Seriously, scammers? Don’t bother calling me.


This is a new one…


Caller: May I speak with the person who would be responsible for using the computer in the household?

Me: That would be me.

Caller: I’m calling from Microsoft Office business (blah blah) and your computer has been sending error messages.

Me: Really?  So, Microsoft has been getting error messages from my computer?

Caller: Yes.  You will need to go and make sure your computer is on.  It has been receiving viruses.

Me: So, you have been getting these messages from my Microsoft Office applications?

Caller: Yes, I am calling from Microsoft Office services and we have been receiving these warnings.

Me: Just to be clear, you are getting these error messages from the Microsoft tools on my computer?

Caller: Yes.  Your computer has been breached and we need to act fast.

Me: You do know that I don’t have Microsoft on my computer, right?



Do people actually fall for this shit?



No one is chasing me and nothing is on fire.

I started doing the Couch to 5K program a few weeks ago.  The basic idea is that you gradually go from no running to being able to run a 5K.  It’s an interval training program and I think it’s brilliant.

But I still hate running.  I have not learned to love it.  Yet.

I asked a friend who runs how long it will take before I have that “addiction” that runners have.  She said she did not want to tell me because she did not want to discourage me.  So, I am just going to assume it takes six years.  GAAAAAAAHHHH.


Fortunately for me, I have someone to run with.  This is very motivating.

This is exactly what I said to my running partner this morning:

I am glad I have you to run with, because, if I didn’t, I would not have gotten up this morning.  Furthermore, every time I ask you to run, I really don’t want to.  Every time you ask me to run, I really don’t want to.  And every time you ask if we’re still on for our next running date, I want to say no.  But I do it anyway.


But, no worries.  I am still running.  And it still sucks.


Spam – not just for breakfast

This is the best spam comment my blog has received in a long time:

“Wow that was odd. I just wrote an extremely long comment but after I clicked submit my comment didn’t appear. Grrrr… well I’m not writing all that over again. Anyways, just wanted to say fantastic blog the information provided about brand generic viagra is incredible congratulations great job!”


First of all, props for trying to look like a real person… grrr.  And this comment was left on the post mentioning Lindt balls.  I can only assume the spambot thought it meant “testicles”.

Second, it IS a fantastic blog.  Thank you very much, viagra spambot.

Third, although I do not specifically mention viagra in my post, I was thinking about it.  Uncanny!


You know the rules…and so do I.

Setting:  meeting with my company’s employee activities committee, discussing ways of revamping the committee’s website to be more appealing…


Me: “I think that whenever someone clicks on the site, they should get Rick Rolled.”

Everyone: *laughter*

Me (to head of security): “Oh, but you probably don’t like that idea.”

Everyone: *laughter*

One person: “I’m sorry…what does that mean?”

Another person: “Do you remember Rick Astley?”

Me (singing): “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…”

Everyone: “I remember the first time I was Rick Rolled…”

Everyone: “But seriously, we should make the site fun and appealing.”


Meeting has ended, everyone is getting up…

Me (to chairperson): “But seriously, give some thought to that Rick Roll idea.”


End Scene



I’m a little bit rock & roll too. But Marie’s bob was to DIE for.

At first it was cute.

Then it was liberating.


And then there was this:


Jan 5, 1979

Tonight I watched Donny and Maire.  I liked it.  It was funny.  good night.


Yeah, I misspelled “Marie”.  But this is how I remember them:


Donny - NOT anatomically correct, btw.


And, bitches?  I HAD THOSE DOLLS.


Cranky McBitch

Recognizing that it was the end of a long day and I stupidly decided to not grab a cart so I had all my items piled in my arms, I still think that I was justified in judging the couple of groups of people in front of me at the grocery store “express” check out.

Issue #1:

If you have any complicated form of payment or require any sort of assistance with returned items, DON’T GO TO THE EXPRESS LINE.  There’s a customer service desk for that shit, ass nugget.

