I am sure you will love your new job.

If not, just go listen to that speech from JK Rowling about how she only got to be awesome because she failed at all the things she tried to do that weren’t the thing she was supposed to do. That speech makes me feel better about life every time, because I excel at failure. No offense, but you’re not as good at failing at jobs as me, so you maybe wouldn’t get it. 😉

I hope the pros of going off your meds outweigh the cons. I don’t know much about these things, but I’m certainly pulling for you. ❤

My life lately? Well, for starters I decided to stop wearing bras. Ever. This is an interesting choice since, as you know, I am, shall we say, a busty girl. Nevertheless, my mind is made up. I keep gaining weight and they’re so uncomfortable, and I just don’t want to go invest in new ones, and why do we even wear them anyway? Whose idea was this in the first place? It’s stupid! Plus there are articles on the internet which suggest that wearing a bra can interfere with the healthy functioning of the lymphatic system. (It’s true if it’s on the Internet.)

So I gave them up.

Even in public!?!”  my horrified mother gasped when I told her.

“Even in public,” I responded, wondering how well-received this decision would be if I were still walkin’ the way o’ the Watchtower, and I had to laugh to myself at how awkward those elders’ meetings would surely have been.

I rather assumed that I’d need to toss my entire wardrobe and start from scratch being careful to collect only clothing that catered to my new constraints – or lack thereof. So the other night I took out every single article of clothing I own and tried them on one by one to see which could be salvaged and which would have to be sacrificed.

I. Was. Shocked.

Utterly and completely. Do you know, I scarcely tried on a thing that did not look better without a bra than with?? I had no expectation of that outcome. Even things that I hadn’t worn for months and maybe even years because they just weren’t flattering anymore on account of my increasing thickness. I tried them on and they looked great. And I wasn’t even drunk.

I am pleased as punch. Additionally, I am exceedingly comfortable all the time without all those bands and straps and fucking wires pinching and poking and pressuring me.

Happy day.

In other news, I’m celebrating my fifth year in the goddamn desert with a scorpion ambush.

Early this morning, I was lying in bed, minding my business, as you do, when something tickled at my shoulder. Usually when this happens, it’s just my hair. Brush it off the shoulder, problem solved. Only this morning when I implemented this approach, my hair fucking bit me. Hard. So I shifted around a bit, and got bit some more. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!?! I ran my hand across the sheet and most definitely felt some sort of creature.


I reached for my phone, turned on the flashlight and took to inspecting my bed. Nothing. I’m losing my mind. Something definitely bit me. Then, to my left, in a little crumple of the sheet, I see it.

A motherfucking scorpion.

I didn’t scream or freak out, cuz I’m cool like that. I calmly got out of bed, walked to the closet, put on a pair of shoes and walked back to the bed. I picked up the sheet and shook it until the little fucker fell out and then I stepped on him with all the fury of a female who does NOT appreciate being awake and in pain at 6:06 in the goddamn morning.

Then I wondered if I was going to die.

I’m a midwest girl. I don’t know from scorpions. What the hell are you supposed to do about this? So I called the Irishman, and woke him up to ask if he knew what the heck I’m supposed to do about getting stung by a scorpion. He said, “I’ll come over.” In retrospect, I’m not sure what good that was meant to do. I mean, he’s not a doctor. He’s not a pest control professional. He’s not even particularly accomplished in the ancient art of Google Search. But whatever. He came over. I Googled. It said call poison control. I called. She said take a shower, put ice on it if you want, take ibuprofen if it hurts, watch for weird symptoms in case of allergic reaction, can she call me back in an hour to make sure I’m okay? Sure.

Which means there’s no point in going back to bed, so we decide to go out to breakfast and then hit the zoo before it gets too hot. (It’s still in the fucking nineties here. Why???? I can’t stand it!!! There are so many reasons to hate the desert.) Which means I’m running on four hours of sleep. Which, I’m guessing, is why, when my brother text me the date of his upcoming nuptials (Oh, hey. My brother’s getting married.) and I sent him back a congratulatory text with a postscript about how much I hate the “fucking” desert and all these “fucking” scorpions, I didn’t notice the bit about it being a group text until one millisecond after I sent my text full of f-bombs on its happy little way to my brother AND MY MOM. 

Oh, dear baby Jesus. Find those fast flying fucks and intercept them before she sees them, please!?!?!

I never heard from her. Maybe because she didn’t get the text?? Presumably because she hates me now and will never speak to me again.


Why do people even group text? It should be illegal. Because I’m an idiot.

I can’t help it though. It was the damn scorpion. The damn dead scorpion, because no one should wake me up that fucking early.

But then I remembered that once on a vacation, I got an airbrush tattoo of a scorpion. Ten years later, I had a real live scorpion in my bed.

I have an appointment to get an airbrush tattoo of Paul Rudd tomorrow, just in case this whole ‘get tattoo, shows up in your bed’ thing is more than a coincidence.


So I’ll be home in December for a wedding. The week before Christmas. More details later.


I love you.


I will accept your writing challenge tomorrow, if you have one ready. Otherwise I’ll give you one on Wednesday or we can start next week. Hooray!!



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