Sometimes I pride myself on my intelligence. And then there are times when I ask a table full of people at a restaurant what reindeer sausage is made of. 

Slap shot in hockey

The Boyfriend and I had an interesting weekend. I say ‘interesting’ because ‘fun’ just doesn’t cut it. Whilst we did in fact, have fun, there were incidents that were quite interesting.

The Boyfriend had a hockey tournament and being that I’m a great girlfriend, I went to one of his games. I like watching when he plays at this certain hockey rink because I can watch from the bar. Yes, this hockey rink has a bar and you can eat things like chicken tenders and wash it down with gluten-free cider. This gluten free cider has the alcohol content of “BAD DECISIONS WILL OCCUR.”

So there I am sitting at the window seat in which the rink is below me, minding my own business and watching The Boyfriend get his hockey on. A man sits down next to me and I don’t pay him much attention until he starts talking.

He’s not talking to me though, he’s using his voice command to text. I have my notebook with me so I starting jotting down what he was saying because…gluten free cider.

“Ron died of a heart attack last week.”

“And on a more typical note, comma, this info was related to me from Vern who said Ron should have said something to him about dying before he just went ahead and died. Some people never change.”

That Ron guy…wow, what a bastard. Just dying without giving anyone the heads up before dying.


Angry woman with steam blowing from ears. Young furious girl.

Right before Christmas, I was laid off and since then, I’ve been steadily looking for another job and it is HORRIBLE. I’m forty years old and unemployed. This would make a great line for anyone’s Tinder profile: I’m forty years old and unemployed. You may steal that line and use it because it is a winner! You’re welcome.

In all seriousness, I’m having a difficult time. I struggle with anxiety and being that I’m unemployed the medication I need to keep the depression and anxiety at bay costs almost $300. Which basically means (for me) it’s expensive to be sane.

I have pitching writing projects like a crack addict tries to score their next hit. I start the day researching, pitching ideas, applying for jobs, rinse and repeat. I am so close to going ahead and applying as a Greeter at Wal-Mart, but the only thing that stops me is knowing I’d have to actually GREET people. When you are in the bouts of having insane anxiety, the last thing you want to do is be around people, much less greet them.

I’m cranky, frustrated, short-tempered and unbelievably stressed. Which in short, means I’m an absolute joy to be around.