Issue #2:

Grocery store etiquette dictates that once you put all your groceries on the conveyer belt, you put up the divider for the person behind you.  So, to the jackhole who stood there dumbly in front of me with his two white trash bitches, I say, “I hope that 30 rack of Coors Light you just bought falls on your baby toe”.

Issue #3:

If you make the decision to wear eye makeup that looks like a superhero mask melted on your face, just know that I will mock you.  ON MY BLOG.  FOR ETERNITY.

I bet going to the grocery store to buy cheap beer will cheer me up.



best birthday card EVER

Got a bday card from my mom today.  The image is shaking because I am laughing hysterically.

Wtf is this?  I don’t know, but I LOVE IT.


Here comes the Bride…and her beautiful, hungover, hungry bridesmaids…

Herein is where I blog about the wedding that I referred to in the post where I did not wear underwear.

It has taken me too long to get to this.  There were many challenges… like being super busy at work, and I am lazy, and I had stuff going on, and I am lazy, and the entire New England area lost power, and I am really…Just.  So.  Lazy.

To recap:  I was in a wedding, and, during the rehearsal events the night before the wedding, much frivolity occurred, and I went around for a good portion of the night not wearing anything under my skirt and being kind of douchey.  You may have guessed (after reading the last post) we were sort of hungover the day of the wedding.  I woke up feeling like I’d give up ever wearing underwear again just to not have my body feel this shitty.

And don’t forget the cast of players:

Bride and Groom

Bridesmaids (Kristina, Cassie, Shalisha, Shelly, and me)

Groomsmen (Pat, Freiss, Chris, Greg, Bryan)

Fortunately for me, the day of the wedding was spent in the Bride’s suite getting ready.  We all had our hair and makeup done.  When it comes to wedding hair, there is no such thing as too many bobby pins.  MORE PINS!  MORE HAIRSPRAY!   JUST STAPLE IT TO MY HEAD!

We all also wore a flower in our hair.

I tried to take a picture of the flower, but turning my aching head was a challenge.

At one point while we were getting ready, I mused aloud, “Did I really tell (the Groom)’s mother that I had no underwear on?”

Shelly: “Aw.  It’s cute you think you did not tell everyone that.


And I am not sure why, but our day of beauty was interrupted, like, 3 times by the GROOM popping in to the room.  After the Bride screamed at him for just barging in and seeing her, he knocked.  So, every time there was a knock at the door, one of us bridesmaids would FLY at the door ready to throw ourselves in the way.  Self-sacrifice is one of the requirements of being a bridesmaid.

I cracked the door to the Groom once and said, “what do you want?”  He said, “I just need to grab something.”  Me:  “What is it?  We’ll grab it for you.  Because you’re NOT COMING IN.”  See?  Bridesmaid shield – ON.

When we were all done with hair and makeup, pictures were being taken because this was being done before the wedding.  (GREAT IDEA – if you get married, please do this because then guests don’t have to wait for you FOREVER.)  We knew that the Groom and family members would see the Bride before the actual ceremony, but when we came out of the elevators THERE WERE SO MANY MORE PEOPLE THAN THAT.  Shalisha said, “What are all these people doing here??”  I said, “Quick!  Make a protective circle around the Bride!”

Eventually they were made to move, but for a while it was like this:

No, we are not giving autographs today. Please keep back.

Oh, and I have a question to ask…  Hypothetically speaking, if you were in a wedding and were also in the bride’s previous wedding, would you remark that taking a picture with her in a wedding dress “seems so familiar”?  Probably not, because that’s mean, right?  Just checking.  Oops.

Anyway, we retired to a special room to rest before we went down the aisle.  It had a name, but I like to call it the “Champagne Room”.  No sex in the Champagne Room, people.

None for ya'

I feel I should mention this now (because it’s one of the reasons I did not guzzle more bottles of champagne):  None of the bridesmaids had eaten since breakfast at 10:00am.  Please remember this fact.

