let’s all quit Facebook right now





Increase your blog traffic in zero easy steps

A kind visitor (?) to my blog said they could increase the traffic to my blog. How kind. I am utterly dubious.

This blog is now a symbol of my dying love for writing. Or is it?

This blog is a symbol of my inability to write.

I used to think I would become a writer. Now I don’t know what the hell to write about. A lot has changed since I aspired to write for the local paper. Look, it was 2003, keep your ‘omg does anyone even READ newspapers anymore?!’ jokes to yourself. Mostly because jokes making fun of the recent past are the easiest jokes to make.

Ipod? Okay, grandpa!

You want me to VIDEOTAPE you? Okay…grandma!

You want me to help you find your way back to your time machine, because you are a traveler from 1850 and you just spend some time on reddit and now you want to get the fuck back to your time, scurvy and all? Okay…..great great great grandpa!

Anyway, I think I made my point. Uh….Oh. Right. That I can’t write anymore.

I suspect that, perhaps, we just change over time, and there’s nothing we can do about it- Except complain incessantly to anyone who will listen.

Well, reader, that ‘anyone’ is you. Thank you kindly. Let me continue my whine.

I accepted that I won’t write anything groundbreaking or anything even ungroundbreaking. (i can invent words if I want)

But I haven’t fully accepted that sometimes I just don’t know what the hell to say anymore. How do you even poke fun at the world, like I used to? Everything is a parody now. Or is that a damn COP OUT? PERHAPS.

Or maybe I just haven’t found the THING to write about.

As you know, Julia Roberts Ate, Prayed, and Loved (she totes had sex with some guy) her way across India, Italy, and…..somewhere else. I dont have google.com, so I cant look it up for ya. Well, Julia Roberts is rich as fuck, unlike most broke ass Americans, so we simply do not have the luxury of quitting our jobs and eating copious pasta. I suppose we could quit our jobs and eat copious pasta in our homes, but that doesn’t sound like the good premise for a FEEL GOOD hollywood movie aimed at 25-45 year old women such as myself.

Perhaps I can write about my inability to write. My lack of imagination. My feeling that I just don’t have enough time anymore, except, really, I do. I found time to learn Spanish, to learn gardening, to run road races back in the day (and burn off my knee caps in the process, but that’s another story)

But this feeling of having nothing to write is a new feeling. I dont think it stems from depression, or sadness, or even from heartburn. Although, heartburn sure is annoying.

I suppose I am in a phase. Once, I had a low carb phase. I mean, low carb seems the way to go, but I sure as hell didn’t stick with it. The siren call of pizza was too much to resist. I do, however, have a delightful low carb book.

beaming with pride whilst holding a low carb book. bread is the devil!


Another time, I had a pizza phase. And now, it is my ‘What the HELL do I write in my blog?’ phase!

It’s ok, my elders tell me, ‘it’s just a phase. You just haven’t met the right blog topic yet. ‘



Life is so long, life is so short

I accumulate more gray hair every month. It’s time for me to make a decision. Which personality should I take on?


  1. Going Gray Prematurely and Lovin’ it! (I could incorporate my millenial-ness into this somehow. Like, millenial women don’t MIND going gray, uhh..because…feminism or something? Take THAT, patriarchy.)
  2. HOLY SHIT I AM GRAY HAIRED AND WTF. Someone drive me to the fuckin’ hair salon, ASAP!
  3. Meryl Streep’s hair from Devil Wears Prada. I let myself go entirely gray, then get a strong, sarcastic business woman hairdo.


Hm. This is tough. Which option seems best? I do think Meryl Streep is pretty awesome, so maybe it’s about time I completely take on the personality of one of her movie characters. I don’t see how this plan can possibly fail.



To my knees

Dear knees,

I thank you for your service. It’s been a rough 17 years, I know. Ever since the summer before 11th grade, you (left knee and right knee. I’m sorry I never named you guys) started acting up. Oh, I remember running through the pain you guys were inflicting on me. Or yourselves. Which, you know, hurts me too, since you guys are attached to my body.

I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you did. My running days were over. I quit the track team, and began drinking chocolate Yoohoo in excess whilst sitting on the internet all night. What? You’re saying I did that even WHEN I ran track? Fine, you’re right. But this letter isn’t about my bad habits. It’s about my bad knees. Sorry, guys, was that mean? I know you didn’t mean to develop cartilage damage. I know you didn’t mean to attach yourselves to a woman (NOT sexist! Women are just more likely to develop knee issues!)

