Category Archives: Humor

Men In Motion at Guilt Nightclub, Boston

Last Saturday was my friend Amber’s bachelorette party. She and my brother from another mother, Rob, are getting MARRIED this Saturday. Isn’t that adorable?

2014-01-11 22.24.20

Commence “AWWWWWWWW”…

Okay stop that.

We went to the Guilt Nightclub in Boston to watch Men in Motion, a male revue that is similar to what you see in Magic Mike (Which, in my opinion, was a fucked up movie. It got way too real at some points).

Anyway, I’m not much for strip clubs. My first and only experience with a strip club was at my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party. We ended up at The Palace in Saugus, downstairs from what used to be the Bahama Beach Club (an 18 under club I got stalked at when I was 16 to the point that I had to hide in the ladies room). It was a strip club called Male Encounter. And it was gross. Because Saugus.


I was drunk, but I distinctly remember dudes in neon green banana hammocks dancing on tables and they were FUCKING HAIRY. And the hair was matted up on their asses due to all the oil and sweat. It was disgusting, it smelled, and it scarred me for life.

RIP The Palace.
RIP The Palace.

Luckily, the Men in Motion show at the Guilt Nightclub in Boston provided a better experience.

Sure, many of the dudes looked like they belonged on Jersey Shore. Sure, while most of the girls were “WOO!!!”ing, I was laughing my ass off in the corner at the ridiculousness of it all. But it was much, much better than your average strip club experience. The guys made it fun. And I had to appreciate some of the dance moves they pulled off in their routines.

It's fun to stay at the WANG-M-C-A!
It’s fun to stay at the WANG-M-C-A!

At the beginning of the night, we took a picture in front of a sign in the T station that said EXIT TO WANG, because I’m 12. We got to Guilt early and ended up seated in a corner, safely away from the stage. I thought, “Oh good,” because I’m a cheap ass and didn’t want to be pressured to tip anyone or risk touching them. I didn’t want to touch anyone, or have anyone touch me. But the Men in Motion website states that they guys “might still flirt with you.” Yeah, I researched it.

We stood up on the booth seating to watch the show from a safe distance.

We weren’t safe.

The gents do come out into the crowd. And our VIP lady was grinded on (ground on?) by some dude with tribal tattoos and a mohawk. But he was okay. He was giving attention to the bride-to-be, and that’s what the night was all about.

And then he gave her a hug, which was sweet.


A little after that I was standing in the corner when this guy in a purple Red Sox cap (Seriously, now we have purple hats?!) snuck up on me from behind the corner. I turned away and acted all squeamish, like I’m some prude. AHHH don’t touch me!!! I thought (I’m a complete germaphobe). So the dude bit the bottom of my dress and started pulling it with his teeth. Which made me freak out even more, which my girlfriends found hilarious.


He let go and disappeared around the corner. I peeked around the corner to make sure he was gone. My girlfriends continued to cackle.

And my face was like:


Then our bride-to-be was called up to the stage to sit in the hot seat. Oh Jesus. I made my way up toward the stage so I could discreetly get a few pics.

There were 4 other brides-to-be in the “hot seat” on stage. The emcee (who looked EXACTLY like Michael Westen from Burn Notice) asked us if we love a man in uniform. Commence drunk WOO!!!ing from WOO-girls.


This guy came out on the stage in a (hopefully fake) Navy uniform. I thought of how pissed my husband would be if a male stripper did a skit in a Marine uniform. Oh my God, he would be so pissed at the disrespect toward his beloved Corps. As would the rest of his Marine friends. They would probably riot over it if they saw it.

The Navy’s not that sacred, apparently. Admit it, you’re all a bunch of womanizing assholes anyway.

Then we were asked if we’re looking for a hero. More WOO!!!!ing. Navy man whipped his dress whites off, revealing Superman undies.


Which made me laugh my ass off, because the man Amber is marrying is the BIGGEST comic nerd on the planet. It made me laugh even more because earlier that evening Rob and I discussed how funny it would be if the Men in Motion did a full-on Avengers routine. (Think of it, Men in Motion! Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, Hulk, Hawkeye, and a surprise appearance from Nick Fury. It would fucking KILL).


Then the man in Superman undies proceeded to (redacted to preserve the bride’s dignity).