The ceremony was lovely and blessedly short.  The Bride’s uncle read “Desiderata”.  And when he read this line: “Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit”, the bridesmaids fluttered about a bit.  Shalisha leaned in to me and said, “Oh no!  That’s me!”  I whispered back, “That’s ALL of us.”  Aw crap.

Before the reception, there was a cocktail hour.  With snacks.  And I think it was at this point that the bridesmaids realized WE WERE FUCKING RAVENOUS.  I think I was shaking from the hunger.

As soon as we could leave the Champagne Room, we bombed out of there.  I pushed aside guests with my wall of chiffon and, let me tell you, shoving my face into a pile of baba ganoush never felt so good.  There were people walking around with trays of stuff too.  A guest at the wedding, who I knew and had not seen for a while, stopped to talk to me.  “Hey, how are you?”  Me: “Great!  How are…oh, is that more food?”

Enter lady with tray of fried looking balls.  What’s that?  Lobster risotto?  My hand reached out to snatch one of those fried balls before you could say “that bridesmaid scares me”.

When I did this, it made the lady realize she had no toothpicks – because I had just glommed onto that ball with my whole hand and shoved it into my mouth with one shaking fist.  So, she turned to go back and get toothpicks.  At which point, I heard Shalisha behind me saying, “Was that food?  Where is she going???  TELL HER TO COME BACK.”

I may or may not have looked like this.

I am not saying I am proud for stuffing my face while wearing pretty hair, makeup, and a chiffon evening gown, but it was either that or pass out while making my entrance into the reception.


To be continued…

We should have known how things would go when we insisted on wearing the Snooki pouf.

Last weekend, I was in a wedding.  I spent the whole weekend at the hotel – where both the ceremony and reception happened.  I want to go on record as saying that I am recalling events exactly as they occurred or were related to me.  Despite my state of mind at times, I do remember everything (in other words, I NEVER PASSED OUT).

Cast of players:

Bride and Groom

Bridesmaids (Kristina, Cassie, Shalisha, Shelly, and me – these are real names as I don’t have the savvy or energy to make up pseudonyms)

Groomsmen (Pat, Freiss, Chris, Greg, Bryan – also real names)

Friday night was the rehearsal.  It was pretty quick and painless…except for my feet because I wore these:

50' housewife, I am not

I had on the appropriate hosiery, however.  For the time being.

After the rehearsal, we were taking a shuttle to the Groom’s parents’ house for dinner, etc.  The phrase “shuttle bus” was used.  I totally expected a downtown bus or something.  I don’t really know.

Anyway, while we were waiting for the shuttle in front of the hotel, the wedding planner (Mitch) came out with a bottle of champagne for us.  The bridesmaids (sporting Snooki poufs… sorta) were all over this shit.  I asked Mitch if we could drink it now and when he said we could do “whatever we wanted”, that bottle was open for business.  We passed it around like a bunch of drunken teenagers in an alley.  Meanwhile, we could not help but notice that the groomsmen were studiously quiet.  Of course, we were starting to play out our own version of Bridesmaids Gone Wild, so we were all like, “what’s up with them?”  (Don’t worry.  We brought them around.)

Enter the “shuttle bus”.

Shuttle bus or porn bus?

Bitch, please.

The first thing out of my mouth as we boarded the bus was “this looks like the setting for a porn movie”.  Followed by, “hells yeah…there’s more champagne!”

If you look closely, you can see a pole

That bus was not only tricked out with, of all things, a FRIGGIN LIGHT SHOW, but it also had more booze.  I grabbed a bottle, and one of the groomsmen grabbed a bottle and we both opened them.  I am awesome at opening champagne.  I am a CHAMP at it.  So, I was doing my thing and being awesome when one of the other groomsmen said (to the guy opening a bottle), “oh man, she’s beating you”.

THIS IS WHERE IT STARTED.  The insane competitive streak that never ended.  Keep this in mind.


And then we got to the very nice house…


By the time we got to our destination, we were half in the bag.  And, oh, hey…look everyone!  A catered event with AN OPEN BAR.

