Category Archives: Twatterpants and other social networks

Life imitates FRIENDS. Also. Mooning.

The Place: Wolfgang’s.

The Day: Labor Day.

The Cast: Myself, the Boo, and HanSolo.

The topic: TV Shows.

Conversation as follows:


Han: Meh, I was never really a FRIENDS fan.

Me: Are you kidding? ANY MOMENT IN LIFE. ANY MOMENT. Can relate to a FRIENDS episode. THE ONE WITH THE ANYTHING.

NEW STORY. The Boo is in school. Full day, kindergarten. I walk him everyday with his backpack and lunchbox and it’s adorable. But this means that my Hotch and I have these mornings to do kid-free things like go outfit shooting for her blog (and occasionally mine).

This past Tuesday, we decided to venture out for breakfast before walking around Eastown, because I love Wolfgang’s. Wolfgang’s is the food of the gods.

The sitting and eating and conversation was great. Post eating, we headed out to a gorgeous fall day. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and the wind was blowing.

And Poof and I were dressed like this:

Morning Dates

Skirts. Fun and flirty.

We made it through most of our photo shoot relatively unscathed. We took photos. We found fun new places to take photos.

Poof: This alley is awesome looking.

Me: This alley looks like homeless men have peed in it.

Poof was right. It was a cool looking alley.

Poof was right. It was a cool looking alley.

But then. As most stories go, things have to happen.

And do you know what skirts do in this beautiful fall weather?


The Place: Wolfgang’s.

The Day: Labor Day.

The Cast: Myself, the Boo, and HanSolo.

The topic: TV Shows.

Conversation as follows:


HanSolo: Meh, I was never really a FRIENDS fan.

Me: Are you kidding? ANY MOMENT IN LIFE. ANY MOMENT. Can relate to a FRIENDS episode. THE ONE WITH THE ANYTHING.

The one in which L.A. moons Eastown on a Windy Day.


You’re welcome, Grand Rapids. You’re welcome.

Sunnies: Target. Sweater, Skirt, and Kneesocks: Forever 21. Boots: Francesca's. Ass: 100% L.A.'s

Sunnies: Target.
Sweater, Skirt, and Kneesocks: Forever 21.
Boots: Francesca’s.
Ass: 100% L.A.’s


Only when the refrigerator is mad at me.

So, I’m in my car heading back to work after lunch. It’s a crappy, crappy day. It’s rained on and off all day, including one torrential downpour for ten to fifteen minutes.


Me: Geez, what a shitty day.

iPod: Steal My SunshineSteal My SunshineMe: …that’s exactly what I was thinking.


I love music, obviously, and I have a lot of it. More than I probably need, which is why I tend to be a big fan of the shuffle feature on my iPod. It drives some of my friends nuts, because I’m also indecisive as hell, and tend to listen to ten seconds of music before I decide to move on to the next song.

But shuffle is just what a girl needs sometimes. Variety. The spice of life. And sometimes, the iPod gets it just right.


Me: Seriously, iPod, that was creepy. What was that even?

iPod: I don’t know.

On the Outside (Starsailor album)

On the Outside (Starsailor album) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Me: Ha. It’s like your in my head.

iPod: Read my mind.

Read My Mind (The Killers song)

Read My Mind (The Killers song) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Me: Did Steve Jobs secretly give you a brain and not tell me?

iPod: You are not a robot.


Hoodie Allen’s Pep Rally.

Me: Now you’re just being creepy.

iPod: Lovely Ladies.

Les Miserables’ Musical Soundtrack, not the movie.

Me: I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or calling me a whore. WTF.

iPod: Why don’t we do it in the road?

The Beatles’ White Album


Ipod: Don’t speak.


No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom



P.S. the title of this blog post is from the fully wonderful episode of my favorite teenage angst show, Daria.

Doctor: And do you often talk to your computer?

Daria: Only when the refrigerator is mad at me.

Left to right: Jake, Helen, Quinn, Daria, and Jane

That angry little ghost with the camera, and other social medias.