After that, I went to the bar and saw some girls ordering something that looked delicious. “WHAT IS THAT?” I asked loudly and obnoxiously. “It’s a Malibu Bay Breeze,” this girl replied, like it was totally obvious. I don’t know what girly drinks are, so I needed some guidance.

“I’ll have one of those,” I told the bartender. Look at me, being a girl.

“10 dollars,” he replied. Jesus Christ. #TypicalBoston

I went back to my corner with my coconutty girly drink and proceeded to die laughing with the girls over how perfect the Superman undies routine was for Amber. As I was sipping on my cocktail, my friend in the purple hat peeked around the corner again. “Oh no!!!” I said, giggling. He rawred at me, biting the air instead of my dress, and disappeared again. The girls lost it.

Why does this keep happening to me

Another dude came over my way, and I gave him a dollar so he would get away from me. I held out the bill, and he opened his underwear. You couldn’t see any privates, because there were so many dollar bills. I dropped the bill into his undies (from a safe height) and thought, “how weird is my life?”

But then I thought, “how weird is his life?” and in my buzzed state I began wondering about him and the other dancers. What are their stories? Why do they do this? How much money do they make? What do they do to train? I saw another guy go by who looked like he had a scar from a bullet wound in his shoulder. What was his story? I wondered what it would be like to interview the Men in Motion. Is there more than meets the eye?

Then I felt bad that I hadn’t given my friend in the purple hat a tip. I have to give it to him: he made me laugh! I appreciated that more than any skin I saw that night. So when the lights came on at last call, I made sure to find him.

I found him and offered a tip. When he recognized me, he shouted something in Spanish and put his arms up in excitement. I’m assuming he said something like, “Oh look, it’s the prude!!!” Then he gave me a hug that was genuine, warm, and not creepy. It was so odd, and kind of cool.

On social media, I posted my eyebrow pic with, “Mah dress got bit.” -at the Guilt Nightclub

The next day I got this text. Because this is my life.




Good thing my Dad is hip.


I was also at Rob’s bachelor party on Friday (in spirit). My husband Greg is a co-best man in the wedding, and co-hosted a Roast of Rob for his bachelor party.

Here’s a recording of the full roast on The Worst Episode Ever podcast page. Give it a listen. It’s fun, especially if you know Rob personally. My roast letter is the 4th one in, kindly read by my friend Todd.

Congratulations to Rob and Amber!!! I can’t wait to get smashed in your honor this Saturday!!!

A Weekend to Remember… or Not

I wrote this on December 17th and forgot to fucking post it. BLAHHHH. So this is from 10 days ago. Enjoy anyway.


I had a fun-filled weekend!

First, I visited the guys at the Worst Episode Ever Podcast for their Christmas special, Worst Christmas Show Ever. It is the first time I’ve been on the radio and I had a great time. We drank beer, discussed our favorite and least favorite Christmas songs, Christmas movies, and traditions. Then we played $25,000 Pyramid and Family Feud.

Lesson learned: I’m not great at Family Feud. But it might be because I was feeling a bit tipsy at that point.

Other things learned:

1. This is the worst Christmas song ever and sounds like something out of a South Park parody:

And what a terrible video, Jesus Christ! Why didn’t the guy at the register just give him the shoes for free? What a douche. And the guy in line behind the kid seems as though he feels like he’s doing this kid a huge favor by buying the Christmas shoes for his dying mom. Get over yourself, man.

2. I never realized this, but “Do They Know It’s Christmas” by Band Aid is really awful. My friend Adam educated us on this fact.

They’re singing about the children around the world who don’t get to experience Christmas. Then Bono comes in and belts,

“Well tonight thank God it’s them instead of you.”

And we wondered, what the fuck is that about? Thank God it’s them? What an awful thing to say.

And Bono sings it. So I said, “Bono could afford to provide Christmas to all of Africa if he wanted. But no, he’s just going to sit back, feel bad, and do nothing. Except sing this piece of shit song.”

Seriously. Listen to this shit:

Another point I need to make: The amount of coke Boy George likely bought the day he recorded this abomination could have also went toward an awesome Christmas, Kwanzaa, whatever, for the world’s starving children.

3. Apparently there is a Christmas tradition where people make it a game to find the pickle in the Christmas tree. I don’t know where the hell it comes from, but it’s gross.

4. Rob is an asshole (Listen to the podcast and you’ll learn why). No takesies-backsies for saying that awful shit to Adam. Around Christmas, no less!

