Beauty and the Burrito

I will never forget the day my niece was born. A friend of mine worked at Sephora and had given me a giant bag of goodies. As I dug into it, I started trying out all the different products. And I mean all. I smeared on the face-life cream, eye patches to reduce puffiness, lip plumper, teeth whitening strips, cellulite goo on my thighs, stomach firming gel, foot tingly stuff with the special socks, exfoliators, you name it and I had it gobbed on my body.

Just as I was lying in bed like a mummy, stiff and probably high as a kite, from all the bio-hazardous chemicals I had lathered on, my sister texted me, “I think it’s time. Should I wake up Ian?” My sister, Mandy, had crept downstairs to her treadmill and had started working out at 11:30 at night her time to “work off” the contractions. Mandy is one of those people who you kind of want to hate, but you can’t because she’s so nice. She only eats when she’s hungry, she put on less weight during her pregnancy than I do eating a drunken late-night burrito, and she was WORKING OUT the night she went into labor. In fact, that was the nickname I had given the baby during Mandy’s pregnancy, “The Burrito,” because I told my sister there was no way she was actually pregnant, that she just looked like she had eaten a carne asada burrito and had a full tummy. “Kiss the Burrito for me,” I would tell her repeatedly over the next 9 months.

I think I rolled my eyes when I saw that she had texted that she was running her contractions away, but my eyes had gone numb at that point so I’m not really sure. “It’s really kind of hurting but I don’t want to have a false alarm,” she told me. “I’m having bad contractions, and I’m in a lot of pain. What do I do?”

The Big Sister panic button had been pushed. I was 3,000 miles away and I have no experience with childbirth. Okay. Breathe. Just breathe, Tracy. Consult Big Sister Handbook. Crap. No handbook. I’ve been meaning to get my hands on one. Okay, just stay calm.

“Like how bad is the pain?” I asked her.

“Really bad, I think it’s happening, but I’m not sure, how do you know?”

Umm. Ma’am? Heartache? I got that in the bag. Fight with Mom? Check. Trouble at work? No problem. Baby’s coming….Holy Hell, are you out of your mind, I haven’t a clue!!

“Okay, so like…it’s really hurting? Or really-really hurting? ‘Cause, I mean, I have this cream on my stomach and it’s really starting to hurt. Like more than tingle, I mean, I’m in a lot of pain now. I think it might be starting to eat away at my skin….” I lifted my shirt and peeked to make sure.

I glanced back at my phone, “REALLY??!? Really right now, you’re trying to compare my LABOR PAINS to your CELLULITE TREATMENT?!?!” Clearly my sister was being a bit irrational and she didn’t know how intense this stuff was, so I let that one slide.

“Yeah, ummm…I think you should probably wake up Ian now.”

I was on pins and needles the next few hours, and finally I got the call from Mandy, “She’s here! You have a niece!” We talked for a couple of minutes and when we hung up, I remember feeling so proud of her. How could the same person who had shared a bedroom with me growing up, now be a mother? I cried tears of joy that night, and tears of sadness for not being able to be there with her or to meet little Kailee. Then I cried tears of joy again when I looked in the mirror and saw how good my skin looked. I didn’t tell Mandy that part though. She was still emotional from all the hormones and might have thought I was being “shallow.”

I finally met my little Kailee a month and a half later and instantly fell in love. Holding my sister’s baby in my arms for the first time was one of the best moments of my life. Every time I’ve seen my little burrito since then, I am stunned at how smart she is and how fast she’s growing. I can’t wait until she’s old enough to come visit her Auntie so we can play beauty shop together!

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Why I’m Cutting Crime Shows Out of My TV Lineup

I think I need to take a break from watching Law and Order reruns.  Generally, I’m a (too?) trusting person and I tend to think that people won’t be mean to me because I’m not mean to people- which is ridiculous, I know.  But, lately I’ve been swinging the pendulum to the other side, imagining that everyone is some kind of deranged killer and that’s probably worse than being happy go lucky.  Last night, I realized I need to get myself in check when I stopped to get gas.  The credit card machine wasn’t working at the pump, so I had to go inside to pay.  Standing near the cashier counter were two suspicious looking guys who were clearly ready to shoot the place up, like an episode of SVU I saw this weekend.  Unfortunately, Ice-T wasn’t lurking in the background waiting to take the bullet for me.

Perp Number One had a backpack (probably filled with body parts OR empty waiting to put my chopped up body in it- either or) with a skateboard strapped to it.  Now, one thing you need to know about me is that when I get nervous, I talk.  A lot.  On first dates, work meetings, awkward situations, you can always count on me to blabber on so much I turn blue because I forget to breathe. Turns out, being nervous about getting chopped into a million pieces is no exception.

“Oh! Look! Your skateboard is missing a wheel!” I exclaimed, pointing to at his getaway vehicle.  I think my subconscious had rationalized it might be harder for him to slice and dice me if he knew how nice I was.  Make it personal, I was thinking.

He looked at me grimly and then slurred out some gibberish through his missing teeth. 

I literally had no idea what he had said.  But of course, I kept talking, gib gabbering away about his broken wheel.  Then, I began to panic.  What if all this “personalizing” made him think I would want to give him a ride or something?  Then what would I say? If I said no, he might want to stab me and cut my boobs off as a trophy and bring them to his Russian mob boss for his body-parts showcase. 

Stop talking, Tracy. STOP!!

I couldn’t stop.

“Yeah, that’s too bad, hopefully you can fix it soon.”

“Uh huh.” (More gibberish).  “I found this glove.” He held up a black glove with the fingers cut off.

“Oh, um. Well that’s great! See- you found a glove to make up for the skateboard wheel!” I exclaimed excitedly.

“I can’t ride a glove home,” he retorted.

I thought about that for a minute.  “That’s true.  Well, I was just trying to find the silver lining for ya….” I trailed off, suddenly aware that Murderer Number Two didn’t seem to be partners with the no-fingered glove skateboard bandit. 

Oh my god.  I’d been chatting up the WRONG KILLER this whole time!!! This skateboard guy was probably harmless and this OTHER fella was ready to blow the whole place up with a semi-automatic and I hadn’t made it personal with him AT ALL.  GAH!

Skateboard guy left without incident. 

