Sex and the Single Heathen



images (1)

Me: Um…I’m watching that new show You’re the Worst, and it’s borderline porn…it’s amazing.

Ryan: How do I not know about this show?  Ohhhh right, I have kids.

Me: Seriously, you have to DVR it for when they go back to their mom’s.

Ryan: Clearly, you don’t understand that my kids own the DVR.  The last time I looked on that thing, it had 11 taped episodes of “19 Kids and Counting”.

Me: Oh, please save that for when I come over next week, because nothing says ‘hot makeout sesh’ like watching the Duggars and contemplating her clowncar uterus.

Ryan: They’ve probably only done it 19 times.

Me: Yeah, but I’m willing to bet she only felt six of them.

Ryan: Obviously it was the first six, after that she was playing Candy Crush on her phone, over Jim Bob’s shoulder.

Me:  Seriously, what must that bedroom be like?

Ryan: I imagine that they pray during the act,

Me: The only woman in America, who when she yells ‘Jesus’ during sex…is ACTUALLY talking about Jesus.  If you invite the holy spirit while you’re going at it…does that count as a threesome?

Ryan:  I would like to thank you for asking that question via text, so that I’m not next to you when the lightning strikes.

(3 minutes later…)

Ryan: Megan?  MEGAN!?  Please tell me you were letting the dog out, and that you weren’t smited!?  Or is it smote?

Me: Right, because if I’m laying dead on the floor, courtesy of an angry god…grammar matters.

Ryan: I’m glad we agree on this.


So, You Made Your Kid a Co-Dependent, Drug Addict With Literature!



Yes, I know…I know…this is the cheapest attempt at a post, of all damn time, but I’m already back at work, and seriously, this was written so long ago, that the only people who have had to suffer through it were my mother and a few other unfortunate souls who owe me money. I will purposely have a dick-heavy conversation with everyone I know, until one of them says something funny enough that I can write a new post tomorrow. Promise. :)

Originally posted on fisticuffsandshenanigans:


The Giving Tree: Let’s call this book what it really is: A Manual For Codependency.  Seriously.  The tree gives and gives and gives to this kid, turning him into a little ingrate, and then, only at the END, when he’s used the tree up completely, and he has nothing left in his life, does the kid (now an old man, who has no other options) settle for sitting on the tree, and the tree is content with this.  Giving Tree…get thyself to a 12-step meeting.

Goodnight Moon:  And, dear, Lord, I know I’m burning the proverbial Mommy flag on this one, but I must.  As much as my kids loved this book, and as much as I liked reading it (okay, I admit, in part, because it was short), there is a bowl full of mush just laying around collecting botulism…a rodent in a the nursery spreading Hantavirus…

View original 376 more words

I Don’t Think INS Accepts Lipstick Stamps On Your Passport



Caolinn: “Do you know who Jason Derulo is?”

Me: “Yup.”

Caolinn: “Did you know that he had to literally put his entire career on hold for like a year, because he broke his neck?  That’s so sad.”

Me: “Caol…let’s not romanticize this too much..his comeback song is ‘Talk Dirty To Me’, and his follow up song is about a woman wiggling her ass.  This is hardly a tale of spiritual redemption.”

Caolinn: “He’s also engaged to Jordin Sparks.”

Me: “Wasn’t she notorious for wearing a purity ring and waiting for marriage?”

Caolinn: “Yup.”

Me: “Well…guess that ship sailed.”

If This Isn’t PMS, Next Week Is Going To Be ROUGH.


My daughter, the soon to be fifteen-year-old, texting me from drama camp…  Note: my daughter and I both have very similar senses of humor, and she knows I think she’s amazing, so don’t send me crazy messages about how we call each other names…we like it…it works for us.

Caolinn: Mom…Mom…Mom

Caolinn: Mom.


Me: For the love of God, what!?

Caolinn: Pizza Hut took the cookie pizza thing from the Domino’s ad and made it into a thing and I need it NOW.

Me: Ha ha!

Caolinn: Mom, I actually need it. Please take me to get one and I’ll give you ALL MY QUARTERS.

Me: Define “need”.

Caolinn: Need as in I’ll die if I don’t get it.  I will legitimately cease to exist.

Me: I’ll think about it, freakshow.

Caolinn: I’m not a freakshow, I’m a trendsetter, Mother, and I’m also hungry and it’s a goddamn cookie pizza.  How do you not see how IMPORTANT this is!?

Me: Jesus Christ…fine…I’ll get you the cookie pizza.


Me: I think when you get home, we need to discuss the impact that drama camp is having on you, and whether this is a good thing for you to be in, or not.

Caolinn: Can’t…breathe…so….happy…

Me: *sigh*

And I Shall Sing The Song of My People…My, Apparently, Thrifty, Horny People.


Friends…lovers…we need to talk.  For those of you who use WordPress, you know that, as a blogger, they have a spectacularly awesome statistics page which tells you where people are reading you, and how they got there.  Now, either WordPress has added an analytics page, or I’ve just never noticed it, but suddenly, I now get a list of search terms which led people to this blog.  Guys…terrifying…truly.



So…I have a few questions/concerns…

1. What IS “labia minora fun”?

2. Scarier…”Miley Cyrus cover in sperm” or “Canadian singer Corey Hart cock shot”?

3. There’s a superior strip club in Murfreesboro, Tennessee? Is it the best because your sister works there?

4. Raise your hand if you’re surprised that Jon Hamm’s dick is all over this thing.  No one?  I thought so.

5. If you’re looking for hell…Google will lead you here.


Anyone Surprised I Wound Up With A Pox? No? Didn’t Think So.



Universe: “Oh…you start high school today. I think two fresh pimples should do the trick.”

Me: “Noooo! I start TEACHING high school today.”

Universe: “Ohhhh, sorry…teaching high school…then let’s make it three.”

Me: “Fuck.”

You Scream, We Scream, Except For Teenage Girls Who Are Mehhhhh For Ice Cream


(Nothing about that above link is REMOTELY work safe or appropriate, and I love it for reasons that I can’t begin to explain.  I might also have a SLIGHT history of posting it on the walls of my straight male friends, for their birthdays, to make it weird for everyone.)


Ladies and Gentlemen…the difference between a 14-year-old girl and an 11-year-old boy…as demonstrated by an ice cream truck in the neighborhood.

Boy: “Mom! Is that an ice cream truck!? Can we, can we, can we!?”

Girl: (coming out of her room) “What in the hell is that awful noise, and when is it going to stop.  Jesus…there should be a law.”