Cassie, Shalisha, and I immediately got in line to get drinks.  I think I ordered Sprite and vodka…10 times?  Who knows.  Who cares.  All I know is that I hiked up my pantyhose one time too many and RIP.  Not knowing my own strength when I have been drinking, I decimated these things.  I was wearing no more than a girdle with strings.

Crap.  I forgot to bring my spare pair.  Now what?

I consulted with Cassie and Shalisha (blind leading the blind, anyone?) as to what to do.

They suggested I take them off.  I said, “do you really think I should?”  Cassie asked, “well, do you smell?”

Me:  “No, I don’t smell.”  (I really didn’t smell, but is there any other acceptable answer to that question???)

So, I took off my pantyhose.  And until I tell you I don’t wear underwear with pantyhose, you’re probably thinking, “what’s the big deal?”


Yes.  A skirt, no underwear, and me.


This might have been ok.  This might have worked out fine.  IF.  If.  I.  Had.  Not.  Announced.  This.  To.  Everyone.  I.  Talked.  To.

You know how it is when you’re drunk.  Everyone is your best friend and you want to tell them secrets.

“Oh, mother of the groom, what a lovely home you have.  And silly me, my pantyhose ripped so I had to take them off but I had no underwear on so now I am not wearing anything under here.  Hehe.”

Classy, Heather.  Classy.

I also don’t think it helped my case to not only announce it but to announce it in a stage whisper and then tell people to be discreet.  “I have nothing on under here.  Shh!  Keep it on the down low.”


WTF, Heather.  Why are you such an ass?  I don’t know the answer to that question.  Moving on…


Pretty much everyone was a good sport (especially the next day) and, if anyone was talking smack about me, they were nice enough to do it behind my back.


And then I picked on the sweetest person there…


One of the people there was the sister of two of the groomsmen.  Sweet, young girl – who is very very pretty.  And tall.  I had met her before when visiting the Bride once.

The Bride and I both looked at her and simultaneously bellowed; “Why are you so tall?  WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING TALL??”

Because in addition to having a set of these:

These are not her actual legs - only an approximation

She was wearing something like these:

Also not the real deal, but as close as I could find

All in all, they made her 17 feet tall.

And I kid you not, but this girl apologized.  She apologized to us for being too tall and statuesque.  At one point, she actually changed her shoes.  Because she did this, I called her my BFF for the rest of the night.

“Hey BFF!  Whassup, gurrrrrrrrrlllllllll?”  (I fucking hate myself even just writing that.)

But I also called her “Skinny Bitch” for the rest of the night.  (I hate myself even more.)

“Hey Skinny Bitch!  Why are you so skinny, Skinny Bitch?”

All of this she put up with gracefully and with good humor.  Despite being called Skinny Bitch by a short round girl not wearing underwear under her skirt.


And then Cassie, Shalisha, and I got in trouble…


Towards the end of the night (when I was confident everyone knew about my lack of underwear), Cassie, Shalisha, and I went outside.  We had been told that the porn bus was coming soon.

Not soon enough.  Cassie suggested we go get inside the caterer’s van.  So, we did.  And we took pictures.  And then the Bride came out and yelled at us.

“What are you DOING?  You know how I knew you were in the catering van???  The CATERERS TOLD ME.”


I found out later that the Bride had been inside asking people, “has anyone seen the bridesmaids???”  The caterers, without making eye contact, were all like, “they’re…um…outside.”


Before we could defend ourselves (or blame each other), the shuttle showed up.

There was a bit of drama because Shalisha did not want to get on the bus without the bartender Jason, all the while shouting, “it’s not cheating on my husband if I just want to spoon with Jason!!!  GO GET JASON!  I WANT JASON!”


And then the porn bus earns its name…

No, there was no sex.  But there was dancing!

We spent the ride back playing dance music and trying to rock out on a moving vehicle.  There may have been a moment when I was reaching for the ceiling (the only place with handles) to stabilize myself and risked showing my ladyparts, but I refuse to linger on that thought.

