. “They say stat a lot on Grey’s Anatomy. It was either Jen or Lisa that recommended that series. Maybe they both talk about it. I don’t remember. They’re both multiblog per day girls and I can’t keep track sometimes. Anyways, I just started watching it last night and I already had to head to Blockbuster this morning for season 2. That’s when I got the chips and such.”

“Have you ever thought you might spend too much time on your computer sweetstuff? And you didn’t answer me about growing up.” Jade stole the spoon from my hand and went into the kitchen to dig through the cupboards. “Where’s the Pringles can?” he called.

“Garbage. We ate em all. Or rather, I did. That bowl held the last of them. As for growing up, it was all very nutritional. Although, Mom did let us have sugared cereal on vacations. You should see how irritated she gets with me when we talk about trips. She’ll mention some place that Dad took us and my memory of it always has to do with food. Like ‘oh! That was the trip where we got to eat Twizzlers at the hotel.’ Or ‘Hey, wasn’t that the place that they had Frosted Flakes?’ Seriously. She turns red. It’s kinda funny. And why are you looking at me like that?” I’d looked up to find Jade with his jaw dropped.

“Ok what am I missing here? You ate a whole can of Pringles? In one day? YOU? Don’t get me wrong dumpling, I noticed that the frosting was fat free but…Oh God…” he trailed off and I heard him rustling through the garbage. “HOLY SHIT! Literally! Oh my God you’ve poisoned yourself. You are a sick, sick woman,” He accused while holding up the empty can of Pringles. “Wendy these fat free chips are loaded with Olestra! Do you have any idea what this does to your stomach? Who am I kidding. Of course you do. And what are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, it’s just that well, the holy shit comment made me think of Lisa’s blog,” I giggled. “Not the Lisa I mentioned before, but the other one. Seriously. She did a whole blog on her son’s diaper and butterscotch pudding and..” I was laughing too hard to finish my sentence and Jade had a complete look of disgust on his face. “Ok, ok I know,” I admitted and held up my hands in mock concession. “I need to knit more and stay off the computer. I get that. As for Olestra the stuff rocks. I mean I can eat as many calories as I want today and that can of Pringles was not only yummy but it’s like a get out of jail free card.”

“You’re going to be in the bathroom all night. You know that, don’t you? You are a warped little kitten. I should have known better when I saw you eating. Speaking of kittens, what the hell does Klepto have?”

Jade was staring off into the dining room but I couldn’t see from my vantage point on the couch and I felt too full to move.

“Oh my God oh my God oh my God get in here!” he screamed.“it’s a mouse and I’m not talking about a toy one!”

“Seriously? Is it alive? Oh ewwwwwwwww! Get it! Get it away from her Jade! Do something!” I squealed as I jumped off the couch and peeked around the corner. Klepto did in fact have a MOUSE in her possession. And she was clearly pleased with herself. As we both peeked around different corners…Jade from the kitchen and me from the living room…she dropped it from her mouth and then snarled and pounced as it tried to get away. “JADE! For God’s sake! Man up!” I yelled.

“Man up!? Bite my ever lovin hot ass cupcake. This is YOUR house and YOUR mouse and YOUR cat and I am so out of here!” he said while backing up and turning white. “I do not deal with vermin. Call your Dad. Call HWSNBN. No scratch that, do not call him. Talk about needing to man up.”

By now I’d maneuvered myself under the dining room table and was trying to get ahold of Klepto. She was emitting a muffled growl as her mouth was rather full and her whole body was bunched up, hair standing on end. Just as I reached my arm forward she let out a hiss that caused her to drop her prey. I smacked my head on the table trying to get up when it ran my direction. “OUCH! Damnit Jade help me! Fuck!”

Klepto snatched the mouse and took off down the stairs to the basement. Jade was standing there slack jawed again.

“Fuck? Did you just say fuck? Oh my God the Olestra is coming out the wrong end. I have never heard you say that before. Say it again!” he exclaimed. “Sweet Jesus the girl has learned to cuss. Is this some arbitrary symptom of the breakup? Cause I like it! Seriously. It’s so cute and somehow…wrong coming from you. Say it again!”

“Don’t be an idiot Jade. I know how to swear. I even said that in my car the other day,” I said while rolling my eyes. “C’monnnnnnnnn. What are we going to do about the mouse? I haven’t had one of those in the house since the duck dude was here. I don’t want mouse guts on my carpet! And stop with the HWSNBN slams. ”

“Duck dude? What’s a duck dude? And I am not stopping with the slams until you finally get good and mad. I hate seeing you hurt like this. No man breaks my baby’s heart and avoids the wrath. I know you. And I know you’re going to ward off all men for another billion years like you did the last time. How long did you go without sex after the lawyer? Four years?”

We both looked toward the stairs as a loud raucous meow followed by an obvious cat fight echoed it’s way up. Apparently Remy was now in on the action. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees to my chest. It was doubtful the mouse would get a chance to enjoy any Pringles crumbs at this point. Dr. Grey would probably know what to do but I sure didn’t.