Anyway, Lefty and Righty (I got creative with the knee names here) I stopped running for many years, until sometime in my mid 20s when I decided I was in dire need of some sort of exercise. Naturally, the memories of running flooded back to every part of my body, except my knees, because I seemed to have forgotten that my two knees were total shit and I shouldn’t be running.

Stop crying, lefty. This isn’t about YOU, it’s about ME. Oh wait. This is about you, isn’t it? Sorry.

Knees, I ran constantly from ages 25 through 30. You served me well, and you did your best. Slowly, you wore away your cartilage, and you pained me regularly. (Also emotionally, when you didn’t invite me to the dance party you threw with my elbows)

However, life is a sad affair, and all good things must come to an end. Even things that were good but also hurt like a motherfucker. You know, like jogging 25 miles per week while developing arthritis.

That’s right, knees. You fuckers gave me arthritis. Or did I give YOU arthritis? Knees, I am not sure. But we’re in this together, for life. I promise I won’t replace you with creepy fake knees, and I’ll try my hardest to make sure no further damage is done to you.

I’m ready, if you are, to mourn the end of my running career. Knees, if you’ll be so kind as to pass me that running shoe…Thank you, lefty. You have a great throwing arm for an arthritic knee attached to a 33 year old woman.

:throws running shoe into fire:

Thus is the end of my running. My knees tried to wait until my 60s before they degenerated, but such is life. I got nearly 10 years of running, so I am happy for that.

Life goes on, and we must accept the changes. Who knows what is next for me and my knees?

Definitely not crossfit. Or lunges. But, you know, maybe chess.

why cant i write anymore?!?~??!

The creativity has been sucked out of my AGED SOUL.


I cannot write.

I cannot even type a sentence.

How did I just type that? I don’t even know- because I cannot write.

Nothing springs to mind when I sit down in front of my computer and think to myself, ‘time to write!’

time to write! maybe i’ll stop capitalizing. maybe that’ll pump up the creativity in the withered noggin.

Maybe I should stop calling my noggin withered, old, aged. Really, my brain is elastic, plasticity, elasticity, neuroplasticity, malleable, never static, never rigid..



So, why am I dissing my brain? Part of my shtick, ya know? I’m just a simple elderly millenial, born on that damn cusp, or whatever.

But, back to my point. I can’t write.

I can’t even write about being an elderly millenial, born on the damn cusp, or whatever.

And if I can’t write about being a millenial, born on the damn cusp, or whatever, what CAN I write about?

cusp is a weird word. What if I just used it incorrectly? Sadly, there is no way for me to ever know if I used cusp incorrectly. Or you. We’ll just never know.

Anyway, I can’t write. I can’t think. I can’t. I just CAN’T.

Now, excuse me, I am on the cusp of a major breakthrough with figuring out how to make it rich by buying litecoin. #millenialproblem #amiamillenial? #iremembermadonna


here i am, thinking about how i am completely unable to do anything except think about how i can’t write anymore.




Journalism in 2017.

is clickbait. Here are some nice clickbaity titles I made up, after reading all the clickbaity titles about the new freaking Iphone 35345345345. ugh!!!!

One of of 8 millenials has this problem, and doctors finally have a cure! It’s right in between this photo slideshow on this ad-infested website! Click, my friends, click!

Yes, the new IPhone X is worth 1,000 dollars. In fact, it’s worth about 4,500 dollars. you can’t prove me wrong, since Apple just made up this 1,000 dollar figure anyway. We could tell you the I phone is worth 4,000 dollars, hire a bunch of writers to write articles about why it’s worth 4,000 dollars, then you’d buy the phone. P.S. The IPhone x is now worth 4,600 dollars. That’s a mere 383 dollars per month. quite frankly, you probably spend that much on your ubers and shit. So, fork over your cash, ya damn sheep! I mean, you darling consumer of this fine, very very necessary product that you’ll throw into the trash into another year. :cough:

IPhone X is so 6 hours ago! Read why all the hip, totally rad millenials have decided to burn all their electronics in the middle of the sahara dessert, releasing mass amounts of toxins, plastic, and a huge, climate change causing bubble of endless dick pics, snapchat filters of girls with that dog face filter, angry texts to exes, and about a zillion obnoxious political reshares by your grandmother in Iowa.

and the best of all

Good news! The IPhone still makes phone calls! We think! Wait, let’s check. Call me! What, you dont know my number? We’ve been friends for 10 years! fuck you!


