WEDDING DAY APPROACHETH (cue reflective mom posts)

Our son is getting married in October. He and his fiancée have been engaged since last July. They dated for years before that.
Just yesterday I booked hotel rooms near the wedding venue for myself and my husband and our daughter. We also booked the wedding suite for the bride and groom.

Next Friday is the bachelorette party. Next Sunday is the bridal shower.
I just came up with a killer idea for some songs to dance to with my son at the reception in front of all the other guests.

As I listened to the music choices via Alexa last night as I cooked dinner, I had to laugh and cry.

I love the woman he is marrying. I know they are going to be together forever and they’ll have the kind of relationship I have with his father.

There’s nothing I want more for my children than for them to be happy and to have best friends to spend their lives with.

But buddy, I know I am going to cry when he and I dance together. Not just happy tears, but also tears for missing the boy he used to be.

I wished for that kid ever since I was just a little girl. I knew I would have an Andrew even when I was only 7 years old.


He is a grown man now in love with his Audra.

And that is one of the best things ever.

But sometimes with all of these wedding plans going on all around us, I’ll look at him and this is what I see…







Pelvic Floor Salvation

It’s been a long time since I’ve suffered with that pelvic pain I can’t completely get out of my mind. That was such a horrible time in my life. Sometimes even now, if something gets me really upset, I’ll feel slight irritation down there and know I have to address what’s bothering me to make it go away. I’m on top of it now. I know exactly what it is, why it is and what it takes to make it better.


But also, to this day, there are things that happened to me while I was going through all of that shit that still bother me.


I feel like sharing one that I think of more than I wish I did. It really bothers me. That’s why I still think about it from time to time. I also think of how I could have handled it differently when it happened. It makes me wish I could go back in time (minus the pain, of course). Or I wish I could go today and tell the person responsible how it made me feel.


I’ll get to the point.


When I was in horrific pain, I was so scared. I was genuinely terrified every day. All I wanted were the answers to what was happening to me and why it was happening to me and how I could make it go away.


When I finally found a good new gynecologist and she finally really listened to me about what was going on, she got me in with a physical therapist right away who specialized in pelvic floor pain. I was so relieved. I felt like I was finally going to get some real help.


The therapist was nice at first. I had such high hopes she was going to heal me. I had no idea how the exercises she taught me would end my pain. I did know that massaging the muscles down there might make it stop. I was ready to do anything and everything just to feel normal again. I was SO SCARED. As in–shaking all day and all night. Panic pretty much all the time. I could not get myself under control.


One time at one of my earlier appointments, my therapist asked me when she realized how panicked I was if I was a Christian.


My heart sank.


Great, I thought. Here we go.


I’m not and I told her so. I am pretty sure she had probably never had anyone admit that to her before. Lucky me…the crusade to not only help alleviate my physical pain also became an attempt to save me from eternal damnation.


From there, she asked if she could pray for me. I was so uncomfortable with that request, but I was so desperate for her help. I said okay. I figured if I gave in, I could keep the peace and we could work together toward my healing. The ride home from therapy that day, I called my husband and told him about it. My pelvis was on fire.


For the rest of the time I went to therapy, she would frequently talk to me about God and Jesus and church and all that. I really liked her as a person and I believed she was doing her best to help me feel better. But I really hated when she pushed her religion on me. She invited me to her church for Christmas. She texted me Bible passages. She talked about angels while she was doing her therapy on me.


As time went on and I didn’t get better, I realized this person had no idea how to really help me grasp what was happening to my muscles or why or how to stop it. In fact, she suggested crazy shit like my pelvis was still in “birthing mode” (how? I gave birth decades ago) and that my 25-year-old episiotomy scar was pulling on other muscles. She suggested I never exercise any more than doing the therapy moves she gave me as homework, to sit on a special cushion all of the time (really? for the rest of my life?), she had me sitting on that cushion while driving my car with a towel rolled up in the small of my back (again–really?!) and she also told me not to have sex with my husband till she thought I was well enough to.


I figured out despite all of this stuff she was telling me that the real key to my getting better was probably doing all the stuff she told me not to do. I also figured out that I needed to address personal shit that bothered me so much I clenched my pelvic floor.