“It was SO not four years. It was only…I dunno. Three and a half.” I mumbled into my knees.

“Yeah. Well that’s just sad.” He said and dropped down onto the floor next to me. “Honey do you see the pattern in the men you choose? Unavailable. Out for the chase. They don’t care about you. They probably couldn’t even answer a 5 question survey about you because they’re only out for themselves. Do they care about anything that matters to you? Do they care about your writing? Your child? Your career? Oh no. No, no, sugar no…don’t start crying again. You’re going to cause more wrinkles and you don’t have the money for that botox you’re due for.” He said while pushing my hair out of my face. “Look I know you’re pretty beat up right now. 2007 has been a total bitch to you so far. But it’s going to get better. I promise. You’ll bounce back! You are the strongest woman I’ve ever known. And look at you. You’ve even learned how to cuss! I’m so proud of you!”

I smiled and leaned my head against his shoulder. “I really wanted him to love me, Jade. I really thought he could. And maybe it was a mistake, but I had to try. You see that don’t you?” I pleaded.

“I know cupcake. But you’re getting more affection from a gay man at this moment than you ever got during that whole mistake.”

We sat in silence for awhile and then turned to watch as both Klepto and Remy padded into the room on guilty paws and commenced with washing themselves. Kali bounded up the stairs a moment later with something that looked rather gross smeared on her nose. Jade got up to let the dog out the door and then we looked at eachother and started laughing hysterically. We were still laughing as I walked him to the front door.

“Well I’d say my work here is done,” he said. “And sugar? Don’t ever tell me to man up again. I’m more man than both of your heartbreakers combined. You need proof? Look around this room. There’s only one man here. And it’s me.”

I rose up on my toes to kiss him on the cheek. “I know. And I love you for it. By the way, the girls on 360 are really getting serious in their demands for photos of you. Are you ever gonna change your mind and let me post some?”

“Not likely cupcake,” he said while wrapping the scarf I knit him around his neck and tossing it back with pure Jade flair. “I am Jade, the all manned up man of mystery! Protector of the shoe princess! Keeper of the cussing cutie! Mousing marvel of the mansion! Castigating captain of the quest to rid you of floral couches!” he continued as I pushed him out the door.

“They were my mother’s! I hate them too! And if you want to know about the duck dude then log on and read my old blog about it. Same scenario, different cats!” I called out to him.

“Right! Well no more crying tonight over mistakes sugar. Ciao!” he yelled back as he slammed his car door.

I smiled, shook my head and sat back down on the floral couch to watch the end of the Grey’s Anatomy episode I’d been watching when he arrived. The credits were rolling as Dr. Grey summed up my life in her final comment, “And even the biggest failure. Even the worst, most intractable mistake…beats the hell out of never trying.”

Amen. And then I groaned as the Pringles kicked in and I dashed towards the bathroom.


So a friend of mine stopped by the other day to chat me up and see how things were going. Oh and it turns out he’s one of the people who reads my blog and never comments. (Hiya Lawyerboy! Hello! Hi!) Anyways we got to talking about the past and somehow the story of my first car purchase came up. One of those stories that you swear you’ll never share…and then you end up blogging about years later. Y’all know.

Let me take you back a bit to set the tone. I’m 23 years old and I have had it. I’m working 3 jobs to put food on the table and I am tired. I’m alternating between taking the bus and fixing The Beast (what my daughter and I called the overly used Ford I had saved from a certain junkyard death after my parents got a new car) so that I can get from job to job. My daughter is in kindergarten and already asking to be dropped off a block away from the school so that the other kids don’t make fun of our car.

So I can be impulsive at times.Get a girl to a breaking point and things might happen.I’m just saying.On the day in question we were already running late because Krista was having issues with the outfit I’d set out for her to wear.I’d done her hair in double French braids and she didn’t feel the outfit matched the hair.Of course once she’d perfected the outfit there was the matter of finding just the right shoes.I’m not sure where she gets this from.Must be something on her father’s side.

Anyways, we finally get everything “just so” and fly out to The Beast. Unfortunately The Beast had decided to take a vacation day. Without notice. Three bus transfers later the child is settled into her classroom and I am now an hour late for work. I’m sitting on the bus and it’s all I can do not to cry. Nothing else could possibly go wrong at this point.

So of course it did. Amid much squealing and clonking the bus came to a halt on the side of the freeway. I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the window and contemplated hysterical laughter or outright tears as the driver reassured us another bus would be along within the hour to continue our commute. Upon opening my eyes I saw that we had broken down along the 494 strip where all the car dealers lived. This of course was a sign. Divine intervention if you will.

I ignored the protests of the bus driver and stomped off the bus and over the embankment.I had zero credit, a very meager income and a mere 2000 in savings.Each dealership suggested the next one down the road.Finally a nice man in a shiny suit took pity on me.We test drove a cute little red car and he assured me she was just the car for me.She had a rear spoiler, a moon roof (remember those?) and under 50,000 miles.I was in love!The nice man continued our test drive to my nearest bank location and I handed over my 2000 dollars and filled out all the paperwork.While I waited for the final papers to be drawn up I sat in the car and just started it and turned it off over and over.It started every time! Magic!Joy!Moonroof! Red!