My hands shook as I thought of something to say to the other killer.  Nothing came to mind because I was so frazzled so I focused my nervous chats on the cashier, silently begging him with my eyes to call 911.  He didn’t get my telepathic memo so I just settled for blurting out, “Fifty on pump 4 please.”

Skateboard guy suddenly stuck his head back into the store. 

This was it. The ambush.  The jig was up-  and they were about to end it all right now. 

I whispered, “Hail Mary Full of Grace. The lord is something.” I don’t really even know the Hail Mary but I figured if there was ever a time to say a quick prayer, it was now, even if just a little part of one. 

Then, I grabbed at my chest where I had been shot and everything went dark.

No but really I just grabbed my receipt and watched the skateboard guy hand the cashier a dollar while he grabbed a lighter off the counter.  The second guy never moved an inch and I’m still having my doubts about him. 

So, yeah I’m thinking no crime shows for a while- maybe I’ll stick to watching wholesome Cosby Show reruns on Nick at Nite until the dust in my insane imagination settles… although Rudy in her awkward phase might dredge up scarier delusions than the murderers do-  I’ll keep you posted.

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Tracy Takes the Theater

When my brothers and sister and I were kids, my mom was really dedicated to making sure we were “well rounded” members of society.  She made us do a bunch of after-school activities because her kids weren’t going to go through life with missed opportunities like she did.  For that, I thank her.  It was a great gesture. However, as you can imagine, the execution wasn’t always as flawless as the idea.

All four of us kids had to take dance classes: ballet, tap, jazz, whatever.  Back then, my coordination level was about as awful as it is now, except it was slightly less noticeable because we were kids and there were a couple of other sucky kids in the class to mask just how sucky of a dancer I was.  Now, when I say I was sucky, I wasn’t just a few beats off from the rest of the class….I was horribly off and spinning around in dizzy circles while the rest of the class was busy doing tippy toe pirouettes or whatever they were practicing at the time.  I spent more time on my ass than I did doing the fancy formations we were being taught.

All I really cared about was being out of class in time to watch my favorite show, Party of Five, which happened to always be airing on the nights that we had dance lessons.  If we went a minute over, I would freak out that we were missing seeing a riveting storyline where orphaned teenagers lived alone and took care of each other. I always wanted to be like Party of Five- you know, live alone without my parents and take care of my siblings, because OBVIOUSLY I could have done a better job taking care of myself and other kids as a teenager than my parents could….(parents are so stupid.)  But I didn’t really want my parents to die like in the show because that would have been awful so I would instead wish that my dad would get a job in like Russia or something and then leave us to take care of the house because THAT would have been a totally realistic scenario. You know, me in charge but my parents not dead. “See you later, kids….you got this, right, Tracy?” Right. It’s absurd, but I was 12.  So anyway, on those nights that we were running late to see Party of Five, I would yell at my mom to drive faster to get home and I swear she drove 3 miles UNDER the speed limit the whole way, just to piss me off.  Thankfully, my father who was/is a 13 year old girl in the body of a middle aged man, always had it tuned in when we got home under the guise that he didn’t want me to miss any of it, and could always fill my sister and me in on the first 7 minutes we could have caught if Mom just would drive like a normal human being.

Anyway, there was always one night during each session that the parents came to watch us and on those nights, I extra wanted to die.  Even though I knew that each parent was watching their own kid, I felt like I was being scrutinized and then I would grow a 3rd left foot and all my inept left feet would keep bumping into each other, making my performance even more embarrassing than usual.  That was NOTHING compared to recital days though- up on stage, a fool for a whole auditorium to see…..

Our first recital was definitely the worst.  They sent home a notice to our parents that we had to wear “dark makeup” so it would show up on stage.  My sister Mandy and I were so excited that we got to wear eye makeup-mascara and eyeliner and whatnot.  When my mother went out shopping for makeup for our performance, we couldn’t believe it.  MOM’S LETTING US WEAR MAKEUP?! We figured Mom would come up with some crazy reason that we wouldn’t be allowed to and how no child of hers was wearing adult makeup, even if it WAS for a recital. But, shockingly, she was totally into it!!!

The day of the recital, we got into our fancy ballet costumes and let mom makeup us up.  First Mandy went. As mom went to work on Mandy’s face painting her up with all kinds of goo, I was waiting for her to look like a beautiful princess.  Maybe makeup worked differently than I thought?  Maybe it took some time to kick in?  “Mom?” I asked, as I picked up a bottle of full coverage foundation, marked ‘Dark, for ethnic skin’, “Umm, are you sure this is what they meant by DARK makeup?”  I giggled as she gooped more onto Mandy’s porcelain white skin.

“Yes, this is what they want you to do. I was in the drama club and you have to wear dark makeup so they can see you on stage!” Mom emphatically responded as she gooped more goo onto my sister.

But where was the eyeliner? Where was the lipstick? Where was the mascara and the princess makeup? Mandy looked like she had fallen face first into a pile of mud.  A few minutes later, so did I.  What the heck? We had been so excited about wearing makeup but instead Mom had made us look like Ooompa Loompas!!

The whole ride over, we were wiping at our faces, trying to minimize the goop factor but mom kept yelling at us not to touch it.  Mandy and I had really started to panic the closer we got to the school auditorium.  “Mom, we look ridiculous!”  We whined.

Our suspicions that we looked ridiculous were validated when we walked into one of the backstage rooms and all the other little non-gooped up faced girls turned to stare at us.  “Moooooooommmm!!!” we hissed, “We TOLD YOU this isn’t what they meant by ‘dark makeup.’”

“Okay, okay,” she reluctantly acknowledged when she saw all the other princess- makeup-faced girls. Unable to completely admit defeat, she added, “But still- that’s how they do it in the THEATER!”

The good news is, all that dark goo took the attention off all those left feet….

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Murder She Wrote

We’ve all had a ridiculous argument with a significant other that when we look back was absolutely hilarious in the aftermath.  I am not generally a “fighter” but my favorite outrageous dispute was with an ex, when he thought I was trying to kill him. For the sake of this story, let’s call him “Paranoid Pete.”  (I don’t really care that much about protecting him and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t read my blog but just in case…I don’t know the slander laws that well.)