My friends tried for weeks to get me to get a snapchat. The latest craze, and whatnot. But I was bound and determined to never ever ever use facebook twitter instagram keek gifboom snapchat.

Let’s be honest. It was really just invented to probably make sexting easier for people. 

I actually used this phrase with the 9 year old that lives across the street from me and was trying to convince me to download the thing.

“When I was your age, I didn’t have a cellphone, let alone have snapchat.”

Guys, I’m old.

I mean, maybe not in like the big picture-the universe is ancient scheme of things. But like, in my regular I’m on social media too much for my own good life, I’m fucking old.

The progression of my life from then to snapchat.

Age 17: First Digital Camera. I am mad because if I had gotten the camera sooner, I would have been able to bring a smaller purse to prom.

Age 18: AIM adds direct connection and we are able to send our pictures via instant message. My computer instantly slows down with the addition of so many JPEGs.

Age 20. First camera phone. I embarrass the guy who sends me the very first dick pic in my life when I pull the phone out in a group of friends asking what the hell it was. You really couldn’t tell what it was. IT WAS A VERY BAD QUALITY PICTURE, AND I BLAME LG.

Age 21: First camera phone with flash. I am temporarily blinded by the next dick pic because let’s be honest, those things are fucking awkward, and those early camera phone flashes were fucking bright.

Age 26: Snapchat comes into my life.

A few weeks ago when I was out with AsianDave and Alto. We were chilling at Yesterdog when this hot mess of a woman(in a dress twelve sizes too small with a BAC that was above the legal limit to walk in five inch heels) fell all over herself, and the two of them went crazy snapchatting her sorry ass.

They were not subtle at all.

They were not subtle at all.

“You need a snapchat.” Alto tells me. “We can send pictures all the time to each other. It’s like texting, but better.”

“But let’s be honest.” I respond. “Snapchat was created by people who wanted to be able to sext and not get caught. AND NOW SMALL CHILDREN ARE USING IT.”

“That’s true,” Alto agrees. “I’m actually pretty afraid every time I get a snapchat, that it’s going to be a dick pic.”


Cue to the next day.


Yeah. I gave in.

“Here’s my stance on snapchat.” I declare, while simultaneously sending the above snapchat, another one of the menu of the restaurant we were at, and yet another one of my hard cider. “The instant I get a snapchat of a penis, I’m deleting the app. I know why they made snapchat. I refuse to have random manparts on my phone.”

“Actually,” TomSelleck tells me. “I’ve gotten all sorts of balls snapchats, from when my friends are bored.”



“…maybe it’s a guy thing.” I shrug.


I’m snapchatting with Mystique.

Tanner Jones is my right boob, by the way.

Mystique’s boobs have names too.

the age old question

Rhetorical question, clearly.

Rhetorical question, clearly.

Back to that conversation with TomSelleck.

“Now that I think about it.” I say. “I actually get boob pictures on snapchat all the time.”

TomSelleck frowns. “I’ve never gotten a boob picture.


Dear Snapchat,

Thanks for not letting any dick pics get through to my phone*, and for showing me that men and women, we aren’t so different after all.

Love, me

*I’ll for serious delete snapchat if I get any. Don’t send me any. WEIRDOS.

Bring Home the Bacon

My office has a pretty carefree energy about it. We get the job done and then we drink. It’s our motto.

Fridays are reserved for beer. We get out at 4pm, and usually find a bar to unwind.

Last week was no exception. We found a local bar to help drown the week’s chaos.

The boss’ son works for the company, and our work relationship has always been rocky. I have given him the nickname of Cucumber Man. I will save that story for another time.

Cucumber Man is a character and we don’t see eye-to-eye on much. He is a very forward person with his opinions, and isn’t always polite about sharing them. He is also a vegetarian. I’m the opposite of him so we bicker regularly.

While at the bar, we started to bicker about all sorts of things. I know the rest of the office is rolling their eyes at us.

He began to whine about being a vegetarian and why it makes him selfless… blah, blah, blah.

I asked him if there was one thing he missed about eating meat. He said that he really missed bacon.

“Tofu bacon isn’t the same.”

Of course it’s not the same… it’s tofu.