Cassie did some enviable moves where she grabbed the ceiling AND put her feet on the seat so she could gyrate in front of someone.  Shalisha described it perfectly when she said the next day that Cassie kept “shoving her kooka in people’s faces”.

This is when we realized that we were living the Snooki dream.


I swear to you, the night started to move in flashes of images where people did crazy shit and we laughed and then realized we were the people doing the crazy shit we were laughing at.


And then we held out far too long…


When we got back to the hotel that night, we lost Shalisha.  She went to bed, still grousing about how we left without Jason.

We ended up drinking in the hotel bar.  Bridesmaids vs. Groomsmen.  Not to the death, but to THE PAIN.

There ensued a lot of trash talking, laying the smack down, and the like…all about how “we can outlast you”… blah blah.

At one point, I looked at Friess and said, “Dude, I have 10 years of drinking on you.  Wait… How old are you?  I have 12 years of drinking on you.  You won’t beat me.”  Nevertheless, he kept saying, “we’re winning” and when I asked what exactly made him think they were winning he replied, “well, we’re not losing.”

Good point.

Anyway, when they challenged our drinking prowess, we reminded them that THEY had been drinking beer all night and the ladies had been drinking hard liquor.  So, the groomsmen said they’d do a shot.  We agreed this might be an acceptable way to prove their manhood, but we insisted on watching them do the shots.

After they did the shots, we asked what it was.

Are you ready?



I think I may have peed a little from the laughing, and then I turned to one of them and asked, “did that shot hurt your vagina?


Not being ones to back down from challenges, when the bride suggested that we bridesmaids should get to bed, Shelly and I were both like, “We’ll sit here until we die before we let those ladies outlast us.  Til we FUCKING DIE.”

drinks you might see the Groomsmen partaking in - before they go buy tampons

Bridesmaids might drink this...but it is NOT amaretto

For the record, my feet were the last ones to leave that bar.  The Groomsmen still insist somehow they won, but that may be because they were having their time of the month.


So concludes the rehearsal night…  Next post: wedding day.


How I almost choked a bitch at the grocery store.

No, no.  The title of this post is an exaggeration.  I did not almost choke a bitch.  I DID almost take my cart and ram it into this lady at 60 miles an hour while screaming “SHUT UP BITCH”.


I was near the dairy section and happened to appear on the scene just as a man and woman were perusing the juice selection.  And the woman said, “I don’t get it.  They don’t have any juices not made from concentrate.  I mean…if I was looking to get diabetes, maybe I’d get them, but…”


First of all, what a weird way to put it.  “I don’t want any sugar”, “I don’t want that much sugar”, or “Too much sugar is bad for you” – all reasonable explanations for not wanting juice made from concentrate.  But “I don’t want to drink this juice because I might get diabetes”?  Lil over the top, ma’am.


Then she started to walk away (or so I thought), grousing something, and then telling her male companion, “well, you know me”.  And she said it in that infuriating way that implies that what she is doing is indicative of how discerning her tastes are, when really she is being a giant pain in everyone’s asses.

“Well, you know me.  I like to knock school children out of the way with my car.  It’s who I am.”


I walked on because I was already annoyed with pretty much everyone in this whole grocery store…nay, all people in all grocery stores everywhere.  Let me get the fuck out of this place, please.

I went down another couple of aisles and, as I circled back, I ended up on the other end of an aisle near the juices and THAT DAMN WOMAN WAS STILL THERE.


Only now she had caught the ear of other shoppers, because, as she circled the juice area like a fucking shark (a no-sugar-added-please shark), I heard her say, “I mean, how can they call it juice if it’s just sugar and water?”

I really expected her to follow this up with, “Am I right?  Am I right?” as if she was participating in the world’s worst grocery store standup routine.


I have no idea how long she ended up spouting her gospel of juice.  All I know is she made me want to drink juice made from concentrate and follow it with a sugar chaser.