A bunch of us were going out bar hopping one weekend.  Paranoid Pete in tow, we all met at my friend Dave’s house. (That’s Dave’s real name, by the way…he doesn’t have a nickname. We never dated, plus he doesn’t care if I slander him in any of my stories- I asked).  We were all socializing at the house first and then we left to go out.  Now let me tell you: my friends and I are a rambunctious crowd- we’re loud, we’re fun, and boy- oh- boy can we DRINK.  Being the wholesome fella Pete was, he tried to keep up….with the loudness, with the fun, and with the drinking.  And he failed- miserably.  Especially with the drinking.  Somewhere between the house and the second bar, PP started to lose his shit.  He was taking off his shoes and falling all over the place and just becoming an all-around horrid train wreck and embarrassment.  Annoyed that I had to leave to tend to this lightweight, I told my friends that I was taking him back to Dave’s house to pull it together. 

On the walk back home, Pete’s antics were escalating. He was climbing trees and yelling belligerently.  Finally, after contemplating just leaving him on the street, I got him back to Dave’s.  He said he didn’t feel well so he went into the bathroom and stuck his head in the toilet. Then he started mumbling gibberish.  At one point, I swear I heard him say, “You’re trying to kill me.”

I was beyond irritated but I was trying to be a nice girlfriend.  Calling to him from the kitchen as I was getting him a glass of water, I reassured him, “I’m not trying to kill you.  Just let it out if you need to.  It’s okay. I’m getting you some water…”

Then, like a bolt of lightening, he ran out of the house, yelling, “I’m not going to let you poison me!!!!”

Gah! This guy! Not only did he make me leave early, but now I had to go find this idiot. You had GOT to be kidding me. I walked around to the front of the house and he was nowhere to be found. I searched up and down the streets. I called his phone a minimum of 100 times.  After an hour of unfruitful searching, I called in an Amber Alert to my cousin Katie and our friend Dave. “I’m so sorry you guys but Pete’s ran off and he thinks I’m trying to kill him and I don’t know what to do. Don’t rush back but I could really use your help because this fool might sorta be missing…”

Everyone came back and was asking what happened. “Dude, I have no idea! One minute he’s in the bathroom and then he’s yelling that I’m trying to kill him! He’s absolutely lost it!!”

We split up into search parties. After another hour of looking, we all came up dry.  As panic really started to set in, and I was about ready to call the local hospitals, (Sure, he was annoying but I wasn’t completely heartless!) I got a call from him.  I answered it immediately.  The voice on the other end was not his.

“Hello, this is Officer Smith.  I’ve got an extremely disoriented gentleman here. I took his phone and saw that the person who had last called him 100 times was probably responsible for him. He’s on the corner of Oak and 3rd. Please come collect him so I don’t have to bring him in.”

Lovely.  I brought backup with me in case he still thought I was trying to kill him. That was a good move because indeed he did maintain his belief that I was a killer. At one point, he climbed another tree to get away from me and promptly fell out of it.  I’m not going to lie to you, I laughed a little at that.  Okay, maybe I laughed a lot.

Finally, we stuffed him into the car as I was desperate to get him home and just end the nightmare. The entire car ride I had to drive with one hand on the steering wheel and the other one holding him into the passenger seat because he continued to insist I was trying to kill him and kept trying to open the door and jump out onto the freeway. I was so annoyed with him that the thought of him becoming roadkill didn’t sound so terrible, but then I figured I might get stuck filling out paperwork all night and that didn’t sound all that fun either.

I somehow got Paranoid Pete home in one piece.  My roommate Molly and her boyfriend were sleeping but were awoken by Pete’s’ disorderly conduct. As I was trying to help him get ready for bed, I handed him his toothbrush (even a crisis is no excuse to neglect your oral hygiene!).  He was spitting out the toothpaste shrieking, “You’re putting razors in my toothpaste! You’re trying to kill me! There are razors in here!!”

Sleepy-eyed, Molly stood in her bedroom doorway to find out what the commotion was all about.  “What the HELL is going on out here?!” she asked, confused.

“SHE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!!” He screamed, his eyes wild.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m trying to kill him. With razors. In his toothpaste. Can’t you see?” I rolled my eyes.

At some point, I got my disaster of a boyfriend to go to sleep. When he woke up in the morning, his eyes were no longer wild, but wide and apologetic. “Tracy. I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened to me last night.”

“What part are you sorry for? The part where you ran away, climbed a tree and fell out of it, or the part where you thought I was trying to murder you?”

“All of it.  That wasn’t me. I didn’t have that much to drink! I think someone drugged me!”

“Someone drugged you?” I stared back at him in disbelief and disgust. “I mean. People don’t usually go around drugging GUYS. What would be the point of that, so they could follow you around with a camera and capture the looney tunes on film? You were NOT drugged!  You just can’t handle your booze!!” I snarled, all my patience left behind at last night’s rodeo, corralling him home.

I think he sensed the unwelcome look in my eyes so he promptly left.  He later let me know that he had a broken arm from the tree fall that required a cast and that he had asked them to do a drug test on him while at the hospital, still convinced someone had roofied him. Whaddayaknow, he must have sweat out all that GHB because the tox screen came back clean.

I have to say, that was one argument that probably will never be topped.  Although I didn’t start off wanting to kill him, I sure did by the end of the night. 

Have you ever had a ridiculous argument with a significant other? What was it over?

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Thanks for reading! ~Tracy


Innocent Until Proven Guilty Pleasures

It occurred to me that I don’t really have many guilty pleasures.  Oh, pleasure, sure!! Lots and lots of those- but “guilty” ones? Not so much.  I live on my own, I don’t have any kids to look out for…anything stupid I do, I pay the consequences for.  The one thing I beat myself up over and I guess feel “guilty” about, is how much I spend and how little I save. You guys, I go out all.the.time.  I have a lot of different groups of friends and we’re always meeting for happy hour, going to dinner, grabbing some apps- you get it. It’s not that I don’t LOVE meeting up with friends and it’s not that I don’t love going out.  It’s just that if I added up all my dinners and going out dollars, I would probably have enough to buy a yacht. Or at least a pretty pimped out tugboat or something. 

