The Enemy is Everywhere

Austin, TX. Monday 7:56 am:


“What’s what?” Erin answered from her room.

“WHAT. THEFUCK. IS. THAT,” I repeated, my tone drawing her out of other room immediately.

A very large…something. On the floor. Unmoving. But with insect qualities. My brain wanted it to be a rabbit foot key chain.

Sometimes Erin wears barrettes and brooches like this.


Is it…an orange and black feathery accessory that fell off of one of Erin’s purses?

Is it a moth? It MUST be a moth. Look, those..that..part appears to be…wings? And antennae. I walked to the other side of the couch, away from it while Erin performed her inspection from a safe distance.

“Uhhmm. I think it’s a roach?” Erin offered delicately.

I thought of my bed and its proximity to this creature. Cottage cheese and coffee threatened to come up on me. I have a hard enough time getting breakfast down as it is. I couldn’t get any nearer than three feet to help confirm. I couldn’t help confirm.

We put a tupperware over it and some weight on it and resolved to tell my pal Juan, the building guy, as soon as possible. “We will tell them. And they will SPRAY.”

I got in my car to head to work. My breakfast was still sitting high, ready to defy gravity with one mental misstep. I hoped his friends wouldn’t come to visit him while we’re gone. I considered the warnings that we’d received from our friends: bugs are a given here. I didn’t believe it, but here it was. Fruition. Then I wondered what other kinds of bugs we would encounter here in the wilds of Texas.

You see, Erin and I, we have a long and loathsome history with bugs. Continue reading


Pack That Ass Up

The best moving advice I ever completely rejected was that I should sell/trash all my possessions and buy new things where I landed. But I was like, look at my stuff! I refinished that coffee table and bureau, I reupholstered that chair, I made that painting! It’s been 10 long years since the collected furnishings of my life have been in the same COUNTRY. Now is the time to feather my glorious, mismatched nest. Now is the time to pack. Marvel at my latest efforts:


fat stacks

In the dead of a winter’s night, that crap was Tetris’ed  into a 6’x7’x8′ cube for to send to Texas (IT’S GO TIME). This is a packing masterwork; the photo doesn’t begin to do it justice. You can’t see the boxes cleverly stuffed into bookshelves, or how, like a true professional, my wall art is secured between the mattresses so’s not to be broken on their journey.

Like all great art, this piece was also an outrageous pain in the ass. It wasn’t even the furniture that was the problem. It was, and try not to judge me for this, my relentless book habit. It’s been growing, unchecked, for twenty years. It’s old fashioned. It’s a waste of space. It’s heavy as balls. It’s super flammable. It’s the only thing I actually care about in the world and it has made me a very smart person that uses a lot of words to express herself.

My greatest achievement will one day be owning a library with a wheelie ladder.

I haven’t inventoried my library in years. I’ve felt too guilty about it; I know I’ve been greedy. Over time I’ve squirreled novels away in boxes of kitchen gadgets, in my underwear drawer, in purses. I have no idea where they all are anymore. And still, at the end of the day, I was able to round up eleven (11) boxes EXCLUSIVELY of books. That’s 11 boxes measuring about 2’x2’x1.5′ – that’s 6 cubic feet, 11 times. (Right? Someone check my math.) It seemed wise to let Megan know a metric ton of knowledge was about to descend on her living space. She said not to bring it all. I’m bringing it all. It fit in the cube.

Eventually Megan will escape our living arrangement and I can use her room to hoard more books. I have, after all, mastered space-saving stacking techniques. I’m prepared to be the old lady from Fahrenheit 451.

No reeeeegggggrrrrreeeeeeettttttssssss…..

Good God, someone please buy me a Kindle.

Fun Facts: North Dakota Edition


When faced with uncharted territory, the savvy businesswoman must educate herself on the ways and interests of the people she will encounter, the general climate and landscape of the foreign land in question. Her travels have taught her to prepare for anything, for anything can happen…in North Dakota.