Who knew you could clench your pelvic floor!? I had no idea I was even doing that.




One night, while I was in my room doing the therapy homework, she texted me a song she loved that she said made her think of me.


It was a song called Come to the Table.


It’s a song about being a sinner with shame. Come to the table. Hang with the savior and his bunch of human screw ups who need redemption.


I listened to it and I got so pissed. I knew she was trying to be nice, but I had reached the end of my patience with the proselytizing. You know, that lady had no idea why I’m not a Christian. She never asked me about that. She wasn’t interested in hearing about the long path I traveled to get to where I am spiritually. All she cared about was that I wasn’t like her.

Do you know how irritating that is?

Physically, I wasn’t feeling better either. In fact, this overstepping of hers and my ignoring my own boundaries made me feel WORSE.


Though she was way out of line, looking back on it now, her actions helped me link my pain to not expressing my true feelings.


So there was that. I guess she did help heal me in a roundabout way.


By this time, my confidence in her was quickly disappearing.


Not long after that, I decided Bill and I would give it a go in the bedroom just because I had been so sad for so long and I missed my husband and our old life. I thought one night–fuck that lady’s advice. And you know what happened? Everything worked and everything was just fine.


That was the beginning of the end of my depending on that lady for help.


I remember when I informed her we successfully had sex. The look on her face was priceless. She acted happy, giving me a high-five. But I could tell she was irritated I disregarded her advice.


I was still dealing with pain the best I could. My pain had interestingly shifted to my tailbone (not fun, believe me). I told her I was going to start seeing a chiropractor in addition to coming to her. She didn’t like that either. She said she would rather I didn’t because if I got better, we wouldn’t know if it was because of her or the chiropractor. I was like–I don’t give a shit who gets me better, as long as I get better!


It was right then that she and I stopped working together.


It was a weird ending. Someone who was previously so concerned for me no longer wanted to help me if I wasn’t going to obey her.


Even though I was scared to be without her “help”, I thought–Fuck this.


Amazingly, from then on, life took a turn for the better.


It was when I took back my power (in so many ways!), found a different therapist who didn’t pray for me but instead told me that my body was not jacked up (I told her it was)–she told me I was just going through a hard time and I could heal myself, that I got BETTER.

I discovered expressing my true feelings is IMPORTANT. I discovered having and keeping boundaries is IMPORTANT.


The cherry on top of this story is that my old therapist reached out to me again weeks after we parted ways (I knew she would). She had new crazy-ass ideas how she could help me. Maybe it was my bladder that was messed up?


I wrote back and told her I was recovering nicely and no thank you to anymore of her help.


Ha. I hope she had to wonder why God would let her down when she tried to save me.


All this rehash to say:


I wish I could go back in time and say NO when she first asked if she could pray for me or that I could go see her TODAY and tell her that her actions were really inappropriate. But you know she wouldn’t believe it. And really, what would I stand to gain from doing that anyway?


Besides personal satisfaction.


Happily, I can report that my pelvis no longer painfully blows up at the thought of her or the time I wasted with her. My pelvis never really blows up over anything anymore, really.


And that’s thanks to no contribution from her or God.


It’s all me, baby.

Our Penny Lane

Our dog, Penny Lane, passed away on April 1st.

She was only 3 years old.  She was such a smart and pretty girl.

And we loved her so much.

Penny was very much her dad’s dog. They shared a special bond since she was just a pup. Her favorite part of any day was when he would get home from work.

Her epilepsy was uncontrollable. The “worst case of canine epilepsy” our vets had ever seen. She was on every medication we could give her. There was nothing else we could do. At the end, she could not stop seizing. She could not fall asleep without waking with another seizure. She was literally exhausted.

And she was sad.

That we could not tolerate.

There’s not much else left to say about a dog that was loved so very much and fought for and still lost at way too early an age.

Our house is ridiculously quiet now without her and we are very sad.

She is the last dog we’ll ever have. Epilepsy has scarred us, but

Nothing will erase the wonderful memories we have of when she was having her good days

and just being

Our Penny Lane.