I love going out to dinner, it’s true.  First, I’m not so great of a cook. The food I make is usually mediocre at best, but usually inedible.  So there’s that.  Next, I put a lot into my job, my writing and all kinds of activities and I’m usually too pooped to do anything at the end of the day that isn’t enjoyable to me or relaxing.  Lastly, I really, really appreciate being waited on. Let me clarify- I am usually the first one to jump up and ask, “Can I get anyone anything while I’m up?” I love playing hostess, I love being helpful and it comes naturally to me.  That being said, it’s nice when I know that I’m PAYING someone to wait on me so I don’t have to feel bad about not being the person running around and getting things to make sure the meal is enjoyable.  Sometimes it’s nice to put that all on someone else.

Plus, I know how hard it is to wait tables and I am always conscious of that fact when I’m out. Once upon a time, I myself waited tables.  I was the worst server ever to be given an apron.  I once spilled an entire tray of mimosas on a woman on Mother’s Day at brunch.  She was furious.  Even though we paid for her to get her dress dry cleaned, comp’d her whole party’s meal, she was still livid.  The table next to hers left an enormous tip.  I approached the gentleman who wrote the gratuity in, asking him if it was a mistake. “No, honey it’s not a mistake,” nodding over at the mimosa disaster, “I have a feeling THEY won’t be leaving you anything and I saw how hard you’ve been working.”  For that reason, I tend to be an “over-tipper” when I go out now.

So yeah, I love going “out” for lots of reasons.  I do like going to nice, upscale restaurants with great food, but I also love finding “hole in the wall” type places that have great food too.  Sometimes those places are a lot more fun and relaxed and you can just let loose and not have to worry about laughing too loud or that awkward moment in the ladies room where the bathroom lady wants to hand you a towel.  I hate those bathroom attendants. 

Whenever I walk into a restroom and see a bathroom attendant, I almost always contemplate how badly I have to go and consider walking out.  But, since I have a bladder the size of a walnut, avoiding them is never an option.  Look, I’m sure they are nice people and all…but I just don’t get it.  I know they’re there to provide a service- make sure that the bathrooms are kept clean and all that.  But it’s so WEIRD! I always feel rushed to wash my hands and sometimes the way they ration out the towels, I want another one but I don’t want to ask for it because then I’ll feel obligated to tip them.  I don’t think I should have to tip someone for squirting some soap into my hand and giving me a paper towel.  I can get my own towel! What’s next? Are they going to have people standing at the stalls rationing out toilet paper?


And you know how they always spread out an array of toiletries on the counter? Gum, body spray, deodorant, lip stick, tampons.  Um- AS IF I would ever use some random person’s deodorant!!! And let me repeat in my best Cher from Clueless voice- AS IF!!!! 

Then, if I want to take a minute to apply some lipstick -from my purse not from the pile on the counter-I feel like I also owe a tip for taking up their towel-handing real estate by standing at the mirror.  I’m sure I’m overthinking the whole thing and I should just stop worrying and not care about what the bathroom people think of me.  It’s not like I have to see them again, right? WRONG! That’s the thing. I have to see them at least several times throughout the night (see above reference of the walnut bladder).  Ugh. And even if I wanted to tip them, (I don’t want to, I’m just saying hypothetically) I never have cash on me. Who carries cash, anyway? That’s soooo 1992. 

Right- so anyway, in summary:  I love going out to dinner- I do NOT love bathroom attendants.  I feel guilty for how much money I spend going out to eat. I also feel guilty for not tipping the bathroom people, but NOT guilty enough to start doing it. 

If you have any questions on what I consider a guilty pleasure, a pleasure without the guilt, or just a guilt with no pleasure involved, come find me at the wine bar down the street where I will be not guiltily eating and drinking pleasurably and guiltily but not pleasurably not tipping the bathroom lady.


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Friday Feats and Fails

You guys!! So my girl Ashley over at More than Cheese And Beer hosts “Friday Feats and Fails” where she highlights a blogger to feature and talk about and then a bunch of bloggers link up and share that week’s accomplishments and anything craptastic that happened so we can all celebrate and commiserate together.

This week she picked MEEEEE!! (Insert fireworks, noisemakers, and all around fanfare here-)

More Than Cheese and Beer is a unique blog.  It started off as Ashley’s attempt to prove that there is so much more to Wisconsin and the Midwest than just Cheese and Beer.  But it’s evolved into this crazy smorgasbord of topics, including her very popular “Sunday Confessions”, where each week she picks a theme and everyone does a write up and “confesses” their stories- good, bad, funny, whatever.

Ashley brings a real “raw” feeling to her blog.  She lays it all out there. She says so many things that a lot of people are too afraid to say.  I would sum up her blog as one big “Every Day is a Sunday Confession” because she doesn’t ever hold back.  On a personal level, MTCAB has helped me a TON with growing my blog- sharing posts, highlighting blog entries….and she’s become a friend to me.  I never really understood when other bloggers have cited having “blog friendships” as real friendships, past the internet, even if they haven’t met in person.  I thought that was kinda a load of baloney (the extra gross kind of baloney with the olives and weird stuff mashed in it) but over the last year, Ashley’s become one of those people to me.  Her kindness, honesty, and overall coolness have really won me over.  If she ever came to town, I’d even share my wine with her. NOW THAT’S SAYING SOMETHING! So I guess why I’m telling you all this is because it makes it extra special to me that she featured me this week.

So, without further ado, here are my fails and feats summary for the week:

My dentist has been harassing me to buy a Sonicare toothbrush for ages so I finally bought one –
(Feat) ….but while at Target I found $200 worth of other crap I “needed.” (Fail!!!)

I started a new diet this week in an attempt to kick off my 33rd year in as a healthier, more slender me (Feat)…but cake, wine, and other birthday celebratory items that are not on the diet were consumed in copious amounts (Fail!!)

I found out some friends are having a baby (Feat!!) but in my excitement, I accidentally blabbed it, not knowing they hadn’t told everyone yet (FAIL!!)

Some douche-canoe cab driver asked me if I was married, and if I had kids. When I told him no, and that I was happy being the fun auntie, he told me I was “very selfish.” (Fail) So I told him that he was a jerk and that I WAS INDEED very selfish, so selfish I wasn’t going to give him a tip! (Feat!) Then, when I told my friends about it, they reminded me how very unselfish I am, kids or no kids, husband or no husband and that made me feel good (double feat– take that, mean cabbie!!)

