Winter, I love you, but you’re brining me down.


I love winter.

I just do.

Let’s assess the reasons why.

I’m built like an eskimo. I can shovel your younger brother under the table. I consider ice-chipping a contact sport. When people are shivering and cold, I’m drinking an ice coffee. I like hats.

I am made for winter. I knew it when I moved to Florida and spent 10 years in the sweltering heat wondering what the HELL I was doing there. I know it every day when I hurdle a snow bank or dodge a falling icicle. Hell, I keep the heat so low in my apartment that the gas company keeps giving me REFUND on my monthly bill.

But this winter, you are brining me down.

The days off from work, while appreciated, are only leading to the continued anxiety I’m having about how I’m ever going to be able to catch up on everything I have to do. Also? I’m out of socks, and I can’t get to the laundry room because it’s covered in a snow pile that’s LITERALLY 10 feet high.

Today, we ran out of groceries, and I had to go shopping at the CVS. This might be the first time since I was 10 years old that we’ve had bologna sandwiches for lunch.

And we’re out of wine.

So winter, I love you, but we’re going to need to break up for a little while. At least until we can find the packie. Or Amazon starts delivering again. I may actually buy that $75 gallon of milk after all.

Exhaustively yours,


I Hate Massages


I hate massages.

I don’t want to, but I do.

Tonight, I went to use the gift card generously provided by Miss Scandalous. I booked the spa down the street, and arrived on time for my massage. After the token disrobing, I climbed into the comfy faux bed and awaited my relaxation time to begin. Here’s where it starts to go wrong for me.

First off, I don’t like that much heat, but there seems to be an unspoken rule that if you are going to get a massage, they are going to try and cook you. So, in addition to the heated massage bed, there is a space heater on in the room. Also? There are candles burning. What else? My feet and neck are wrapped in some sort beaded warmer, most likely to relieve my tension. I’m pretty sure by the application of the hot stones, I was already at medium to well done.

Next, I don’t like being face down. At anything. I don’t like staring at the floor. I don’t like the feeling of having my face through a horseshoe. I don’t like the sudden onset acid reflux that seems to accompany this request. I’m a face up girl, all the time.

Then, there begins the actual massage. Now, I realized that I didn’t have an actual discussion on what kind of massage. I’m guessing the masseuse took one look at my gaseous, overcooked self and decided that deep tissue was the best fit.

Ouch, people, OUCH.

I consider myself to have a pretty high pain tolerance, but trying to rub the muscles right off my body hurts, man. IT HURTS. And then when the masseuse makes the obvious “you seem tense” statement, I wonder if it’s SHE that should be paying ME.

There are massage things I don’t mind at all that I think bother others. I don’t mind being buck naked. I don’t mind having my butt rubbed by strangers. I’m not sensitive to oils and smells. I like Enya. But alas, massages just aren’t for me.

I just hate massages. But damned if I’m going to keep trying to find ways to change that.

An Ode to Skee Ball


Is there anything more magical than skee ball? Go ahead. I know a few of you will disagree with me and I will try hard not to tell you how wrong you are. But you are. Wrong. When you insert that quarter and those balls roll down, there’s a feeling of anticipation that can’t be matched. I personally prefer the old wooden balls, the ones that are full of chips from years of wear. However, I’ll settle for the pink plastic substitutes if that’s all I’ve got. Personally, I’m a fan of the bounce of the side when heading for the 50-point-slot, but this occasionally proves difficult due to my left handed-ness. So, sometimes I strait shoot, and I guarantee myself a few 30 to 40 pointers in each round. Skee Ball always affirms that I am a “winner”. This is better therapy than any paid professional can offer. To validate this, it spits tickets at me telling me, “good job, go get yourself a Chinese Yo-Yo”. Who DOES that in life? Anyone? Not really. I’ve seen skee ball evolve over the years. In my day, there was no “100 point” slot in the upper corners (and really, who ever gets a ball in there, anyway). There’s also some weird new incarnations with roving aliens and what not. Amusing, but not my bad. I’m a skee ball purist. Is it loud in there? You bet. Do you occasionally have to slap the hand away of a small child going for your tickets? Sometimes. Should you probably carry some hand sanitizer? For sure. But these small obstacles are a tiny price to pay for the joy you get when you see those tickets pouring out of the slot. Ah, Skee Ball. You complete me. Skee Ball



It’s hard to lose people we are close to, our families and friends. Those who have been with us for a life time and even for a brief while.
Then there are those who’ve been in our lives though we may have never met. They have made us laugh, touched our hearts and made us cry …I can’t imagine a life of not knowing you and I’m sorry for those who have not.
The man may be gone, but the legend will live on … through me, through media and film. I pray that my son will grow to know and appreciate you through your legacy. That he finds all the same pleasures and laughs i did from a young girl watching prime time tv, to frequenting the theaters, curled up on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn, and that one time in Vegas … you will be missed, but never forgotten.

