K and L are for [Just] Kidding, LOL

Dear Internet,

Lately I’ve decided to make a few changes in my life. For starters, I’m no longer going to eat red meat. So long steaks, aka mouth party morsels. Despite my iron always being too low, I’m going to bid you a fond adieu and see if spinach can treat me any better. I’m also going to drop chocolate like a bad habit. That means the glorious meals of filet mignon with a side of Hershey kisses can be no more.

I’m also going to cut back on the amount of time I spend on the road. I drive way too much. Some days I spend around 2.5 hours just shuttling around my kids to school and gymnastics. When Little Man plays ball and we have to go to away games, that can up the drive time by an hour. Kids, I’m no longer going to be your chauffeur. I’m going to do my part to be more environmentally conscious and stop picking you up. Two words: Hitch. Hike. It’s better for the environment and it’s better for my wallet and personal time.

As soon as I finish typing this post, I’m deleting all of my Hanson songs from my iPhone. It’s time to move on to other things. My family has suffered enough, and I fear that my cochlear implant is on the verge of rebelling against me and failing if I don’t. Twenty-one years was a good run.

And it’s about time that I jump on the Trump bandwagon. I’m going to join forces with my family, grab a red trucker hat, and talk about how wonderful it would be to waste money on building a wall. Maybe I’ll even go on Twitter and type incoherent things in ALL CAPS, too. I’ll finally cease being the black sheep in my family, which means acceptance and more togetherness time.

It might not be January, but it’s never too late for some resolutions.

*My brain had a huge fart. I thought I missed the J day and needed to do J and K. Nope, I missed the K day and had to do K and L. I’m not writing a new post, so instead of the title being “J and K are for Just Kidding, it’s now K and L are for [Just] Kidding, LOL. Lame would also work here.


Funny Friday: Valium

So, my husband had a vasectomy this morning. The procedure was a breeze, and he’s fine, aside from feeling a little embarrassed at some things he said. He had to take a Valium before the procedure, and his comments reminded me of the time he was drugged up and had his wisdom teeth out. I had no choice but to write them down, of course.

Regarding another urologist who walked into the building:

That man looks way too happy to be doing his job. 

After a bunch of nurses walked in, he loudly remarked:

That’s way too many white people. ???

When his urologist entered:

Look it’s the man whose gonna cut open my penis! I hope you don’t take too much!

On a female patient who came in:

You think that woman’s gonna get a vasectomy? **Giggles.** Ask her. Ask her.

Thoughts on Valium, while kicked back in a chair in the waiting room:

I could go through life like this. I wouldn’t be useless either. 

Regarding a nurse who came in only five minutes early.

That woman’s late for her work. That’s unacceptable. 

I have no idea what this one was about:

I’m not gonna say what I want to say. All these bitches walking around.

To the doctor:

I need to get my hands on some more of these valiums.

After the procedure was over:

Oh, yeah! I got the snip-snip-sniparoo! No more babies for you. 

We The People

Before you scroll past this post with the speediness of a bat exiting The Fire Place, this is not one of those posts. You know, the ones that tell you how to vote, fuss at you for writing in I.P. Freely, or shame you for shamelessly shaming shamers. Nope, nada, no. None of that this time, but the title got your attention, right? Which is good, as long as it didn’t cause scroll fever.

This post is about one of the biggest scams of our times. Before you assume I’m talking about you-know-what after I said I wasn’t, let me show you the bullshit my husband brought home today:

You see that? Seven-point-five ounces. 7. Point. Five. Ounces. Only 90 calories instead of the usual 140. And this six pack costs more than a 12-pack of 12 ounce cans. What the actual fuck?

When I confronted my husband over his failed attempt at soda purchasing, he said he thought he was being helpful. “Well, I know you said you were cutting back on Coke, so I thought this would help.”