It’s been a long week so I decided I’m going to get a manicure after work on Friday (Feat) but then I snagged my ring finger nail (please draw your attention to the left ring finger that selfishly doesn’t have a wedding ring on it #stillbitter) and it broke down to the quick, so now I don’t want to go get a mani because now it feels like a waste going in and get my nails did. I’ll either come out with all nice nails and one stump OR have them try to match all the rest of my nail length, causing me to have ten stumps instead of one.  #firstworldproblems ….

engagement ring finger maincure princess cut

My mangled, selfish ring finger nail

In summary, I guess I’ll skip the Mani until the mangled no-wedding ring ring-finger nail grows back, in the end saving some dough and some ridicule from the nail ladies who always yell at me and mock me if things aren’t perfect when I walk in  (“WHA HAPPEN? Your nail so short!”) That is not a dig at the way they talk just at WHAT THEY SAY— Nail ladies= no filter. Like the time I got my eyebrows waxed and when they were asking if I wanted my lip done and I said no, and they were like “But you very hairy. Very hairy- you have a mustache…” I mean, I have very light skin and hair. I’m pretty sure one of my friends would have told me if I had a very dark mustache. But when someone says you have a mustache, you don’t stop to think about it, you scream, “WELL, GET RID OF IT!!” Then, when they wax your lip and they burn you and it turns red and scabs over into this weird little Hitler ‘stache scabby thing, you get super pissed and your friends laugh at you and say, “What the HELL is wrong with you, of COURSE we would have told you if you had a mustache.” And then you feel like a dummy.  So yeah, skip the Mani (long term mental health Feat)

Robin Williams’ passing (Fail) – We lost a beloved entertainer, actor and human being this week.  Robin Willams’ passing affected many people in many different ways.  The only way I can even being to broach this topic is the way I try to approach the other feats and fails in my life- one at a time and try to look for the silver lining.  There is never a “positive” aspect of suicide.  It’s an incredibly difficult topic for many to discuss and to comprehend.  It’s tragic and it’s heartbreaking.  Most of all it’s a feeling of helplessness- for those who are experiencing depression and for those who are loved ones of the ones going through it.  That helpless feeling is scary, and it’s often taboo and it sucks.  I think the only way I can possibly attempt to put a “positive” spin on this event is that it could help raise awareness, compassion, and understanding of a very prominent and rampant issue that is right under our noses.  Mental illness is not something that can be “fixed” with the money that a celebrity has, or with some magical words.  It’s a complicated thing.  I have lost friends and family to suicide and my heart hurts to think about the pain someone must be going through to end their own life. Our natural instinct is to be in ‘survival mode.’  If you or someone you know is going against that instinct, it means that there is a deep struggle within- something that can’t be cured by thinking positive thoughts or by simply not being “weak or cowardly.”  I was torn between writing about this, because I have seen so many commentaries on the topic that were so blasé that it came off disrespectful. But, it’s too important to ignore.  I hope that some good can come out of this tragedy.  I hope that Robin Williams’ popularity can raise awareness- I hope that more people learn to love, and to listen, and understand that there is no easy band-aid for mental illness.  If we can come together to help others in need because of this devastating act- if we can allow people who are struggling with depression feel like it is okay to talk about it, come forward, seek help, acknowledge what they are going through….then in some tiny way, some sad, and crushing way, we may be able to some day look at this as a small (feat) in between our tears and our loss.

So, on that heavy note… go check out More Than Cheese And Beer-she wrote an incredibly moving post on the topic….and because she’s awesome…and also because then you can read more about ME  <——(narcissist)


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The Weirdos of the Web: Part 3 of An Ongoing Series

It’s that time again! Time for a new edition of “What the Actual Eff is Wrong with People?”

Today’s host is Tracy on the Rocks. Join us for a riveting analysis of Google Analytics as we continue an ongoing series of reviewing Google Searches and how these bizarre searches landed their way to my blog.

If you missed the first two editions, please catch up here:

I Know What You Googled Last Summer

Weirdos of the Web: Part 2 of an Ongoing Series

Note: This post is going to be somewhat XXX rated but only for the sake of maintaining the integrity of our investigation.  If you guys would stop searching for weird- ass shit, we wouldn’t have to exploit these searches. Apologies in advance to our conservative crowd.

Since so many of the searches were similar, I have grouped them into categories.

Our first Category is VAGINAS.

On February 22, 1013 I posted “Proof that God Hates Single Women,”a tale of my lady-parts doctor appointment. This post included a diagram of a vagina.  That was a year and a half ago and to date, “Vagina,” Vagina diagrams and vagina related topics is the number one keyword that people search for to land them on my blog page. Super.

On a sidenote….LEARN HOW TO SPELL, dummies! I guarantee the “virginer” searches are probably some of my New Hampshire peeps, you know how we like to add R’s at the end of words: Pizzer, soder, vaginer.

the vagina

vagina diagram


diagram of vagina

inside vagina diagram

diagram of a vagina

a vagina

daigram of women vargaina

diagram of the vagina

vagena diagram

diagram of the verginer

diagram vagina

vagina wall model


vangina diagrams

vigana images

vigena diagram


Our next most searched for topic this session was related to “orgies.” Now, I’ll admit, I should have known when I posted about how when I was in 4th grade, Pat Riley told me an orgy was a piece of fruit and I asked my parents if I could try one, there would be some backlash but honestly these don’t even really make me laugh, they just make me want to call CPS on these people.

high school graduation orgy

her parents were at the orgy

i had an orgy with my family

i had an orgy with my mom????

i heard my mom’s orgy

mom dad orgies

mom dad orgy

my brothers had an orgy with me

my family had an orgy

saw a orgy as a kid

sons have orgy with mother stories

we had an orgy after high school graduation

when was the first orgy

young kids wirh moms have orgy

Probably the only not disturbing search in this category is the question, “When was the first orgy”…given the things people are searching, I’m going to guess Adam and Eve had an orgy with Lucifer, or maybe God had an orgy with them too. Maybe if you believe in evolution, all the apes had orgies with each other and we’re all wired to have orgies.  I dunno.  All I know is there is a whole lotta orgy action going on here and my high school graduation wasn’t nearly as exciting as some people’s. Although, thankfully…neither was my childhood. Yikes.