Millenials are not allowed to regret anything.


I believe in the power of ‘now.’ Sure, why not? I mean, you can’t exactly change your past, can you? And what the hell is the future? The past and future do not exist. One USED to exist, one is…..uh….about as non-existent as a flying car. We’re never getting those, stop waiting for them.


But at what point does our obsession with living in the ‘now’ become a bit, well…unrealistic? Why must I never reflect on my past and say to myself..wow. I really fucked up there!


I have regrets. Every day, I live with a particular regret. I regret the excessive high-impact exercise I endured for about 6 years, ages 24 to 30. I regret not accepting that my body wasn’t capable of handling high impact sports. I didn’t want to accept that limitation. As you know, ‘pain is weakness leaving the body,’ ‘no pain no gain’ and insert other bullshit positive thinking posters/memes here.


But sometimes, you do have to just fucking accept that you can’t DO a certain thing. There is a lot of shame in admitting that we have limitations. But why? Genetic diversity is a thing for a reason. Do you want a world of all alphas? Or a world of all people like me, who sit online and write about their broken knees all night? Or a world of people who want to breed as much as possible? Or a world of only people who never want to breed at all? Fuck all of that. We are all different for a reason. And not in some stupid lovey dovey political campaign way. Don’t get me started..


It’s evolution!  I believe there is a reason why, in modern times, all sorts of people still exist. YOU NEED DIVERSITY. IT IS HOW A SOCIETY FUNCTIONS.


So, you DO need the people who arent athletically gifted. Who the fuck will build all the important tools whilst the athletic people protect us from the tribes trying to steal our Iphone 9.0 test models?


You need anxious people. If only risk takers existed, humanity wouldve died out a long time ago. And also, humanity would’ve died out a long time ago if only anxious people existed, because we’d all be huddled in our cave, taking deep breaths, pulling the cave blankets over our eyes and wanting better days.




Like i said, I regret the years of running. I knew it was bad for my body. I just did not want to accept it. I didn’t want to accept my limitations. But why not? Years have passed. I have learned new skills. I’ve learned gardening, and it’s been such a rewarding experience, that almost rivals the feeling of completing a 5K race at top speed. After learning how to grow crops, plant the seeds, and watch them grow, well, it does give me a bit of an endorphin boost. The same as running for an hour, outside, with music in my ears, faster with each mile, not giving a fuck about anyone else on the road, lost in my own mind? Okay, maybe nothing will top that. Except drugs. But i’m too scared to do drugs. Except booze and coffee.


But the point is, I am capable of feeling things, and having passions. So,if I had accepted my limitations early on, and found a new hobby…perhaps today i would be able to walk upstairs without excruciating pain.

What the hell is a FICO score.

By the way, what the hell is credit? I didn’t question the validity of a ‘FICO score’ until I was 31! It was just woven into my life, from an early age, so I never once said, why the hell is this FICO even a THING, and why do we judge people based on their FICO score?!

Question it. Why is it normal? It’s not. I stopped using my credit card except to buy gas, and my company tells me, ‘show you’re a good borrower! Take out a fucking installment loan!’

Ok, Credit Card Company didn’t swear at me, but SERIOUSLY?! So, I pay off my CC, and you’re tellin’ me to hop back onto the debt wagon and fucking take out a CAR LOAN, or something?! Is that what you’re telling me!!

:takes deep breath:

When I entered elderly millenial status, all of life’s bullshit and malarky just started to unravel in front of my aging eyeballs. (Don’t worry, I don’t need glasses yet. Doctor said I just stare at the computer too much and forget to blink, so my eyes hurt sometimes.)

Listen, CC company, you don’t own me! I want to keep my money, and do whatever I want with it. So stop telling me to take out loans. I took out a car loan when I was 25 because I knew nothing about anything. also, I still know nothing about anything, and neither do you.

That’s right. What do I really know? What does anyone know?

We are ALWAYS learning. It never stops. In 10 years, when I am ultra-elderly millenial status, I  might laugh at all the things I did NOT know at age 31.

And that is a beautiful thing. So, keep questioning everything, keep learning, and be authentic.