At this point, I became audacious.

“Well since you won’t eat meat, I will eat meat for you. You can get me a BLT and I will enjoy the crispy bacon you deny yourself.”

He thought I was joking, but I found a waitress, gave her my order and told her to put it on his bill.

He watched all of this and didn’t do anything. I assume he was in shock.

Moments later, I received my delicious BLT sandwich with crispy bacon.

Before my first bite, I looked at him and said,

“I will let you have a bite and not tell anyone that you ate meat.”

He laughed and looked away as I began to enjoy the master piece.


I got another bold idea after I had finished eating my BLT that the vegetarian had purchased for me.

As he sat next to me, sipping his beer, I asked him about his ex-girlfriend.

Back story: Cucumber Man had a traumatizing break-up. She dumped him and two months later she was engaged to another man. It’s been closet office joke for months.

His only replied to my question with,

“We are the ‘no speaking’ terms”

I sarcastically replied with,

“that’s unfortunate.”

Being satisfied with my conquest, I sobered up and decided to leave the broken man at the bar.

I want more bacon.


And this is why you shouldn’t use facebook anymore.

I was on facebook today, which I really only use for stalking purposes and photo storage, but mostly the stalking, because I don’t take photos like I used to.Image

I’m scrolling down the page, when I notice my sidebar.

FIRST. Christian Singles.

Geez, facebook. I think to myself. I’m technically Catholic, but since my religious views say “Lord Stanley,” I suppose you just made an educated guess.

SECOND. Lingerie of some sort.

Wtf, facebook. I glare at the computer screen. You just gave me an ad for sad, lonely people, and now you’re telling me to go get some lingerie? Who am I going to wear the lingerie for? Is it to boost my self esteem, because you probably know how self conscious I am.

THIRD. Photography classes.

Now this is just getting creepy. I’m backing away from the computer. Clearly, facebook is trying to get me to use the said lingerie become a porn star or something.

…Exactly what are you trying to tell me, facebook?




Go check your ads now. You know you’re curious.

No one mourns the WICKED. And by WICKED, I mean, douchebags checking their phones during the theater.

I tend to start all my thoughts with the word “so.”

So, this month, one of my favorite musicals of all time was in town.

Wicked (musical)

Wicked (musical) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

CoSi and FunSized and I are all music freaks, so as soon as we found out about, CoSi was iMessaging us that we needed to go. We bought tickets, we planned, and last Saturday, off we went.

FunSized, CoSi, and yours truly.

FunSized, CoSi, and yours truly.

I, of course, cried.

When For Good is performed, I get all these mad flashbacks to my freshman year of college when 202 and I sang it for the Broadway Revue, and it’s just such a good song. Then, of course Defying Gravity is pretty much the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen happen on a stage and I DARE YOU NOT TO LOVE THAT MOMENT.

Somehow in the mist of all this good witch/bad witch/emerald city action I came to my post for today.

Twatwaffles at the theater

In no particular order, this is my list of things that bother me at live theater events.

1. Jeans

Any live event obviously took a lot of time to prepare. I sing with the Symphony Chorus in Grand Rapids (we’re performing Missa Solemnis in two weeks, by the way), and we’ve been practicing this piece for months. And we’re the volunteer choir. That’s not even the amount of hours that the symphony, or the soloists, spend practicing. In a musical, they have to memorize their lines, their movements, their staging. All this work to prepare a show, for you, the theater goer, and you couldn’t even be bothered to dress nicely?!

We personally opted for dresses.

We personally opted for dresses.

2. LipSyncers

I’ll be the first to admit that yes, I love Wicked. Yes, I know the majority of the words. YesI have even performed songs from Wicked in my lifetime. However, does this mean I should be “performing” during the musical? No. Does this mean that the person in the row behind me who was SINGING ALONG THE ENTIRE SHOW pissed me off? Yes. You’re not on stage. You’re not as good as the people on stage. And, in case you missed the memo. You come to the theater to listen, asshat.