5. Bane’s favorite things:

So… that was fun. Really. We recorded for about 3 hours and 45 minutes, and it went by incredibly fast (probably because we were drinking).

My friends may be assholes, but they’re my assholes.

Check out the full podcast.

That’s essentially how it went.

Be sure to catch the next Worst Episode Ever on Saturday, January 3rd at 1:00 p.m. EST. Listen and chat live.


Second, my husband and I were invited to a Pinterest Party on Saturday evening. To be honest, I rolled my eyes when I first received the invitation. Not at the party invite, but at myself.

Because although I can be a typical broad at times, I kind of suck at being a woman.

Due to the fact that I’m essentially a dude, I recently learned that a Pinterest Party is a party where you bring a food item you found the recipe for on Pinterest.

Sounds simple enough.

But I’m not a lady. And the entire idea of MAKING SOMETHING out of THE ORDINARY for A PARTY sounded like a fucking nightmare.

I’m not going to lie. I have an anxiety disorder, and cooking stresses me out. I tend to shy away from it. I try to learn more recipes to diversify my diet, but in the end, I could truly survive eating oatmeal or an English muffin three times a day. Anything that’s easy and doesn’t require a lot of ingredients or time.

And then I see all my lady friends on Facebook post how they made such-and-such and IT WAS SO DELICIOUS AND EASY OMG!!! And I feel like the biggest asshole of a wife.

Why can’t I be a LADY.

But every time I’m in front of the stove, nothing makes sense and everything is so MESSY and I NEED TO CLEAN IT NOW. Then I ruin the recipe by not timing everything right. And the broccoli or whatever is cold when I serve the piping hot entree. And then I need to heat the broccoli up in the microwave, which automatically makes it taste like shit, and then my entree is cold.

I can’t win.


So I was dreading this party because I knew, being myself, I would only make one stupid, easy, thing. And I would feel like the unladiest of the ladies because I wasn’t creative as everyone else and all the things they brought would be super awesome and they would think I was lame.

My husband can bake, which is a lifesaver. So he planned to make a couple of pastries to bring. But then he was sick all week and didn’t want to make everyone else sick with a contaminated dish.

So I quickly whipped up the easiest thing I could possibly make that is not out of the ordinary: Spinach Artichoke Dip.

And it was fine. It was good. People told me it was good. So what the fuck is my problem?


We drank. A lot. My friend Steve makes hot buttered rum every Christmas season, and every Christmas season we get wasted off of it.

My friend Lydia labeled everyone’s cup so we wouldn’t drink out of another person’s cup. On mine she wrote, “You’re Beautiful!” It honestly made my night.

There was a meteor shower later that night and we all gathered on the back deck of my friends’ Josh and Val’s house, marveling at the meteors dashing across the sky. While drinking hot buttered rum. And being pretty loud. Luckily, Josh and Val have nice neighbors who also enjoy tossing a few back.

I yelped at every meteor I saw, pointing so my friends could see them too. They did the same.

For whatever reason, I felt more alive the more meteors I saw. I savor such rare, natural wonders.

I Am Maria Von Trapp Singing Atop The Freaking Hills

Today is the first day I’ve felt alive in at least two weeks.


Being sick sucked, but I think about people undergoing chemo right now and believe I have nothing to complain about. I just had this terrible cold that wouldn’t go away. Above all, it made me dead tired, so I was essentially dragging myself to work then dragging myself home and going to bed.

I didn’t go to the gym at all, which screws with my self care for depression and anxiety. So I turned into a heinous bitch for the last couple of weeks who barely spoke to anybody and got pissed off at stupid things. Sorry everyone.

The thing that sucked the most was that I didn’t get to see my niece and nephew on Halloween. But I didn’t want to get them sick.

Anyway… I’m back now!

I didn’t get a chance to write much this week, but will have more to share next week.

I plan to start trying some new recipes and sharing them, since I am culinarily challenged. I am not your typical woman when it comes to cooking and baking. I just cannot even.


I’m the lady who likes to order take out and drink on her couch.

But I need to do better! For my health and so I can have cool things to take to parties that aren’t store bought. The holidays are upon us, yo!


What else?

Be sure to check out the Worst Episode Ever podcast. My husband is on the podcast, along with four of my good friends. It airs each Saturday at 1 p.m. (for the time being). You know your Saturday could use a few more laughs, so listen in and chat live with the guys.