Twenty minutes later I walked off the lot in tears. Not only had I not been approved, the dealership wouldn’t give me my 2000 back. They gave me a cashier’s check instead. There wasn’t a bus stop for miles. I had no cash to get a cab and by now I was probably fired from 2 of the 3 jobs. With the check clutched in hand I stumbled through the next dealership’s parking lot with my head down so that I wouldn’t have to look at any other cars I couldn’t have. There was a gas station on the other side of the lot and I was hoping they’d let me use their phone. I was almost through the lot when I was intercepted by a car dude who asked if he could help.

“No!” I sobbed. “You can’t. My money is no good. I don’t even have any. Just this stupid check that no one wants and I don’t want to fall in love with any of your cars that you won’t let me have.”

Car dude handed me a kleenex, took the check out of my hand and ushered me into the dealership.Did I know his sister had gone through the same situation?Did I know that his sole purpose was to help single mothers such as myself?Did I know they could reverse qualify me and THEN I could just pick out any car that fit my budget?Did I know that he could not only qualify me but get me into a brand new never driven car?!?

“Okay,” I sniffled at him. “But I don’t want to even see it unless I can have it. And I want it to be white.”

Oh yes I did.People this is how I got my very first car.An hour later he told me I had qualified (just sign here…and here…and here…) and I was the proud owner of a car I’d never seen or test driven with a hefty monthly car payment.I was a Car Owner.ME!

She was soooo cute! She was white with a pale grey interior and she had a cute little horn that worked and she had an exotic name from Vegas (Mirage!) and a TAPE DECK and she was mine! Krista would be so excited! I would pick her up at the very front of the school and she would smile at all of her friends as she stepped graciously into the brand new car her stylin mom had purchased all by herself.

I sat in my brand new car and just grinned from ear to ear.This was living people.I had arrived.I was a Car Owner.

So an hour later the car dude came back out to the lot to assure me that she really was mine and I could leave now and why was I just sitting there? So then he took a lunch break and taught me how to drive a stick. J

Boy. It’s tough work to keep a smile plastered on your face (as versus a plastered smile cause I’m all sober and such, you know?) all day long and to constantly assure everyone that you’re fine! Oh you’re just fine! And when one door closes…a window opens (heh. Thanks Cessie. Using your line has left everyone confused and wondering if they should correct me. They’ve ALL chosen to be kind to the poor jobless girl and not say anything. Oh how I amuse myself…).


So I was kept relatively distracted over the weekend. By relatively I mean my family called constantly. Seriously. Have I mentioned I have the greatest DADDY in the whole world? He gave me more leads and websites to check than I even knew existed. Mom even called Sunday to say she had heard and was sorry. And she NEVER calls me.


HWSNBN was an absolute doll about the whole thing. I haven’t told you guys very much about him (don’t jinx it!), but he’s pretty great. He owns his own company and works harder than anyone I know. The 2 of us talk about work stuff all the time. I didn’t realize how ashamed I was about this whole thing until he said, “Hey did I ever tell you about the time that I was unemployed?” To know that this man (9 years younger. Just sayin.) that I admire so much was in my same situation allowed me to finally breathe.


But then…Monday came. You know that whole “Oh God it’s Monday and I have to go to the office” feeling? Well I’m here to tell you that the “Oh God, it’s Monday and I don’t have an office to go to” feeling is much worse. Truly. Between the resumes sent out over the weekend and the resumes I sent out yesterday the term APPLY YOURSELF took on a whole new meaning.


By the time evening rolled around I was exhausted. But then the cavalry arrived. Oh, and the cavalry was wearing pink…


“Cupcake! Look at you all non businessy in a pony tail. Is this the latest unemployed fashion? It’s cute!” exclaimed Jade as he walked straight from my front door to my bedroom. “Well I won’t keep you long. I know you’re all busy doing that whole melancholy jobless thang. Although if you ask me you should look upon this as a much needed vacation.”


I stood in the doorway to my bedroom watching Jade shift through my shoe boxes. His outfit left me speechless. He looked like he was ready to hit the ski hill as an advertisement for Pepto-Bismol. Pale pink jacket with faux fur fringe and slightly pinker ski pants. He had obviously done his hair as it was even blonder than the last time I saw him and he was sporting a 2 toned pink headband that covered his ears. “Score!” he cried as he emerged from my closet with a box. “Sugar I promise you’ll have these darlings back before you can even miss them. Now that we finally have snow I’ve annoyed Michael into taking me skiing.”


The box he’d selected held a prized possession. My pale pink UGGS. I love those boots and I haven’t even worn them yet. Why a company would name an adorable boot such an UGGly name is beyond me but we unemployed people don’t get such things.


“Jaaaaaaaaade no! I’ll never see them again if you take them and I love those boots! You’ll forget them in the chalet and they’ll be gone!”