R.I.P and Shazbot!

My Own Personal Sweat Tent


Anyone who has known me for any period of time knows that I was an early joiner to the Groupon craze. Who doesn’t love a deep discount at an establishment you would otherwise never even drive by? As the years have gone by, and Groupon has become mainstream and commercial, the experiences with Groupon have become stranger and stranger. Tonight was one such experience.

I purchased a groupon for a “body wrap and facial”. Sounds promising, right? I expected a relaxing, detoxicating, hydrating experience. I looked forward to it all week.

I arrive at said spa destination and am surprised to see that it’s in a part of town that largely houses warehouses and storage facilities. The parking is nightmarish, and I find myself walking down an incredibly busy street that has no sidewalk to find the front entrance. When I enter, all the lights are off, and I think, “oh shit, I’ve come on the wrong night”, until I see movement in the corner. Looks like I’ve arrived.

A gruff man at the counter instantly gives me that “oh, you’re a GROUPON” look and scolds me for not knowing what day I purchased my Groupon on. I appease him by showing him the expiration date, and then ask him if I can use the bathroom. He replies “no”, and sends me back to my seat in the waiting area/office for some other business.

The massage therapist comes out and greets me, takes me out back, and lets me us the bathroom which I’m fairly certain was a custodian’s closet in a former life. But, the toilet has a bidet, and that’s kind of exciting, so I’m feeling this experience is looking up.

I enter the room for the treatment and she promptly directs me to get butt naked and lay down on the table so I can be plastic-wrapped for the “body wrap” portion of my service. She advises me this will help eliminate the toxins in my body and given the Taco Bell I ate the previous weekend, I figure this can only be a good idea. I get lubed up and then syran-wrapped where I promptly begin to sweat.

The therapist then begins the “facial” portion of this treatment. This appeared to involve slathering something on my face, and then leaving the room for an extended period of time. I continued to bake in my personal-sweat-tent and started to wonder what kind of facial this is where I get smothered and then abandoned. This happens three of four times until I realize why this might be: I think the therapist is conducting a simultaneous service in an adjoining room. WHAT THE?

Finally, the therapist completely abandons me, and I start to roast. I start to peel off layers of my sweat tent and am laying there naked when I see, SEE, angry man walk by through what I realize is actually a window. Good grief. I start to get up and remove the sweat-and-sludge from my body when missing Therapist makes an appearance. She doesn’t seem terribly surprised that I’m taking matters into my own hands and she tells me I should get dressed and drink lots of water.

The end? Not quite. One of the random smothers on my face seeps into my eye and blinds my left eye, which remains useless for my entire ride home. I arrive home, sweaty, full of sludge, and half blind to Hubs whose pretty sure I just went jell0-wresting and not to a spa.

Will this be my last Groupon? Probably not. It always provides good blog fodder and makes for interesting party time discussions. But I’m crossing that place off the list. There may even be a YELP review.

Reunion Tour?


Well, it’s been a few years now. The old site is gone … along with most of the content, artwork, fan adoration … Google and iTunes hardly recall who we were or what nonsense we polluted the internet with, but there is a strong possibility we still have some fight left in us! Is it time to dust off those microphones? Do any of us even remember how to do a podcast? Then again, did we ever?

Show #54: Valentine’s Day Special!



Yes, we have been neglecting you, but we have had very good reason! Diva had Gallbladder surgery and ended up in Tracy’s Basement (#ACTB) & Kat has started a home for stray and unwanted rodents.

We’ve got a very special Valentine’s Day Special for you and we hope you enjoy!!

  • Valentine’s Day Dos & Don’ts
  • Single Girl’s guide to Valentines Day
  • Worst Valentine’s Day dates
  • A Reading from the Karma Sultra – The WoW him Powwow!

Show 54