I will now commence acting like a whirling dervish now that I’m no longer sick.

Super Talkie Mom and Why We’re Perfect for Each Other

My husband Greg and I flew to Wichita last Thursday. Our friends Justin and Prema got married Saturday and Greg was in the wedding. The wedding was a lot of fun and we think Justin and Prema will be really happy together.


We spent most of Thursday traveling. Greg is a great traveling and life companion. It’s strange how much our personalities have melded over the 11 years we’ve been together. We think alike. We often have the same thoughts at the same time.

For example, there was this lady on our flight to Wichita who I will deem Super Talkie Mom. She sat in front of us and actually greeted us as we made our way to our seats.

“Oh hey! You guys were on my last flight!” she smiled, holding her whatever-month-old in her lap. Like we were friends. I offered my best dynamite smile in return, along with a little wave, trying not to reveal my complete social awkwardness (I’m from Massachusetts. We don’t talk to strangers unless it’s absolutely necessary). Super Talkie Mom sat next to two men and proceeded to gab at them the entire flight. Mostly AT them, not necessarily with them.

And you know what? She was perfectly charming. Also very pretty. A real American Sweetheart type. I thought, having recently read and watched Gone Girl, “People would really give a shit if this woman disappeared like the woman in Gone Girl. Everyone would be absolutely torn up over it. Her face would be all over the news.”

This would be the photo that would surface if I went missing, and absolutely no one would give a shit.

Her seatmates really liked her too. They chatted with her about her baby, swapped stories about their own kids, and enjoyed every last tidbit she shared throughout the entire flight.

But as soon as Super Talkie Mom shared her first story about how little Tommy no longer fit into a 4T and how he’s becoming more and more devious as well as curious lately, both Greg and I turned to each other, rolled our eyes, and just wanted her to shut the fuck up.

Why? Because we’re assholes.


We then learned that Super Talkie Mom HATES living in Kansas and made it very clear from the get-go that she’s from WYOMING, which is so much better. This offended Greg, who was raised in Kansas and knows that there’s fucking NOTHING in Wyoming.

One of the guys then sympathetically asked why Super Talkie Mom preferred Wyoming.

“Oh boy. So many reasons. It was just such a GREAT place to grow up. A lot of hunting, blah blah blah.” Then she told a lighthearted story about how her Dad missed her birthday party once because he was out hunting some big game or whatever. I made a display of rolling my eyes in her direction and then looking at Greg, and he rolled his eyes as well. I put in my ear buds at that point.

As we de-boarded the plane, Super Talkie Mom was shocked that her baby’s stroller wasn’t at the ready as soon as she got off the flight and asked the flight crew where it was. Once she received the stroller from the crew, she rolled it along without putting her toddler in it. The toddler walked along, rolling the stroller with her, and I was like, “why the hell was she making a big deal about the stroller in the first place if she isn’t even going to put her kid into it?”

Sometimes I feel like a psycho when I want to shove a sock in the mouth of someone like Super Talkie Mom. And I realize it’s a me problem that I want to punch Super Talkie Mom in the face for no real reason. But then I share that with Greg, and he gets it. Completely.

And I smile and laugh with him about the lady we find obnoxious and I don’t feel so crazy.


Missed Connection: The Smokey Bones Waitress

The other day my husband and I went to Smokey Bones, a BBQ restaurant chain. The atmosphere of the restaurant is what I would consider to be casual and family-friendly. Usually the staff members wear jeans and black t-shirts.

This visit there were a few waitresses floating around wearing short plaid skirts, black suspenders, and white t-shirts. I didn’t recall that being the dress code, but I could have been mistaken. There were other staff members who were still wearing the usual jeans and black t-shirts. Maybe the restaurant was undergoing a transition?

It was mid afternoon on a Saturday and there were mostly families in the restaurant. The staff seemed to be setting up an area for a child’s birthday party.

The girls in skirts seemed a little out of place. I commented on this to my husband, and he shrugged. I shrugged back. I’m not the type of person who makes a fuss over girls in short skirts. I’m not a slut-shamer and I really don’t care. But to me, it seemed that some of the girls may have felt out of place too. They appeared resigned to the outfit either because it was a new thing Smokey Bones was rolling out or they received better tips while wearing it.