“Chalet? Cupcake this is just my outfit for the plane. Michael is taking me to Vail for a few days. These little cuties will be safe in the hotel. Promise. If you need them in the meantime just knit some. You’re like, creative and stuff. And unemployed. Ciao darling! Be well!” he shouted as he dashed out the door.


Knit some? Huh. I checked the yarn stash but alas…no pink. A small collection of blues. Hmmm. Babies deserve fashion too. A certain someone I know is having a boy soon. So off I went. Singing “Shake your booootie” the whole time.

Baby UGG (yeah, I know I need to knit another one)

Bootie scale. Size 6.5 vs baby bootie.

Puss n bootie

There’s a reason her name is Klepto.

So I did what any self respecting, strong and courageous woman should do after yet another failed relationship…I left town. OK, so the trip was maybe planned long before I knew that this was going to happen but it sure seemed like good timing. I was able to laugh with friends and be distracted for a few days. But I knew the feelings were just being put on hold. I knew it was all waiting for me back home.

This is neither a tale of a great romance nor does it have a tragic ending. But it is my tale, and for this girl…well. Y’all know.

It’s your typical scenario. Girl meets Guy at a coffee shop. Guy asks girl out. Girl laughs out loud and says NO (well nicely, you know?). This maybe continues for a year. During this year they become really good friends. There are many more coffee shops, hikes at Taylor’s Falls, dinners, movies, bike rides and hours of downtime just hanging out. And every time they get together he manages to bring up the same thing.

“You know, I’m a pretty great guy. You should let me take you out on a date.”

“Would you just stop bringing it up?” she’d always respond. “We’re perfect as friends. Besides. I’m WAY too old for you.”

“Just try it. What have you got to lose? Go out on a date with me next week and this time call it a date.”

So you know after a year it just kind of becomes What We Do and at times you don’t even respond. You just roll your eyes or shake your head while smiling at him. But then one day it hits you that something is different. You’re used to seeing him all the time but now you’re thinking about him all the time too. This realization incites momentary panic. You run through all the great reasons you shouldn’t date him (9 years younger. I’m just saying.) in your head and they suddenly seem…not so great.

Girl switches up the What We Do Script and tells guy “Yes! Yes I want to date you.” But apparently this routine has just become part of What We Do for him too and he is no longer even expecting a yes. By now you have done a most fabulous job of helping him to see all the reasons why it was not a good idea. So of course Girl responds by erasing old “most humiliating experience” story from her journal, writes this one in, packs her bags and leaves town to go climbing in the Rockies. OK that trip was maybe planned already too, but y’all gotta give me some credit with the timing on these things. K?

Months go past. Girl and Guy are still together all the time. They go traveling along the North Shore, sailing on Lake Superior, camping in Afton and at some point girl (who unfortunately loves him) accepts the concept of friends with benefits. (Oh, and Dad? If you have somehow found my blog I am SO referring to umm..helping each other out around the house and such. K? Oh and hi! Hello!)

Unfortunately Girl is miserable. This is not what she envisions for herself. She wants the real thing. She wants to feel like she really matters to him. She wants more than the friends who occasionally reach for each other. She wants passion! She wants affection. She wants him to KISS her damnit! He never kisses her! She wants him to put an arm around her at the movies. She wants him to get off the couch and come hug her at the door when she leaves. She wants him to see being with her as a good thing and something he’s happy about! She wants him in the role of boyfriend but the very word makes him ill. He doesn’t believe in defined relationships and has a million examples of failed relationships to make his point.

So Girl tells him she needs some time and just can’t see him for awhile. Guy calls and texts repeatedly. Girl acts like she’s 2 and doesn’t respond. Guy shows up at Girl’s house. Guy knows she’s sad and he’s incredibly sweet about the whole thing. Girl starts spending time with him again as Just Friends and finally accepts it will never be more.

Then one day Girl meets a different Guy at a coffee shop. Guy asks Girl out. Girl surprises herself by saying “Yes.” But Guy #1 is not happy about this. AT ALL. He has changed his mind and wants to give The Relationship a try. Girl is ridiculously happy and cancels date with Guy #2. Girl renames Guy HWSNBN. And now Girl will stop talking in 3rd person pronouns and finish her pathetic tale. K?

So there you have it. Yes, for those who have asked, HWSNBN is the same man that made guest appearances in my blog a year or so ago when I reviewed the book “He’s just not that into you.” We were just never meant to be more than friends. You cannot make someone love you. And there is nothing lonelier than being alone in a relationship.

And one day you inhale the truth and you exhale the hope and you tell him it’s OK. You understand that he doesn’t want a relationship and you’re OK. Really. You’ve accepted it and you want to just be his friend again because you know where he’s at and you just can’t try to make him love you anymore. And in your hurt you start typing in 3rd person pronouns again and you roll your eyes at the SUCKAGE of this blog and you try to just finish the damn thing…but somehow you feel like finishing the blog will truly mean it’s over. You know this makes no sense and your readers have probably broken up with you by now too and you decide to just tell on yourself for your behavior over the past week. You go all girly and admit to the breakup reaction. But one more paragraph needs to be written first, K?