First picture ever taken:
January 2016

Last picture taken:
March 2019

Me n my girlfriend  💕

Don Juan Easter Bun

The Easter Bunny squeezed through the narrow aisles that now plagued his home. He could hear 2 girls fighting on Jerry Springer on his tv across the room but couldn’t see them because of about a million colorful plastic eggs piled high on the floor and furniture.

Bunny felt sad. He knew those chicks were probably ripping each other’s wigs off. And he was missing it.

He smooshed himself between a mile high pile of boxed Peeps and his kitchen counter. Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled out a can of Spam and cracked it open. Then he pulled his Lucky Strikes and a lighter out of the pocket of his ratty blue terry cloth robe.

The smell of chocolate bunnies and jellybeans in his home overwhelmed him, so as he chomped away at the block of meat and sucked deeply on a cig, he made sure to enjoy the hammy smoke scent sensation as it temporarily hung in the cramped air around him.

Every Spring, Bunny experienced stress to the Nth degree. Sometimes he wished he had never gone into the family business and taken over for his dad. But the old man needed a replacement, none of Easter’s siblings wanted the job, and God knows he spent his entire life just trying to get an ounce of his father’s approval.

So now, once a year, he had the hell of candy prep and one night world-wide delivery to contend with.

He was tamping his cigarette out on the counter next to hundreds of cartons of malted milk ball eggs when he heard his overnight guest attempting to come down his stairs.

“Easter?” she called out. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, babe,” he replied.

He heard all kinds of rustling around and muttering of swear words as his lady love walked the crazy candy maze.

Finally she popped into view.

Mrs Claus was pulling her sweater close around her shoulders, her weird little elasticized hat and eyeglasses askew. She straightened the glasses and looked at Bunny.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “How much candy do you have in this place anyway?”

“You should be used to this kind of thing,” Bun said. “There’s a lot of good little kids out there, I guess…the little bastards.” He lit another cigarette.

Bunny and Mrs Claus looked at each other. In the background they could hear the people on tv cheering “Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jer-ry!”

They smiled at each other.

“Would you like some Spam?” he asked. She shook her head.


She shook her head again.

“Candy?” He held his arm out like one of those models on The Price is Right.

She laughed out loud.

Bunny cocked his head and smiled. She sure was pretty for an old broad. He liked when she laughed like that. He made a mental note to bump the chocolate rabbit in her Easter basket up a couple of ounces. He didn’t care if her old man noticed. He hoped he did.

“I gotta go,” she told him.

“Hey, I thought you might like to stay and help me assemble a couple million baskets of candy today,” Bunny suggested.

Mrs Claus looked at him like he was insane.

“Like I don’t get enough of that kind of crap at home!”

Bunny walked to her and pulled her into a hug.

“I was just kidding,” he whispered before he kissed her one more time.

Even though he kinda wasn’t.

The two of them wedged their ways to the front door. Before she left, he handed her one of those plastic toys that have a suction cup on the bottom that you stick on the floor and press down so it pops up into the air after a second or two. The character on top of it was in the shape of a bunny.

She took it and smiled at him then walked to her snappy red Mazda Miata parked out front.

And Bunny shut his door, turned on his big bunny heel, and promptly tripped over a bushel of Cadbury eggs in his hallway trying to make his way back to the kitchen to finish his Spam.

Typical Life Shit and the Hottest Band in the World

Hi hi. Happy Saturday and all that happy horse shit, dear reader friends.

I’m coming off a two week stint where our dog experienced breakthrough seizures and medication-induced pancreatitis so unpleasant we thought about putting her down AND we helped our daughter move into her new apartment.

Our dog Penny has stabilized once again and is back to being her playful crazy pig-like self (what a relief!!)  and our daughter is all situated and happy as a clam in her adorable new home (sweet!)

So even though the past few weeks have been stressful beyond measure, I decided to add to the fun and finally go off my antidepressant.

Why not? Let’s just go for broke and see what happens is what I figured.