Our next category is PANTS SHITTING.

Back in November, I posted about the time I shit my pants.  Sadly, it is one of my most popular posts.

I shall comment on each of these searches separately:

“boyfriend shat pants” – And you want to find out if anyone else’s boyfriends shat their pants?

“have you ever shit your pants”- Of course I have shit my pants. Everybody has shit their pants and anyone who says they haven’t is a big huge poopy face liar and has probably done it twice.

“if i didn’t poop your pants”-  Are you able to elaborate on the logistics of how YOU would poop MY pants??

“shit your pants just once and”- Bingo! Instant blog post


Moving on to our next topic: GOD’S FEELINGS ON SINGLE PEOPLE

does god hate singles

god hates single women

god hates singles

god hates women

I don’t really think these searches warrant any commentary. I’m just going to go in the corner and hide out in the fetal position and hope that God comes around some day.


The next topic searched was my future husband, Brent Morin.

“brent morin”

“brent morins cock”- Is that any way to talk about someone’s future husband??? PIG!!!

“is brent morin gay”- OF COURSE HE ISNT GAY!!! He’s marrying ME and I’m a woman. Gah. Get it together people.


Miscellaneous searches-

“used hanes her way porn”

So what you are searching for is someone wearing dirty granny panties in a porn? Is this like a “thing”? Dirty Grannies are the new black?


“wann to my cock big n long .what is the procedure”

Depends on how un-big n long it is to start with, I reckon?


“nurse big penis reaction”

Before or after the “procedure”?


“why do people go unshowered”

I would think that asking them might yield better results than Googling it? I would take a gander that most people who don’t shower aren’t spending their time on the internet posting away about their poor hygiene? I could be wrong though.


“how does the penis goes in to the v”

Well, you see. You take the penis…and you put it into the V…..Was there something more specific you were looking for?


“can you see if you are being googled”



“girls wearing transparent plastic raincoats teasing boys”

Are they wearing used Hanes Her Way undies under the plastic raincoats? Because if that’s what you’re looking for, I think I can broker a deal here….


“gran sees grandson cock hanging out of shorts”

“granny catches grandsons cock hanging out of shorts”

(Please take note that TWO different searches were made on this one)



“hanes her way porn”

This is a much better version than the USED Hanes Her Way Porn, this is brand- new- from- the-package- HHW naughty time…It’ll cost ya extra though.


“hottie tracy ca leave your rant”

I’m sorry I can’t. If I left my rants, I wouldn’t have anything left to blog about.


And that wraps up today’s program….Stay tuned for our next Edition of “Weirdos of the Web.”


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Of Mice And Meat

I’m just going to come out and say it:  I really don’t trust anyone who doesn’t eat meat.  This isn’t to say that every vegetarian is some weirdo hippie activist tree- hugging PETA freak, but let’s be honest, a lot of them are.  As a passionate meat-lover, I can’t wrap my head around willingly not eating a good filet every once in a while or a burger at a cookout.  I can’t imagine depriving myself of a healthy portion of ham on Christmas or not eating corned beef with my cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day. Or BACON! What about bacon?! You’re going to tell me a couple of greasy pieces of bacon and a pile of eggs on a Sunday morning isn’t good for the soul?  Blasphemy!

While I don’t agree with a life without meat, I do try to respect it. And I always seem to get it wrong.  If I’m hosting dinner, I’ll politely cook something without meat to accommodate any lettuce-eating guests. “I know you’re a vegetarian, so I made chicken parm!”  I’ll say, proud that I went out of my way to plan a meatless meal.

“Umm, Tracy…chicken is meat…” the said rabbit-food lover will respond.

“What?! Chicken?  No, no, honey, chicken isn’t meat, silly. It’s POUL-TRY,” I’ll explain shaking my head and laughing. You’d think if someone was going to run around saying they don’t eat meat, they’d at least take the time to learn the difference between meat and birds. Jeeze.

My favorite thing to educate a vegetarian on is the All-American wiener.  I’ll be taking a delightful bite out of a Nathan’s hotdog, smeared in mustard, and catch a vegetarian friend looking at me with that “Ewww” face they think they aren’t doing when they’re watching you eat something they don’t approve of.  “Mmmmm,” I’ll mumble into my bun, “You should try one…Nathan’s are the best!”

“Oh god, Tracy, do you know what’s IN that thing?”

“Don’t worry, there’s no meat in this.  You can totally have one. I mean seriously, have you ever read the package? I can honestly promise you there is no real meat in this bad boy. Maybe some lips or hooves or something, but definitely not meat!”  Cue to vegetarian running to the bathroom to upchuck her carrot sticks.

The most memorable run-in with a vegetarian I’ve ever had is an incident I like to call, “The Great Chicken Debate of 2011.”  My friend Ally was getting married and we were spending the day at the spa and then going out to dinner and hitting the town for her bachelorette party. Ally was a real live scientist and she did all kinds of important experiments in beakers and Bunson Burners and stuff.  I remember the first night I met her, we were talking about what we did for work and she said she worked in a lab that did research for Alzheimer’s.  I was really impressed.  I was even more impressed, and a little disgusted, that this petite little girl had to kill mice as part of her job. “What do you mean, you actually have to kill them?? Like they’re alive and then you feed them drugs or something and watch them die a slow death?!” The horror!

“Oh, no we’re much more humane. We snap their necks,” She clarified, matter-of-factly, making a two handed snapping motion with a little click of her tongue.  Fascinated, and a little afraid of her ability to kill so easily, I asked her no more questions about her job but made a mental note to keep my neck as far away from her as possible.

The day of her bachelorette party, a bunch of her girlfriends came out for the affair; it was a motely crew of sorts.  At the spa, we met her friends from the lab, her yoga instructor friend, a lawyer who was also 7 months pregnant at the time and a few others.  Then there was me: the loud- mouthed, meat-eating, beer-loving, animal-hating, not- scientist who had tried yoga once and after two minutes of down-hill dog and backwards turtle positions, both of which I had gotten stuck in before I rolled up my mat yelling, “Yoga is stupid! I hate yoga! I’m going to happy hour!”