I want you (yes you the one remaining reader! Hi! Hello!) to know that HWSNBN has never been anything but wonderful and kind to me. He is brilliant, hard working, funny, helpful, generous, sweet and adorable (he hates that word but this is MY tale and he doesn’t read my blogs anyways). He never meant to hurt me and he hates it that he did. He has gone out of his way in this past week to make me comfortable as His Friend and to ensure that I don’t do my running away bit. In turn I have assured him that it’s all good. We were always meant to just be Friends. I have not cried in front of him. When he looks at me I smile and make sure to turn away before he can see the sadness in my eyes. But the truth can only be avoided for so long. So I made my excuses and got out of there.

I sat in my car and did all the things you do to not let yourself cry. You take deep breaths. You look around for something…anything to distract yourself from the feelings inside that want to escape. But of course it doesn’t work. So you give in and let yourself just cry. Only now that it’s started it doesn’t seem to want to stop. You try to trick the sadness into anger and you slam your hands on the dash and test out a loud “DAMNIT!!” But somehow that doesn’t do it so you smack your poor car around some more and scream “FUCK!” (Oh and Dad? Hi! I SO didn’t really say that. This is merely for the purpose of stating my story, you know?)

So I gave in to it. I drove home and lit eleventyseven candles around the house. Y’all would have thought I was drunk if you could have seen me. I stumbled around the house in fabulous shoes singing at the top of my lungs. There were fitting selections from Blue October (while wearing the 3 inch blue suede Steve Maddens of course). “Hate me todaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Hate me tomorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow! Hate me for all the things…I didn’t dooooooooooooo for youuuuuuuuuuuuu.” Fiona Apple required the killer black angry boots. “Once my lover, now my friend. What a cruel thing to pretend. What a cunning waaaaaaaay to condescend. Once my lover, and now my friendddddddddddd.” Tori Amos songs demanded the amber suede boots, the black strappy sandals with the little white bows, the multi colored kitten heel slingbacks and of course the gold/bronze/silver mules “give me life…give me pain..give me meeeee give me myself!” And well. Y’all know. Many shoe intermissions commenced. The singing got worse, the animals hid in the basement, the candles began to burn them themselves out and eventually I did too. I collapsed to the floor amidst a mess of shoe boxes and shoes and just cried.

And then it happened. The clarity struck. I was mourning something that I never even had! He never loved me, and who the hell wants to sign on for that!? So I got up and looked in the mirror. It was maybe not pretty. I was sporting the whole raccoon mascara face. My cheeks were blotchy and tear streaked and for God’s sake I wouldn’t want to date me either! Besides, the girlage had ended me in sparkly gold pumps that did not even match my outfit! Just wrong on so many levels.

So you move on, you know? You take a scissors to the calendar and cut out February 14th. Also known as S.A.D. or Singles Awareness Day. You remind yourself that this was never about you (and he even told you this many times) but about him and where he’s at. And you know that you will be OK by yourself because you always have been. You are not the only still-single-never-married woman out there. You resolve to be OK. You’ll simply live your life alone and invest in some battery operated devices. (Dad! Hi! Hello! I am of course referring to umm….battery operated knitting type devices and such. K?) You’ll devote yourself to finding the funny in another week or so (y’all this is merely time off for good behavior) and you’ll pour yourself into writing because it helps. And it is What You Do. And you will maybe even stop starting your sentences with the word “and” and you will maybe stop saying maybe so much and you will maybe possibly even learn proper sentence length and how to write in the first person and you will be OK.

And you are maybe wordy and pathetic and girly and such, but damnit you have great shoes. So you erase your entire blog and write one that really doesn’t even make sense and then you cringe at the hypocrisy that is YOU because you maybe possibly agreed to spending Valentines Day with him and then you say “Fuck it!” (Dad! Kidding!) and hit “POST” on your blog page anyways because you haven’t slept and you really aren’t OK and you must now commence the Changing of The Shoes because you need to listen to The Wreckers (fitting, no?) for the eleventyseventh time and you don’t even like country…



For the love of God could someone please call PETA for me. I mean really. My napping rights have been seriously infringed upon. Our human is sick and carrying on something awful with the sneezing and the coughing and whimpering. I’m about ready to haul her off to the vet.

On the one paw this is terribly inconvenient. But on the other paw…there is leftover chicken noodle soup and the chance to whip this place into shape.

Kali finally learned who she should bow down to.

As for Remy, well she knows when to hide.

Well I guess I’d better go check on the human. I tried to convince her that she’s allergic to the dog but she insists it’s just a bad cold. Didn’t hurt to try. This isn’t a dress rehearsal people. We only get 9 lives.

That’s about it for now. Hey…YOU try typing with paws.



Could someone please explain to us why we are still getting Meow Mix now that Mom is supposedly working again?