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Sunday Morning Existential Crisis

Oh, of course no pickles. That would make this disgusting.

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy: Why is this a thing? Why did someone get paid to design this recipe? Why does White Castle even feel the need to provide recipes to the world? Why would anyone think it was a good idea to fist a million shitty little hamburgers up a turkey’s ass?

Why was this goddamn ad looking at me from the Sunday paper, as there are no White Castles even in this goddamn part of the country??

Why is the universe conspiring to kill everyone I know thru congestive heart failure? Why is this the world I live in? Why is humanity fat and doomed?


Preparing for your Office Halloween Party in 16 Easy Steps

Note: This article only pertains to you if you are an Erin, not a Megan, and therefore enjoy Halloween, costumes, candy, drinking, winning costume competitions, winning in general and being better at everything than other people.

1. Remember that there are prizes and prestige to be won by participating in your Halloween party. And booze. And maybe flirting with the dude that’s been doing the construction around the office. Also remember to ask about the theme of your office Halloween party before you begin assembling the various elements of your extravagant costume, which costs money

2. You’ve just found out your party has a theme. What is it again? Brand icons? Hm. Strange perhaps, but you do work at an advertising agency. Brand identity is your bread and butter. Do not be stumped by the strangeness! Brainstorm time. The only brand icons you brainstorm, however, are black.

This…..cannot end well

3. Educate yourself. Google the shit out of every synonymic phrase for “corporate mascot” that you can. Your options are now characters on cereal boxes, animals or spokespeople for Geico. Be disappointed in the results.

4. Enlist your friends. They will all tell you to be Flo, of the Progressive commercials. Reject this idea. You know at least four people are going to show up with red lipstick and Bump-its at your party. Not creative enough!

5. Discover a recognizable, but obscure enough brand icon that only you will have thought of. She is human and can be constructed cheaply. Everyone will marvel at your ingenuity.


7. Spend three days combing the town for a yellow, long-sleeved dress, shoes and perfect gold wig. This is harder than one would expect. Justify increasing your costume budget. Determine that the internet is better suited to your needs. Pay extra for the expedited shipping because your party is at the end of the week.

8. Strike up a conversation at work regarding the party. Learn in passing that someone else has also found your brilliant, obscure idea and will be coming to the party as the Morton Salt Girl.

9. Stifle rage.

10. To Google!

11. Find a less unique, more elaborate idea. Increase your budget. Pay for next day shipping. Reason, you can always return the last costume of course.

12. After this second costume is bought, remember that all purchases from Halloween costume stores are final after Oct. 20th. Fucking shit.

13. Stew. Stare at discarded, expensive costumes balled up on your closet floor.

14. The new costume arrives. Fret about how intense it is. Consider the ramifications of looking like an overeager weirdo among your office peers. These are, after all, the same people that don’t understand what you’re doing when you “raise the roof” in status meetings.

For truly it is an evil to be a douche, but it is still a greater evil to be full of douchiness and unwilling to recognize it…

15. Too late. Your party is on Friday. It’s all or nothing, and everyone knows that not wearing a costume to a Halloween party is the most intentional asshole move in the world. You have no choice. Suit up.

16. Drink throughout the party to assuage the weirdness. Oh wait, your costume covers your face? There’s no mouth hole for beers?


Halloweenie 2: The Rebuttal

Two days ago, my colleague, whom I respect deeply, posted an incendiary article on this blog regarding the shortcomings of a certain beloved festival in 20 ludicrous points. We haven’t spoken since, so deeply was I effected by her cutting remarks and scrooge-ish attitude to a day that brings joy to so many, including myself. To make her see the error of her ways, I have no choice but to deconstruct her points, and smash them like pumpkins in the streets.


Believe me when I say that my passion for Halloween would allow me to write lengthy pamphlets addressing each of Megan’s 20 points. But I think really they boil down into four big issues:

  • Candy
  • Scare Culture
  • Costumes
  • The Nature of Fear & Pleasure

This shit is about to get academic.

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