The secret to a long-lasting (happy) marriage…


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The Hubster has declared that I must get rid of all my social media accounts. Apparently he wants me to live in a cave and have no outside communication with the world.

Because I got to watch the cute puppy video before him.

I know, he’s a dork, but I bit the bullet and married him so the rest of you could be safe. Seriously though, the poor guy never manages to show me anything new in the world. He finds a funny video, I’ve already seen it. He finds an interesting online article, I’ve already read it and discussed it at length with online people and I’m now uninterested in rehashing it with him.

Poor Hubster, forever behind the power curve of social media. Working outside of the home must be rough.

Since I obviously will not be giving up social media and all my blog reading and discussions, I had to come to a solution to appease the Hubster. I’ve decided to lie. I’ll watch the videos and compliment him on showing me something new. I’ll have the same arguments about a news article that I had two days ago on Twitter. I’ll even look at the memes and laugh that he found a new one I haven’t seen.

Because that’s what marriage is all about; lying, smiling, and laughing to appease the person you sleep next to.

And now I’d like to throw a big giant HAPPY BIRTHDAY at the Hubster. Thank you for putting up with my writing, anarchy, sarcasm, and general folly that goes against your very nature. You are the best!!!

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You can also find me on Instagram @shankyouheather

Lola is calling SETI…


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Have you ever looked at a dog and wondered what they are really thinking? And when I say wonder, I mean seriously contemplated what inside their head makes an idea seem so achievable to the canine? Thanks to Lola, I have now wasted a precious 15 minutes of my life wondering how her brain works.

Lola was staring at our resident Roomba, which is a robot that vacuums the floor for all you people who live under a rock. Lola has never liked the Roomba. It dared to touch her once and she leapt up into the air and then cowered in her bed trying not to cry. As retaliation, Lola has been plotting the Roomba’s downfall.

So here she is, staring at it, while the Roomba blithely cleaned my living room. Lola stands up and prepares her body for a lunging ninja move that she has practiced for years. She lunges…and lands on the Roomba.

And then she panics. As I’m laughing and watching Lola try to decided how to dismount, the Roomba decides to save itself and stop moving. Roomba then lets out some noises alerting me to the fact that it is stuck.

Stuck under the butt of a 40 pound bulldog.

Lola loses it completely. Apparently the chirping from the Roomba is a signal from the alien planet that we are not alone. Lola mad dashes around the house until she collapses and jams her head under the couch.


If only her ribcage would shrink, she could fit all the way under. And no one tell Lola that we can still see her, she’ll never feel safe again.

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I have a magical fairy friend…


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By now you all know that on Friday I was forced to become an adult. The Hubster and I are finally in search of buying our first house and we met with a realtor. Dennis is fantastic, but he scared the shit out of me. Things I didn’t even know existed now have to be handled by me, the resident adult.

Did you all know that the bank people are not the only people involved in buying a house?! I didn’t! You have title people, and appraisers, and people who inspect everything. They inspect the paperwork, the house, my tonsils, etc. And all the paperwork goes back and forth until your fingertips bleed from it all.

And I don’t know who the hell this Escrow person is, but they are making my head spin.

I was so freaked out after all the learning from Dennis that I awoke at 2am just to stare at our current budget and rock back and forth. I may or may not have been making small animal distress noises.

Luckily, I’ve got a few cheats up my sleeve. I have a father-in-law who is president of a credit union. He’s obviously going to be able to explain the big words to me. My own father is mister financial and is currently flabbergasted that I can’t grasp these big words involved in home buying. My last ace up my sleeve is my friend Jaime. She’s one of those mysterious people who do paperwork in home buying. She’s not with a bank, she’s not a lawyer, but somehow, someway, she has magic and can get me the deed to my home.

This weekend she helped me decide on floor plan options with our home builder, just in case we go that route.

Like I said, she’s magic. And she’s such an adult that she’s bought and sold more than one home with her husband. I’m giving her the adult of the century award…and buying her dinner so she doesn’t shank me for bugging her every day about home buying.

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Who actually wants to be an adult…


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There comes a time in every person’s life where they have to grow up and become an adult. I’m not sure why we have to do this, but apparently it is natural law.

And god forbid I try to fight natural law.

This week the Hubster and I made the grown up decision to buy a house. We’re going to be checking out real estate and being the generation of people who were exposed to the internet while in grade school, I decided to start online.

And then I had to take a break and eat some ice cream.

Do you know how ridiculous it is to look at houses for sale online? I do. There are a thousand and one websites that list houses for sale. Each website has different criteria you can search under. None of them make sense.

I’ve decided I’m going to a professional. I have located a few realtors who were recommended by friends and I’m going to make sure they can feed their family this month.

Being an adult sucks and I don’t want to rip out all my hair trying to become one.

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My brain is an asshole…


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I’ve been getting a lot of questions lately about what the book I’m writing is going to be about. I’d like to be really honest with you all.

I have no idea.

I wrote an outline, did a little table of contents action, and then I proceeded to toss that onto the pile of shit I’m not going to ever look at again. At this point I am just writing and praying I can get it together so you all don’t get a book with random doodles in it and a chapter of Lola selfies.

Unless that’s what you want, in which case, that book is done!

Nevertheless, I know what this book will not be. It will not be a fictional novel. I tried to start that and then I gave up completely. Evidently, working with children takes up all my creative thinking and there’s not enough left over to complete a novel. I’m going to postpone that to the day that I don’t have to work anymore.

Oh boy, that novel is a ways off. Thanks for depressing me, brain, you couldn’t just wait a few more days to make me feel awful?! At least on the weekends I can stare at the TV, while sitting in my pajamas and drooling so I don’t have to expend any effort to swallow. No, you depress me on a Thursday when you know I still have to function.

daycare lazy

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I hate summer with a passion…


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I’d like to clarify that it’s not all of summer that I hate. I loathe the heat. I despise sweating, hence my avoidance of all manual labor outside of a building with air conditioning. There is nothing worse to me than sweating in the hot, hot summer weather.

I frankly don’t know how people like this season. My personal theory is that summer lovers are hedging their bets on being sent to hell; they figure they will build up their heat tolerance and convince themselves that summer sweating is awesome.

Do you honestly think God doesn’t have air conditioning up in that palace?!

I remember visiting Florida multiple times growing up. Every day during summer vacation I would have to take a nap just to avoid being sick and grumpy for the entire vacation. Do you know how ridiculous it is to be 16 years old and have your dad make you take a nap in the RV air conditioning while your mom and brothers are still riding the rides at Disney?!?!? Do you know how that felt?! 


And let’s not even get me started on the more than 12 visits to New Jersey during summer, always summer because my parents wanted to test me and my violent resistance to anything hot. These visits always resulted in me being sent to bed during daylight hours because I had completely melted down in the heat and decided to lay waste to the people of earth with my vengeance.

The people of Earth had that shit coming for not keeping me in air conditioning!

I loved the Southwest U.S. Arizona and Nevada were my favorite places to vacation. Sure, it’s hot. Hotter than the bowels of hell, actually. But there is no sweating. None. I even took a walk at midday and didn’t sweat. I did get completely dehydrated resulting in my being sent to bed early. But at least I didn’t sweat.

The people of Earth were safe. 

And then I log into Facebook and see a recent transplant to Texas post a picture of the hell she is currently experiencing.

Texas Heat

And of course I had to respond with my sympathies.

“I’m sorry, I think I just had an aneurysm resulting in an inability to see correctly. Is that 102 or are you just dipping your car in a hot cup of coffee to get out of work today?!?!?”

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