Remy: Maybe if I stare at it long enough it will morph into something edible?
Klepto: Do you see my look of despair? My lack of amusement?

Remy: Well it’s certainly not any better from this angle.

Remy: I am going to scream til you feed us Fancy Feast!
Klepto: Maybe there’s something good on the floor…


Last Sunday evening…

I desperately needed my brain to calm the heck down and let me sleep. But I was so happy that just as I’d nearly drift off I’d bust out giggling again. I reminded my brain that it had a big day tomorrow and really must not be sleepy or blonde in any way. It responded with *giggle!* *hug self with happiness!*

So I began the regular nightly routine to try to trick myself into thinking this was just a regular night and that I hadn’t just gotten fabulous news. I tried counting shoes (…eleventy-two…eleventy-three) but just as it started to work my brain remembered all the shoes I do not yet have…which led to “Oh God! I want new shoes!” which led to “Oh God! Forgot God!”

And so I started my prayers. “Good Old Dude (GOD)! Hi! Hello! Oh and you aren’t really old. I don’t mean anything by that. So let’s not punish me with any more wrinkles, K? And God bless so and so and such and such and Prada and Gucci and Ferragamo and Bloomingdales and Nordstrom’s. Oh and sorry about that little incident with the box of Girl Scout cookies. Gluttony. Know that’s on the no-no list. Not my fault really…you know you forgot to mix in self-control that day you cooked me up. Or maybe that’s about the fact that we have free will? Was that a programming bug on your part?  Oh, and that bit with the cussing when I looked at my online banking statement? Yeah. I think that maybe possibly covered 2 of the thou shalt nots but you know…compared to the people on all those reality shows I’m not really all bad and such, right? And thank you so much for that phone call I got tonight. *giggle!* How ironic! And could you maybe tell my brain to stop with the giggling and let me sleep? Oh! And God bless my Guardian Angel, whoever that may be, who maybe won’t think of my good news as all good? Probably been a rough year or, you know, 29 for him. Oh and about that itty bitty lie just then? Sorry. I know I’m 32. Ok fine. 36. You’re really tough on me tonight. Amen. And so on and so forth and such.”

And so I drifted off. But my brain did not. Seeing as how I was no longer giggling or responding appropriately it decided to romp on over to dreamland…


“Hey Mebahel! Pass the manna dude!” exclaimed Jabamiah. “You’re going to eat it all before the show even starts!”

Mebahel passed the bowl of manna over and looked around at all the other angels filing in. Pretty packed cloud for a Sunday night. “Did you watch the previews for tonight’s show Jab? I can not wait to see what she does this time,” he said while shaking his head. “One of the Archangels said Good Old Dude was even stopping by to comment on tonight’s episode. Do you think he’ll end up assigning a new Guardian Angel to this girl? I heard the current one has lost nearly every feather on his wings.”

Mebahel and Jabamiah both looked over at the Guardian Angel in question. He was sitting on his own little cloud, muttering incoherently. Every few minutes his Blackberry would indicate a new message with the sound of a horribly out of tune harp. With a shaky hand he’d pull the Blackberry from his robe, check the message and either cackle maniacally or shed a tear.

“Wow,” said Jabamiah. “He’s really losing it. And what’s with all the messages he keeps getting? Isn’t his girl supposed to be sleeping?”

“Good Old Dude only knows Jab. Oh hey… it’s starting!” exclaimed Mebahel excitedly. He readjusted his wings, stole the bowl of manna back from Jabamiah and settled in as the theme music piped up and the opening credits rolled across the sky.

“Good Evening! I’m Peter Jennings. And welcome to this week’s episode of Unsurvivor: Holy Rollers on Earth. Tonight we’ll be featuring case file number Eleventy-Seven, the girl who has provided us with endless entertainment over the years. Previous episodes featuring Wendy and the poor Guardian Angel assigned to her have included notable commentators such as Amelia Earhart…”

The sky adjusts to show a clip of Wendy rocketing down the road on a skateboard while holding a jump rope attached to the back of her brother Scott’s bike. “Faster!” she exclaims. “I want to fly!” Scott picks up speed and makes a sharp turn just before a jump they’d built earlier. Wendy hits the jump at top speed and soars into the air while wildly flapping her arms. Suddenly a harp sounds and we see Wendy’s Guardian Angel arrive on the scene in the nick of time to wrap his wings around her and land her safely in the grass. The young Wendy bursts into tears as she realizes that not only did she not fly but she’s scuffed her favorite Mary Janes. The Guardian Angel smiles adoringly while her brother berates her for not wearing tennis shoes like normal kids. Angel feathers are left at the scene.

“…fashion designer Oleg Cassini…”

A brief clip of Wendy at the Mall of America begins. Wendy’s Guardian Angel attempts to block her from entering as many stores as possible and numerous Angel feathers are left on the scene as Wendy wields her credit card and proceeds to purchase eleventy-seven shoes.

“…noted relationship expert and psychologist Sigmund Freud…”

The sky fills with Wendy in a series of failed relationship scenarios and a vast number of feathers fall from the Guardian Angel as he soaks up tears of despair.