3. The latecomers

But L.A., you say. You’re ALWAYS FUCKING LATE. This is true. I’m late 95% of the time. However, this is the type of thing that I’m nearly always on time, or GASP early for. Nobody wants to be the douchecanoe making everyone in the row stand up during the show to get to their seat which of course is at the center of the row. Be on time. Be respectful to everyone else. Or at least wait until there is a pause in the show — like during applause or something. Does this mean you might have to wait for a good portion of time to sit down? Yes. You should’ve been on time.

4. Talkers

I brought a date to the symphony once last year, and partway through Brahms Symphony No. 2, he leaned over to me and whispered, “This might be a dumb question, but is this supposed to be happy or sad?” It was a small conversation about the music, and was actual proof that he was listening to the music, and not just along for the ride. However, I’ve been to concerts and shows, where people carry on full conversations. I remember once in particular, I went to my old high school’s musical, and the person behind me…

“Oh, there’s so-and-so.”


“Over there! He’s in blue!”

“That one?”

“The other blue! He’s dancing now! Look at him dancing, he must get that from you!”

For. Half. The. Show. Please. Shut. Up.

5. Leaving before curtain call.

The show ends.

You liked it.


WHY, praytell, are you rushing out of here then? Beating the rush out of the parking lot? Gotta buy that souvenir before there’s a line? That’s not a good reason. The show isn’t over. There are a long list of people that put a lot of effort into this work that deserve your attention. You gave it to them while they were performing, so give it to them now. Acknowledge that you appreciated what they did. Sit the fuck down. Or stand up, if it was that good, because standing ovations are acceptable too.


Do you agree? Do you have pet peeves when you go to the theater? Share in the comments! And if you live in the Grand Rapids area, seriously. Missa Solemnis. May 11 and 12. Check that shit out.


Sh!t my kid says and YOU’RE WELCOME.

So, the first time, my family went on the Michigander, I brought my kindle along. It was a pain in the ass to charge, because everyone has a cell phone that needs to be charged, but it was nice to have a bazillion books to read.

The second time my family went on the Michigander, I was sick of all my digital books and I was nearly done with reading one of the best series ever.

It’s Harry, bitch.

The logical decision was to bring the damn book along. On a bike trip. Cuz, you know. YOLO.*

Dad: Your bag is so heavy.

Me: Well, you know, I’ve got some of the baby’s stuff in there. His crap won’t all fit in his little roll-y dinosaur trunk.

Inner Monologue: For real, it’s HP7. It’s J.K. Rowling‘s fault because she wrote a fucking truckload.

On this trip, Boo saw me reading the HP greatness. Being the smarty pants kid that he is, he asked the basic questions for a three year old.

Boo: Who’s he?

Me: Harry Potter.

Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson & Rupert Grint (...

Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson & Rupert Grint (left to right) at the world premiere of Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows Part 2 in London, England (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Boo: Oh. What’s he say?

Me: Expelliarmus.

Boo: Oh. Who’s this guy?

Me: Voldemort.

Voldemort as project manager

Voldemort as project manager (Photo credit: kevin dooley)

Boo: What’s he say?

Me: Avada Kedavra.

Boo: Oh.

Boo: Avada Kedavra!

Me: Just like that. But first, you need to have a wand, and second, we don’t like that spell.

Boo: Oh.

A few months after the bike trip, we were at Meijer. Boo was still on a “catch phrase” period of talking, so there was a lot of “expelliarmus” spells getting thrown around. We happened to be venturing down the aisle that Meijer calls a book aisle when Boo saw it. Harry Potter and the Deathly HallowsJust like Mom’s.

He gets excited. He points at the book. I’m excited too — because HARRY POTTER. But then the greatest moment in the history of small children and Harry Potter happened.

We’re walking away from the book, when Boo swivels in the child portion of the cart, points down the aisle, which has one 30 something innocent woman in it, and hollers. Avada Kedavra.

The woman has obviously read Harry Potter because her jaw just drops and she stares at us as we walk by. I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed, or if I should laugh or what. But my kid just Avada Kedavra’d that lady in Meijer.

I’m telling this story to one of my friends and she gets excited.

“You should absolutely read all the Harry Potters to Boo. You can write down what he says and blog it because it will all. be. hilarious.”