I started taking antidepressants in 2017 when I had pelvic floor dysfunction and I truly believed I would never be well again. I tried all kinds of the drugs and enjoyed the weird side effects of each and finally I landed on Prozac which I was able to tolerate. The medicine helped, I am not going to lie. When I bumped up to the 20 mg a day, I found myself no longer bothered by much life threw at me. It was a complete change for someone who had been previously bothered by lots. I never knew I was so…emotional?

Is that a bad thing, really?

Apparently it can be, I guess. Anyway, Prozac leveled me out for months. It also robbed me of feeling any emotion–happy, sad, angry, you name it. It was all gone.

I didn’t like that part. In general, I enjoy the ability to feel things–especially happiness or excitement.

You know what else about taking Prozac sucks for me? I gained weight. Like, 30-lbs-in-one-year weight. This, for an always healthy normal weight person like myself, was depressing in itself. I was the heaviest I’ve ever been in my whole life a few weeks ago at my doctor check up to renew the prescription for my antidepressant. I told my doctor about my concerns and we lowered my dose to 10 mg a day.

That lasted a few weeks. I felt my emotions kinda coming back.

Last Tuesday, I thought–fuck this. I called my doc and asked how to stop it altogether. Which I did starting right after I called. She said it was perfectly all right to just stop taking it and that I might feel a little edgy but it would be okay.

I kid you not–I’ve lost 6 pounds in the span of 2 weeks (I started working out again too, so there’s that) and my gut is finally going away. My husband told me last night–I can tell a difference.

I can too. And it is one big ass relief!

As for my brain, I can feel it shifting, if that makes any sense. It’s odd, but also kind of interesting. I’m tired too. And hot a lot of the time. But I am not concerned about these things in the least. I know it will all pass and I’ll get through it.

You know why?

Because I beat fucking scary pelvic floor pain and if I can do that, I can do ANYTHING.

Not a whole lot scares me anymore. And it’s not due to the consumption of pills. So here I go again on my own. (Whitesnake. Not the hottest band in the world, but still good)

Pill free.

I’ll let you know how this turns out.

Here’s my other news story I want to share with you today.

Tonight my husband and are going to see “The hottest band in the world”–KISS. And I am basically living for it!

I first fell in love with KISS when I was a little 10-year-old girl at the shopping mall with my mom and sister waiting in line to go see a movie. Probably something like Benji (ever see those movies? They will fuck up your mind. Jesus, the tears I shed over that little dog!)

As I waited in line, I eyeballed the record store across the mall and in the doorway I spied a new record album cover that had a picture on it that beckoned me. I asked mom if I could go look at it and she let me.

This is the pic:



I was like–WHO in the hell is this!? I was simultaneously horrified and enthralled. I was kinda scared of this guy, but I also wanted to know more. And I was definitely down for listening to the tunes!

I got that record–KISS Alive II–not long after and what an experience it was for a kid like me. Up until then, I had been listening to pop music and storybook records. Alice in Wonderland. Wizard of Oz. Osmond Brothers. Bay City Rollers. I was a huge Monkees fan. (Davy was my very first big ol crush).

KISS was not like any of that stuff. They were the first rock and roll band I really liked.

They were fucking cool.

I felt grown up picking them to listen to.

I remember my older sister accusing me of not really liking them. Like hell I didn’t!

I also remember my dad buying me a magazine with KISS pics in it when he went to get a Pittsburgh Press paper for himself at a local bookstore. The cover had Gene sticking his tongue inside a daffodil flower. I was kinda like–ew, gross. Some of the pictures inside the mag were rather risqué as well. I don’t believe Bernie had any idea what he had purchased for me. But I loved it nonetheless.

I had this poster on the door of the room I shared with my little sister. I was slightly disturbed by the blood on Peter Criss’s head. Poor kitty man. And look at Gene. Damn, he was always so scary.


I continued to love KISS all through my high school years. My first boyfriend, who ended up being a total nut-job and abusive (another story I probably won’t tell), was a big fan. We used to listen to them all of the time. I remember when the album “The Elder” came out. A lot of people made fun of it, but I thought it was excellent. You know what song totally still rules to this day?