“…but this week we have the most famous commentator of them all. You know him, you love him and you work for him! Let’s give a nice round of flapping for Good Old Dude!”

Wings flapped in appreciation as GOD himself materialized in front of the crowd. GOD smiled benevolently at all who had gathered, and after a look of loving pity towards Wendy’s Guardian Angel he addressed his faithful servants.

“You have all served me well. I would never give you more than you can handle. But as you know this latest version of Human has a few bugs to be worked out. Most notably, Free Will. This operating error has caused all of us a number of hardships. I have spent nearly a millennia trying to reprogram this problem. I mean dear Self it is annoying! And for the love of Me I want this corrected. Unfortunately, our competitor hacked into the patch we were working on and all humans have had Irony uploaded. We are still waiting to see the scope of this problem and may not know the full extent of the damage for a number of years. In the particular case of Eleventy-Seven the problem has been further compounded by recent events. As such I have offered a sabbatical to Wendy’s Guardian Angel. Any Angel wishing to temporarily take on the case can see me after the program. Peter?”

“Thanks, GOD. Now Angels before we show you what’s happened we want to make sure you’re fully up to speed on recent events. When last we left case file Eleventy-Seven she was suffering greatly from The Breakup with HWSNBN. In addition, she was dealing with The Unemployment. Now you all know that such duress can cause operating errors to act up. Our technicians were immediately called in but reported back that the Devil beat them to it. Irony had already been uploaded. What happens when Irony is compounded with free will? Stay tuned. We’ll be back right after these messages!”

The cloud erupted in speculative conversation as a commercial for Angel Soft premium bath tissue played in the background. A crowd gathered around Wendy’s Guardian Angel and watched as Mother Theresa tried to pry the Blackberry from his hand. He looked at the crowd with wild eyes and implored “Y’all know? This is more than a former man can take. I am just saying.” Reassurances were uttered and then everyone flew back to the main cloud as the ads came to an end.

“And now for this weeks dramatic and stunning conclusion,” said Peter.

The sky burst forth with glorious light and then darkened to center on the case file in question. There sat Wendy on her couch on Sunday night.

“Hey Jab do you see that floral couch? That’s an abomination of all things holy!” exclaimed Mebahel with a laugh.

Wendy’s phone rings and after a long pause and much fidgeting she answers it with a tentative expression.

“Hey Meb what’s with the sound? Why aren’t they letting us hear who she’s talking to?” asked Jabamiah. “I hate these suspense tactics.”

Wendy snaps her cell phone shut, stares at it for a moment and then hugs herself and jumps around happily. She grabs her dog’s front paws and dances around the room. She grabs her computer, opens her pink “Woman with the Unemployment” budget spreadsheet and renames it “Woman with a Job!” as tears of happiness and relief stream down her face.

“Awww. Look. She got a job. That’s great but what’s so ironic about that? Why would that make her Guardian Angel fall off his cloud?” asked Mebahel.

The scene cuts to the next morning and we see Wendy stomp into an office wearing business attire (with fabulous shoes of course). She turns a radiant smile to the man in the office.

“Hey isn’t that HWSNBN? Why is he in this scene?” asked Jabamiah as Angels all across the cloud began to gasp.

“Hiya BossWhoShallNotBeNamed!” exclaimed Wendy. “Hello!”

And the sky faded back to blue as everyone began to file out and Wendy’s Guardian Angel was carried off on a stretcher amid a flurry of feathers…


I woke up to the sound of the alarm, shook off the remnants of sleep and flew into the kitchen for coffee. I could not wait to get to HWSNBN’s office. This was so great! Who’d have EVER thought he’d offer me a job? Truly, angels must be watching over me.


We Minnesotan’s take our weather very seriously. Go ahead. Test us. Tell us about some cute lil storm you’ve had in your state. We’ll listen. We’ll even be interested.  We appreciate a well told weather story. We are kind and decent people.

But we are also laughing at you.

In a state that can attest to temperature drops in excess of 40 degrees in under an hour you can come to expect a wary eye to the sky as someone says, “Looks like weather.”

This year we’ve had it pretty easy. Oh sure, we’ve had many days of below zero temps but as far as snow is concerned it’s been pretty quiet. So you can imagine the excitement this last week as a storm system approached.

One should note that there is a difference between “weather” and “Weather” in Minnesota. Most notably in how it is stated. For example, “We’re supposed to get some weather,” can mean anything from torrential rain to sleet to subzero temps to hail or a half foot of snow. But no one was talking about getting weather a few days ago. Oh no. We were EXPECTING Weather. Huge difference. Massive. Because if something or someone is “expected” then one must prepare. Good hosting etiquette and the like. You know?

So this is where our story begins. Because I am maybe wordy and such and thus far you’ve been reading the introduction to The Expectation. And when one is Expecting Weather one must follow a certain protocol.