Help HELP?! I think not. The only thing it does is guarantee that I’ll drink two. And I’m always trying to scale back my Coke consumption, but not by drinking the shriveled penis version of a can of Coke, which leads me to say —

This is America, and We the People demand the right to rot our teeth with appropriately sized drinks! To rapidly spike our blood sugar! To rise our blood pressure! To feel sluggish and tired and all the other horrors this infographic says Coke can cause! We the People — mainly Anxious Mom, probably — think this can size is only suitable for children*, people with inferiority complexes who want to feel bigger than they really are without going to the Adam & Eve sex store, and for display purposes in a larger-than-average-sized dollhouse. That’s it.


Not sure that was worthy of being called a mic drop moment, but I really wanted to use this gif.

Is there a candidate out there who would make soda distributing great again? Because I’d vote for that guy. As long as s/he bans 7.5 ounce cans of Coke, 16.9 ounce bottles, 12 ounce plastic bottles (let’s limit 12 ounces to aluminum cans, okay?), 16 ounce cans (they’re just wrong), and fountain cups that are smaller than 32 ounces, then we’re good. (I’ll probably go for keeping 8 ounce glass bottles of Coke, as long as there is an agreement that they remain ice cold at all times.)

In summary — Cokes shouldn’t come in all sizes.

Whew. I feel much better now.

*Said children would only be pretending to drink the Coke, obviously.

[I’m pretty sure that there is at least one person who’ll think ‘That bitch, can’t appreciate her own husband for getting her a drink,’ if I don’t include a statement assuring everyone that this post is in jest, but that person will probably get Unappreciated Husband Rage and not even read to the end, so I’ll pass.]

Inside The Mind Of A Mentally Constipated Blogger

Today and yesterday have been mental constipation days as far as blogging is concerned. Ever been inside the mind of a mentally constipated person? Probably so, if you’re a blogger. If not, it goes something like this…

Since good ideas aren’t plentiful again, I decide to go with the Daily Prompt for today, which is “Angry.” I open up a new post and write a few words, then realize that since I don’t feel like writing about my usually silent She-Hulk temper (wouldn’t that make for a sucky comic book character — mom who quickly and quietly fumes something serious in her head?) or offending anyone by writing about certain angry groups of people that have annoyed me, that maybe I’ll pass on this one.

Sigh. Move to Trash. I wonder what my ratio of published posts to drafts that never saw the light of day is?


I go to Facebook. I save recipes for dishes that I’ll never eat, but that my family might like. Well, that Little Man and Sam might like, since Baby Girl is pickier than me. I roll my eyes at posts made by a few angry people and scroll on. Then I get an idea for a post — I’ll write about something sort of funny that happened in Charleston. But then I can’t get past the beginning paragraph and click Move to Trash once again.

Then I decide to wander around the house a bit. Time to set the washer back again since I left the clothes in too long. I fume over the hardening rigatoni remnants in a bowl in the sink not being rinsed out, despite asking certain individuals in my house to be sure to rinse their dishes at least 132 times over the past week. Or close to it, anyway.

I make my way back to my desk, where I see how far back I can lean in the chair without it tipping over. Not far. Then I wonder why the hell I’m still doing that at age 32 and hope that I won’t have a headstone that reads “Death by chair” before I’m 40. And then I open another draft, type a few words, delete those words, and try again. Nothing quite sounds right.


Back to Facebook. I see that a friend opened up her pool today and admire her deck, which she says they just stained, and realize that Sam still hasn’t stained or sealed the deck he built for our pool two years ago. I head over to the Lowe’s website and price some sealant and send an email reminding my husband to buy it this weekend. Emails are the best reminders, because I have proof when he claims I didn’t tell him.

See that email right there? That isn’t bolded because you opened it? That you responded to? Hell yes, I told you.