The good news was I could get along with almost anyone so it didn’t bother me that I didn’t have anything at all in common with most of the girls there.  I mostly stuck with the Yoga instructor, who I had met a before and the prego (who posed no threat to my cocktail when I left it unattended to get my massage.)

However, there was one chick there from the scientist crew who was NOT NICE.  Let’s call her Satan for the sake of this story. There is no sugar-coating this- she was just a straight up bitch.  She had a comment for everything and was one of the most opinionated, dominating assholes I’ve met in a long time. For some reason, she seemed to have it out for me.  All day long she made little nasty remarks in response to anything I said.  For Ally’s sake, I kept my mouth shut but one more mojito and I was about to drown this orange-haired nerd in the salt-water pool.

After the spa, we headed downtown for dinner at a hip Asian-fusion restaurant.  Perusing the menu, I realized that the dishes were meant to be shared, so I asked, “Okay, I know Ally and Yoga instructor are vegetarians- are you as well, Satan?”  Of course she was. “Well, that’s all good and fine but this girl needs to get some meat in her.  Does anyone do the fish thing? Maybe we can get one seafood dish?”

After we had decided what to order, I tried to make conversation.  “So I know people are vegetarians for different reasons. Why don’t you gals eat meat? Is it to be healthy or because you are animal lovers or something else?”  I innocently posed the question, sincerely interested in what would prompt such an insane lifestyle decision. Satan was staring at me with a look of disgust. Great. Here we go.

“Are you really asking that? Do you KNOW how they treat chickens?”

“Well, yeah”, I responded…”it’s pretty messed up.  I think it’s kind of way worse for the farmers though. I read somewhere that companies like Perdue will finance these really expensive pieces of equipment to the farmers in exchange for an exclusive to use their chickens. Then Perdue will change the machines they’re using and force the farmers into buying new stuff when the old ones aren’t paid off and they’re in debt forever! How horrible is that? I think it’s pretty terrible for those famers to get trapped like that!”

“The farmers?!” She exclaimed. “What about the chickens that are jammed into these tiny cages and they can’t even MOVE around.  They’re literally on top of each other.”

I knew I was treading in some sketchy water but this girl was really starting to piss me off, “Look, I’m going to be honest with you. I really don’t care how the chickens are being treated. Why do I care if they can’t run around and frolic happily in their coop when they are being RAISED for the sole purpose of being KILLED? Don’t you think setting them up in a nice spacious pad and giving them a good life is a little misleading?  I think the chickens that are miserable in those cages are happy when they get killed. They’re probably lined up at the chopping block yelling ‘Pick me!’”

There was a flash in Satan’s eyes and I saw that this was going from bad to worse, but I couldn’t stop. Her sane train had derailed several chicken comments ago and this was about to get ugly.

“If the chickens can’t run around, how healthy is that? They can’t move, they can barely eat, they aren’t getting any exercise and no muscle is developing.  You’re putting THAT in your body?  Have you ever SEEN what they do to KFC Chickens?! Those are CLONED chickens. They don’t even have BEAKS!! How can that be healthy?” She all but shouted.

“WELL I DON’T EAT THE BEAKS SO I DON’T CARE IF THEY DON’T HAVE THEM AND I DON’T EVEN LIKE KFC!!!” I exclaimed. Well, was kind of a lie, their neon- orange mac and cheese is pretty bomb but I wasn’t about to give her that satisfaction.

“Okkaaayy…I think it’s time for a subject change. So, umm. The spa was fun, huh?” Yoga tried to salvage the rest of the dinner but all I could think about was shoving a chicken beak up Satan’s ass.

The second we stepped outside after dinner, that Looney Toon lit up a cigarette. I couldn’t believe it. For someone who was SOOOO worried about being healthy, she was huffing down a menthol like it was nobody’s business. In my humble opinion, the worst kind of crazies are the hypocritical kind.

I don’t wish bad things on people, but if I did, I would wish that that vegetarian menace would get attacked by a gaggle of beakless chickens and they’d all shin-kick her a bunch of times. Then she’d get gangrene or something awful and have to spend the rest of her days as a scientist researching a cure for mutant chicken gangrene.

A few days later, Ally and I met for lunch.  I was armed with an apology for what had transpired at the dinner table the night of her party. Before I had a chance to, Ally said, “Sorry Satan was being such a bitch the other night!  I don’t know what her deal is.”

“That’s okay, Ally, I hope you had fun anyway. Hey, let me ask you something.  Does Satan ever have to kill any mice at her job?”

“Ohhh…she’s been known to snap quite a few necks in her day!” Ally laughed.

“Really,” I said. “Well next time you see her, do me a favor: make sure you ask her if those mice all have nice big cages to run around in before she kills them.”  Then I ordered a chicken sandwich. It was probably made out of a chemically engineered, clinically depressed chicken that was raised in a matchbox. And it was damn good down to the last beakless bite.

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Blog Tour 2014

Okay y’all….this is a post for my girl over at “A Day in The Life of A Drama Queen’s Mama”, who invited me to participate in this “blog tour.” Basically it’s a way for us bloggers to talk about ourselves and then expose you to a few of our favorite bloggers. 

Traci, the Drama Queen’s Mama, is mom to 4 kids- 3 girls!!– and keeps it real with her funny parenting stories, especially outrageous stories and hilarious quotes from her youngest daughter Brennan. Plus, she has the best name ever, even if she spells it wrong.

So here are the “interview” questions I was asked to answer, since all of us bloggers are narcissists and think you want to know all about us at all times…. You do, don’t you?

What am I working on?
Most days I’m just working on maintaining my sanity.

As for the blog, I’m working toward posting more often and I’ve got a few new stories in the works to publish.  I’ve got an older story about my distrust of vegetarians that I’m giving a facelift to and then publishing.

I’m also working on a piece for an anthology I hope to contribute to.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I’m not even sure what genre mine would fall under? “Rambly stories of an insane person?” Is that a genre?