I went to the ladies room before leaving the restaurant. When I came out of the stall, there was a Smokey Bones waitress in one of those plaid skirts and suspenders fixing her hair in the mirror. I washed my hands and put lipstick on in the mirror while she primped.

The waitress then sighed and took an honest look at herself.

“I look so ridiculous,” she said.

I immediately laughed. The way she said it was so funny and honest.

But then I didn’t want her to think I was laughing AT her. I honestly sympathized with her. So I tried to think of something reassuring to say like, “No… you don’t look ridiculous!” or, “Man I’ve been there… working shit jobs and having to wear stupid outfits.” But neither of those responses were really honest. Sure, I’ve worked shit jobs, but I’ve never worn a plaid skirt and suspenders to get a paycheck. Because it IS ridiculous.

I’m also not one of those “Oh sweetie!!!” girls. I hate those girls and I assumed this girl would too. (You know the ones. “Oh sweetie!!! You look gorgeous! Stop worrying so much!”  Vomit.)

I AM SO AWKWARD! I thought to myself as I was washing my hands. What should I say?! Nothing entered my brain. NOTHING.

So I finished washing my hands and walked out of the ladies room, leaving her statement and my laughter hanging in the air.

I immediately felt TERRIBLE about it. As I exited the restaurant, I imagined her telling the other waitresses what a dick she ran into in the ladies room.

What I wanted to say to the Smokey Bones waitress:

  • You’re hilarious.
  • I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing because I thought you were funny.
  • I would feel just as ridiculous wearing that outfit.
  • If this happened 10 years ago when I was your age, I would totally be friends with you.
  • I’m sorry I’m so awkward.
  • You seem intelligent.
  • It will get better.

Sorry, Smokey Bones waitress. You’re awesome. You don’t have to need to wear a ridiculous outfit and rack up tips to prove that.

Top 40 Things To Do With Life

Each Thursday, I’m going to choose a random journal entry from my past and share it with you.

Not dated. From a notebook I kept during my freshman College Writing class in the Fall of 2001.

Here’s a pic of me in my Freshman dorm room. I’m 18 and pretty dumb. That’s Ewan McGregor from Moulin Rouge in the background, on my old desktop I only had the heart to throw out a year ago.

OMG eat a burger, bitch.

Top 40 Things To Do With Life

1. Not sell out and become a tool like most everyone else.
2. Travel lots & write about it.
3. Write something meaningful.
4. Get married if I’m in the mood.
5. Not have babies.
6. Indulge in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
7. Steal from Walmart as much as possible.
8. Continue to be active in community.
9. Adopt if I feel like it.
10. Stay beautiful gorgeous.
11. Read lots.
12. Learn new skills for shits and giggles.
13. Own a typewriter.
14. Maintain a healthy appetite.
15. Make awful ex-boyfriends regret the day they met me Get off meds.
16. Have good karma.
17. Get closer to God.

The list ends there. I’m not sure if it’s because I ran out of time during an in-class exercise, or I got distracted.

I’ve accomplished most things on the list. The one thing I regret is not owning a typewriter. I need to get on that.



Kudos to Heather from for keeping it classy and not judging me too much when I registered my domain name.

Thanks Heather. See? I’m not a porn site. Yayyyyyy

Don’t Like My Boston Accent? Go Fahk Yaself.

Classes are now being offered in the Boston area so people can learn to shed their accents. This is just another example of how gentrification and classism are affecting the Boston area, where I grew up and currently reside.

Yeah, let’s all make ourselves sound alike because the world isn’t boring enough.

I don’t understand why the people in the video above believe having a Boston accent threatens your success. We’ve had a U.S. President with a Boston accent (who also had quite the potty mouth- see below).

In addition to using his dirty mouth to be a fantastic womanizer, President John F. Kennedy used it to express his displeasure with government minions.

Many other people from Massachusetts, including business leaders, actors, entrepreneurs, and more have experienced incredible success while dropping their R’s and cussing like sailors.

It surprises me when even people from the Boston area turn their noses up at people with thick Boston accents, as if it makes them sound low class. What I have to say to those people: Most of the old, blue collar guys you’re making fun of are making more than you on a union wage and benefits. So shut the fuck up, hipster.

My Dad, who graduated from Harvard and is the smartest guy I know, would totally fail this class.

What do you think about classes that encourage people to lose their Boston accents? Will it help people be more successful or help stamp out a cultural phenomenon?