Then I get a good idea — I’ll use one of the silly topics I joked around about in my Making This Blog Hot post. I decide to write a sarcastic post on how to be successful at the blogging like me. But even that fizzles out between a combination of the funny sarcasm not being strong with me tonight and knowing someone(s) will take shit seriously and get all up in my comments section. Maybe another day…


Sam gets home from taking the kids out for a while and Baby Girl decides to give me a break by force feeding me her snack. I try to resist, but a combination of cuteness and salty goodness makes me cave. And then, just as I’m inserting gifs in the appropriate places, I have a decent idea for a post. But I’ll save it for tomorrow, and hopefully I won’t get stumped a couple paragraphs into it. If I do, to hell with it, and you’ll get a post that you might think BG hit the Publish button on while I was typing it delivered to your inbox (or reader).

What do you think your ratio of published posts to drafts that never saw the light of day is?

Making This Blog Hot, Part II

Remember that time I published a post called Making This Blog Hot? You should; it’s one of my more well-liked posts. (This says a lot about you, the readers, that a post poking fun at a list of blog topics is one of my more popular posts.) The last time I covered about half of the list and promised that I’d follow up on that with the last half. In case you aren’t sure where this post is going by now, today I’m doing the follow up.

One of the first suggestions from the second half that caught my eye was Create a post that utilizes a bar chart or pie chart. I haven’t really done charts in the almost decade that I’ve been out of college (silently weeping right now), but here:


Did I just hear a collective groan on that chart? See the second chart, then.


The slice is to the right of the center at the top, FYI.

Moving right along… This idea, though: post linkbait. Why? Why would I post the thing that everyone tries to avoid? Sure, when I was working for one of those websites, I’d post linkbait on my Facebook feed pretty regularly. I don’t mind irritating my family and friends. They have to like me anyway. But y’all? You strangers who choose to read this blog? No, I’m not irritating y’all with that mess. (Unless it’s something super funny. In which case, I’ll make an exception.)

Hold a conference or webinar through blog post. Okay. I kind of did that before with an Ask Me Anything post I ripped off a Not-To-Be-Named poster. I’ll plan on doing that one later this week, on Friday. The three of you who would like to ask me a question may do so starting at 3:23 PM, Eastern Time (better schedule that one now). This is one of the few times in your life you can find out something personal about me that you didn’t already know without reading old posts, or ask for my advice, absolutely free of charge. You may or may not feel enlightened afterwards.

Compile a list of common mistakes in your niche. I have no idea what my mistakes are, and I don’t take kindly to having them pointed out, so no. (Kidding…I know I make mistakes and don’t mind them being pointed out as long as you aren’t incorrectly correcting me. That’s annoying.)

I seriously LOL’d at this one: Abandon your blog for a week and make others think “what happened to you.” It’s pretty risky, but if you are famous blogger – this will get you a lot of buzz. 

giphy (22)

Me, minus the waist, flowy hair, and boxy shoulders.

I promise you, if I up and disappear for a few days or whatever and haven’t said I’m throwing in the towel, it’s because of life. Not because I’m trying to play some Where In The World Is Anxious Mom? game, although that could be pretty fun. You’d be limited to tracking me around rural North and South Carolina, and there would be shots to celebrate any and all progress. Clearly, Baby Girl would be one of the henchmen. #wheresanxiousmom #letsmakethishappen #stopthehashtagmadness

Ask some billionaire to write a blog post for you. I’m sure one of y’all won the Powerball last week, so how about writing me a post that includes your full name, Social Security number, mother’s maiden name, and your routing number?

This one I’m tempted to do, except for I think most of y’all would be too chicken to participate: dare your readers to do something. I suck at dares. I used to get wicked ideas for dares when we’d play Truth or Dare at parties and stuff, but then I’d think, “shit, they might get embarrassed and then I’d feel bad…” Blah. How about this? I dare y’all to follow someone on this list of some of my favorite bloggers. Do it. Dooooooo it. And/or pick any topic from the list to complete. We’ll call it the Hot Blog Challenge. Maybe there will be a special badge. Maybe there won’t.

The best one from this entire list? Publish a manifesto. How the fuck does someone all anxious and paranoid like me not have a manifesto published by the age of 32? This. Must. Change.

Is my blog hotter now?