Step One: The Prediction. This tends to start out with snappy headlines such as “Storm Watch 2007!” Or “Operation: Winter Storm!” This then becomes widely dramatized murmurings that lead to loud whispers of “Did you hear? We are Expecting Weather!”

Step Two: The Public Gathering. This is also known as Happy Hour. This is the fun step. This is where you bond with other potential victims of the Expectation at the bar of your choice. Much talk of past Weather commences: The storm of ‘91 (31 inches on October 31) and where you were. Your ability to avoid gargantuan snow drifts on the freeway. The time the Governor actually closed down the city due to the -50 temperature and how Minnesotan’s forever after considered him a complete wuss. Y’all know. And then…someone points to the window and you see that the flakes have begun to fall. So you hug everyone in the vicinity (Webster’s dictionary definition for vicinity may or may not include walking to the opposite side of the bar to hug the incredibly hot manager) and you wish everyone luck and make for the door.

Step Three: The Preparation. People, you dare not enter into The Preparation lightly or you are likely to face the TRAMPLE OF DEATH. Nerves of steel are required. Physical agility. Soundness of mind. But this is about survival so you do what you must do.

I arrived at the scene and observed utter pandemonium and chaos.  But you must show no fear so I took a deep breath, eyed the competition, tightened my grip on my grocery cart and set forth. I was the epitome of stealth and precision! I dashed up and down the aisles dodging people and grabbing necessary items from the dwindling supplies on the shelves. And with mere bruises rather than blood I managed to get all but one necessary item.

And then it happened. And as you know from my previous “and then it happened” situations this was not my fault! I mean really. I have done a most commendable job of adhering to the Budget of the Unemployed. As such it is only to be expected that I was momentarily blinded by the glossy new magazines on display. Issues of Vogue and Cosmopolitan that I have not yet read! I mean I did not intentionally stop and stare. It is not MY fault that the magazines are in the same aisle as the cat food. I do not control these things. I’m just saying.

And so I indulged. But it was just for a second or you know, 10 minutes? Spring fashions people! Delicately heeled sandals with beaded straps (swoon!), mid thigh flared skirts (spin!) and oh God hats are coming back in! I love me some hats! But as I perused the latest spring fashions my brain managed to register a tiny little voice asking “mommy do we need cat food?” The voice was so sweet that I actually tore my eyes from the must have accessories for spring to see the little girl in the cart next to me. Oh the cuteness! I did the polite bit of telling the child’s mother how very adorable her little girl was. But then the cuteness piped up with “Mommy there’s only one bag left.” Well then. It was a lovely little moment while it lasted.

Now y’all have to understand! Stay on topic people! We are talking about Operation: Winter Storm! Weather! Expected! And if you’ve kept up on recent blogs you know that I am maybe single and as such I am required to have cat(s). So you know? Game on. My fellow Minnesotan and I gazed down the aisle. And there it was…the last bag of Meow Mix.

We faced off. I looked from her to the cherub and back with a sneer. I, the Lady of Chez Emptynest would not be hampered by child. She took in my skirt, my 3 inch heeled black boots and then looked down at her own frumpy sneakers and hissed an assumed victory. And so it began. Now you must hit play to fully appreciate the mood of the next paragraph.

Chariots of Fire

I tore down the aisle with conviction and purpose. But old frumpy foot was not about to concede defeat. I looked back and saw that this woman had abandoned her child and cart! Clearly, I had underestimated the depths to which my competitor would sink. Luckily I had the added advantage of a head start and my hand was soon on the prize. But ya know? It just hasn’t been my year. And the floors were pretty wet. So in my attempt to stop and such I lost control and the bag went flying. And well…

Clean up, aisle 6!

And so the sound byte comes to an end and you both make your sulky way up to the checkout with your cat food-less carts. And then the cuteness pipes up again with “Mommy! Cat food!” and you both turn to see that the end post of the aisle is well and truly stocked with bag upon bag of meow mix…on sale! So you small talk all “Minnesota nice” like as you bag up your items and wish each other a lovely storm.

Step Four: The Suspense. Well isn’t it obvious? This is the part where you wait to see if the 18 inches actually falls from the sky and the arctic winds blast you with white out conditions. Weather forecasters. I’m just saying.

Step Five: The Aftermath. Now this is key and requires much patience. This must be carefully timed and one must have the proper attire. Because you maybe possibly accidentally spent the money you’d been saving towards a snow blower on shoes. And you maybe have a large driveway leading up to your not very large house. And you are also the only single woman on the block and you are not above using this to your advantage. And so you wait. And peek out the window. And wait some more. And then you hear it! Sweet glorious sounds of snow blowers! Annnnnnnnnd action! You don your cute suede jacket with faux fur finish, pull on matching boots and mittens, apply one last coat of lip-gloss and head out looking as pathetic as humanly possible. Of course you start at the bottom of the driveway where the snow plow has left a wake of heaviness that you make look even heavier as you oh so courageously begin to shovel your driveway all by your poor single self.

And then you enjoy another coffee on the couch while 3 of the neighbor guys take care of the driveway for you.

Y’all know. ;)