This one–

Now, besides this evening, I have only seen KISS one other time live. This was during the Lick It Up tour 4000 years ago. I remember being there with my friends from high school. Sure, the guys had taken off all their make up. (WHY? remember that epic moment on MTV?! I do!)

We had so much fun at that show. The moron I dated before and had broken up with was there, a few rows behind us, acting like a damn fool hanging and swinging on the rail. I was like–what the ever-loving fuck, you idiot.

God, I hope I don’t see his face tonight. He still freaks me out to this day.

Over the years I have become a wife–the awesome guy I married has always loved KISS, too. This is a plus in my book, of course. And I became a mom. I’ven been too busy to spend money and time going to see KISS concerts.

As luck would have it, the “End of the Road” tour is in town.

And now that we’re older and a little better off and our kids are all grown up, tonight my husband and I have a date!

My husband–AKA the cutest guitar player I’ve ever known–has never seen KISS live.

That’s gonna change 🙂

I think I’ll even paint my face for the occasion.

My favorite KISS guy has always been Paul Stanley, so guess whose face I’ll try to duplicate. I mean, if I muster up the bravery to actually go through with it.

What kind of 50+ woman paints her face to go see KISS???


me paul

10 year old me would be so proud.

Talk to you guys again soon.

In the meantime don’t forget to

Rock and Roll All Nite and Party Every Day!

xo 🙂

A Morning Scroll

Jesus polished off his jelly doughnut and took a swig of Celtic Grog to wash it down.
His taste buds tingling, he couldn’t help sinking back down into the cozy comfort of his king-sized bed.
Deciding that maybe he’d go back to sleep for a smidge, he picked up his phone and clicked the Facebook app to check up on the morning’s posts before he did.
He scrolled through the typical stuff:
Mary, his mom, posting private messages for him on her page because she still had no concept how to use messenger and she probably never would…
Jesus clicked the heart button anyway.
Noah posting pictures of his cats AGAIN…
Jesus clicked the heart button.
Satan’s 50+ pictures of himself shredding on his guitar last weekend at some suburban bar…
Again, Jesus clicked the heart button.
And then, the Methodist church bragging that they had bolstered their bans on same-sex marriage and allowing the LGBT community to become pastors.
Jesus read that one again. Then he read some comments from people praising the decisions.
“Those people are so stupid,” he thought to himself.
He sat up and took another sip of coffee and reached for a Kool and his lighter.
Blowing the first inhalation out and feeling his muscles relax a little, he opened his messenger and tapped his dad’s profile pic.
“I see the Methodists are taking a giant leap towards destroying their church for good,” he typed. “I know it’s all part of your Master Plan for the human race, but damn if it isn’t tough to watch unfold sometimes.”
He hit send.
Taking another drag of his smoke, he kept scrolling to try and cleanse his mind a little.
“Oh god yes,” he thought to himself as he came upon the clip of Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga singing Shallow at the Academy Awards. He, like everybody else not living under a rock, had already watched this 1000 times, but it was so delicious. He loved it. And holy hell, that smoking hot ending when Jack and Ally cuddle on the piano bench and stare into each other’s eyes?
Jesus couldn’t help himself.
He hit the heart button once again.
He knew, just like all good people do, that hitting the heart button as often as you can

is always the better choice.


She lives!

My husband and I found ourselves at Home Depot today at 6:45 am. Bill armed himself with the materials to rewire our antique mall lamp. We had the stuff home and started the coffee brewing by 7:15.

He had some difficulty running the new wires through the lamp, but he threaded the lamp wire with a long piece of wire and persevered and got ‘er done. Once that was fixed, he finished the rest of the set-up. Turns out there are two sockets and one of them just doesn’t work. No matter, though. New lightbulb installed, shade dusted off, lamp plugged in, switch flipped on and



Look at that thing, will you?

I’m in love, I tell ya. She is absolutely perfect.

I love my husband for doing all these projects for our home. I love him for the guy he is too, of course. But you know what I mean.

I believe weatherman Brick Tamblan from Anchorman sums up my feelings about this particular moment in my life with an eloquent quote from that epic movie.

(You movie aficionados know it’s coming)