*I’m so sorry I said YOLO. I don’t know what came over me. CARPE MOTHERFUCKING DIEM.

Talk quietly, I’m probably listening.

We all know how completely relationship-phobic I am. But honestly, sometimes, I see, you know,  the happy peopleand I miss it.

There are always the good parts and the bad parts to a relationship and I know this — I know that you have to put forth the work to be with someone you love, and that you have to accept the differences, and that every relationship is a partnership.


But then.

I know that some relationships are bat-shit crazy.

I’m not normally an aggressively loud person. Which means, if I’m…

…in line behind you at the post office.

…sitting at a table near you at Starbucks.

…lounging at the park and you’re walking by.

That I might happen to overhear you and your significant other. And I might happen to wonder WTF, people. Why are you together?


Man: You can’t be mad at me.

Woman: I told you not to put it there. I told you.

Man: We don’t have to discuss everything.

Woman: This we do.

Man: I’m over this.

Woman: I’m over you.

Man: But it comes out!

At this point, I’m sure they’re about to break up. Obviously, they have terrible communication skills, and he did something that she did not appreciate and to make it worse, he didn’t even try to talk to her about it, which means she was caught by surprise and then it sounds something possibly got stuck.

They’re totally breaking up.

Woman: It won’t! You fucking ruined our coffee table!

Follow me on twitterwhere I post random things like this all the time. Except on Mondays. I just complain on Mondays.

SexCapades, by any other name.

So, after I wrote the post the other day involving the board games and the monopoly and the part where I question everything about modern courtship, I had some conversations with some of our readers (all seventeen of you*) about the content of the blog. On the one hand, I was all ERMAHGERD, real life people reading the blog and talking to me about it. On the other, the question asked gave me some pause.

Fan Mail


I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my blog persona of L.A…

Note the picture.

Note the picture.

And my “I don’t actually go by L.A. in real life” persona…

Same picture even!

Same picture even!

…have combined to really just be one mismatch of me on social medias. Really, I don’t have time to be hiding behind my blog name anymore. Which means, I’m sorry, but some of the content on here has disappeared to the nether reigons of the interwebs.

Maybe you did used to read about my various trysts or the time that a sheriff saw my butt in Otsego county, and maybe someday, I will continue to share those stories with you, because yes, they happened and yes, a lot of them are really freaking hilarious now that they’re in the past.

But mostly…

My mother reads my blog.

Fellow bloggers — do you have any “not postable” topics on your blog? Does your mother know what you’re writing about?!

*All 50 of you readers that like us on Facebook! (And if you don’t, WHY NOT?!)

Hey, thanks, y'all.

Hey, thanks, y’all.

Happy Spring, Ya’ll. It’s snowing.

It’s my son’s spring break this week.


Let me say it correctly:

Spring Break. Y’aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall.

In honor of this sort of holiday, some people that Mickey Mouse used to love got together and made a movie. In honor of bad decisions and curiosity, GoldDust and I headed out last week to see this giant collapse of morals and the Disney castle.

Thus, I present to you:

A summation of Spring Breakers

L.A.: Did you ever go on Spring Break?

GoldDust: No, I worked.

L.A.: Me too.

GoldDust: This is so many boobs.

L.A.: I think I did college wrong.

GoldDust: I thought this was supposed to be funny?

L.A.: …


[Cue only us laughing]

GoldDust: Does this make you uncomfortable?

[Extreme close up of James Franco’s face]

L.A.: Yes.

GoldDust: Do you want to leave?

L.A.: Yes.

In the bar after:

L.A.: Here’s what’s wrong. Spring Breakers was supposed to be a comedy-drama-thriller movie. They must have just gotten confused with so many genres.

GoldDust: Selena Gomez should be buying my drink.

In conclusion, I hope I’ve saved your spring break. Did you see Spring Breakers? Better Question, did you do college right?

L.A.: I don’t actually mind how my spring breaks went if this is how it’s supposed to go.

Random: Well, this was supposed to be like worst case scenario.

GoldDust: We actually did college right.