I guess the thing that makes my blog unique is that it’s 100%, totally unfiltered ME.  I type how I talk and many of my followers have told me they can “hear” me telling the story in my voice when they’re reading a post.
Why do I write what I do?
I write about my experiences, my interactions with other people, my observations.  I tend to have weird , funny and random things happen to me so I’ve got plenty to work with. I’ve  always believed in writing what you know.  You readers can tell when you aren’t being “sincere” with your material, even when it’s a funny topic.

How does my writing/creating process work?
My creative process is a 1-2-3 dealie:

  1. Fill wine glass
  2. Turn on laptop
  3. Post finished piece

Honestly though, the hardest part is coming up with a topic. Once I’ve got a broad notion of what I want to talk about, most of the rest just comes to me. Maybe that’s annoying to those of you who struggle with words but if it makes you feel better, I’m at about a 3rd grade math level and  I can barely balance my checkbook….you win some, you lose some I suppose….

Now take a minute and check out a couple of MY favorite blogs, whom I am passing the torch to so they can keep the blog tour going:

– More than Cheese and Beer: 

This blog was started to explore food, recipes and blogs about food to break the stereotype that food in the Midwest revolves around cheese and beer. Somehow, the blog took on a life of its own and you can find Hot Ash sharing personal stories and most importantly, she hosts Sunday Confessions. Each week, she posts a topic and a whole bunch of other bloggers participate.  More than Cheese and Beer has been super supportive of my blog and has tremendously helped me grow my Facebook audience.    Go say hi!

Mommy Needs Wine Not Whine:

You can tell this isn’t your average “Mom blog” since I’m not a mom and I follow her.  Totally relatable with her witty and sarcastic sense of humor, Mommy Needs Wine Not Wine posts about being a mom and also “random crap” as she calls it.  I like her especially because she loves wine and she makes fun things like this mug:

Mommy Needs Wine, Not Whine There's a chance this is wine

I’m Stalking Brent Morin

I have a new crush.  I’m going to tell you all about him, but I want to say here and now that I call dibs…so if you’ve already heard of him, or you’re in love with him- FINE- but I want proof time stamped that it happened  before you read this. Because if you aren’t with me….you’re against me!! BRING IT! I will cut a bitch!! (Ooops that is the  Orange is the New Black talking….)

Okay so now that we have that out of the way, let me tell you more about the future Mr. Tracy on the Rocks….His name is Brent Morin and he’s a comedian.  I saw him last week at a comedy club downtown.  Guys, this dude is FUNNY.

Picture a faster-talking, much more insane version of me.  I’m not kidding, he makes my off the wall rants sound like a well organized thesis paper.   He’s all over the place- and I love him.

I decided in between my belly-laughing fits of hysterics during his show that we should totally be together.  Since I’m a realist, I’ve come up with a pros and cons list for why we belong together happily every after.  You can clearly see that my husband selection is a vetted out life plan, not just some willy- nilly schoolgirl crush.


**He was wearing a Red Sox hat on stage.  After further stalking (Also he talked about it in his bit so I didn’t really have to pull out the spy kit), I discovered he is a fellow New Englander- Score!  Someone who won’t make fun of me when I say “wicked.” At Christmas, we can go visit my family first and then his…then swing by Foxwoods for a few quick hands of blackjack, stopping for a Fribble at Friendly’s on the way.  We will have long and meaningful talks about how Dunkin’ Dunuts is far superior to Starbucks, how much the Yankees suck and how stupid everyone who isn’t from Boston sounds when they say, “Pahk the cah in Havahd Yahhd.” Yeah we get it, people talk funny around heah- shut about it already you Chowdaheads!!

**He lives in Los Angeles.  My plan to find an east coast guy and make him fall for me and then convince him to live in SoCal just got a little easier- As part of the plan, I eventually hogtie him and force him to live in San Diego because LA is just too douchy so this point almost ended up on the Con list, but I think I can use my manipulative powers to make this happen.  Or he can live up there and I can live down here and we can just see each other when time permits-I don’t like to feel suffocated or share the covers, so, this could actually work out for the best!  When I go up to visit him, we can go get hotdogs at Pink’s – you KNOW how much I love hotdogs!!- and go see the weirdos on the Boardwalk at Venice.  And of course I’ll go to all his shows and his tapings of this show he’s working on called “Undatable.”  Obviously I would never brag to anyone while was there about who I am…you know I wouldn’t want to take away from his endeavors by shoving him in the shadow of Tracy on the Rocks, so I would make sure to be all incognito and stuff when we were around people in the biz.  You know, because that’s what a partnership is….sacrifice, people.

**He has a gay brother—a gay PROFESSIONAL FIGURE SKAING BROTHER!!!!! Eeeeekkkk- my internal voice just jumped up like 13 octaves.  Can’t you just picture it now?? “Oh hey, let me introduce you to my brother-in-law…  (Not sure his name yet, my stalking isn’t that refined, let’s call him…ummm Mikey, because you know everyone on the east coast is named Mikey) Mikey, go put on that costume you wore for the Winter Olympics and show us your triple axles again, pllleeeaaseee!!!”  (Not that I would treat Mikey like he was some kind of a show pony, that’s messed up.  Mikey and I have an UNDERSTANDING that I have an innate respect for his craft.) Mikey and I would be fast friends, BFF’s even, and he would totally like me because I’ve been in the scene since back when it was okay to call us “Hags” even though that’s not polite anymore.  And I would introduce him to all my gays and we would all do Sunday Brunch together and it would be the best.  And when Brent was being a dumb straight boy jerk (even the best of them can be), Mikey would be there for me.  Because we’re tight like that.   Maybe he even asks me to be his bridesmaid in his wedding but I haven’t gotten that far yet. I mean SLOW DOWN you guys, I just figured out I’m going to be with Brent, stop RUSHING things-GAWD.  Act like I’m desperate or something.

**He openly admitted to having a man-crush on Bradley Cooper.  I don’t really have an explanation for this being on the Pro list except, well….Bradley fucking Cooper.

**He can sing, play the piano and the guitar. That’s just damn sexy.

These eyes: (Need I say more???)

Brent Morin Undatable

Future Mr. Tracy on the Rocks

Cons:  He’s not a giant black man.  Or really giant at all…

(This fact I am willing to overlook because that’s what you do for LOVE, people, you compromise!)


So go check him out and support our future child’s’ college fund!!

His new show Undateable is on Thursdays at 8 on NBC.


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