mama drama

My mom is begging me to come to her house for Thanksgiving this year, and I don’t know how to tell her no. There are a bunch of completely valid reasons why I cannot and will not go to her house for Thanksgiving. I hate knowing it’s going to hurt her feelings. I’ve invited her to my house the last few years, but she’s adamant it be at her place. I have even offered to do all the driving, since she keeps telling me she doesn’t have a car.

A brief list of the reasons why I’m not going:

  • My understanding is that her current boyfriend is manipulative and abusive. She lives with him. He has taken over our conversations before when I call and tries to manipulate me into doing what he wants/doesn’t let her talk, etc. Fuck that. I’m not supporting that situation by going to his house and pretending like I actually like and/or approve of this relationship. Nope.
  • His house is absolutely awful, like derelict, and maybe should be condemned.
  • It’s in the middle of nowhere about two hours from my house.
  • I’d have to board my dog on fucking Thanksgiving because I can’t take him with us.
  • D and I don’t have our kids on Thanksgiving this year, so we’re planning to hang just us two and do our thing. We want to be chill. Nothing about going to my mom’s will be chill.

To be honest, we are just not that close and it feels like a big ask. I know it probably isn’t, but it feels like it to me, and I just don’t want to waste anymore of my time pretending like we are a big happy family when we just aren’t.

August blog challenge: day 7

Truthful Tuesday –

My favorite thing about my New York Times app subscription is the daily mini crossword.

I love my kids very much, but holy fuck I’m looking forward to a night alone with the husband tonight.

I love my cat very much, but I love my dog more, because he obviously loves me more, and I’m addicted to feeling loved.

The week in the cabin has me obsessed with the idea of upgrading from a queen to a king sized bed. My insomnia often has me tossing and turning most of the night, and I enjoyed how much more room I had to do so.

I give the impression that I have my life together, but I am, in fact, a bit of a mess. I need to be more organized and on top of shit. In fact, I really need to take a mini staycation to just organize my life.

The first half of this year was really kind of terrible for me, but I feel like I’m about to put all that behind me now. At the same time, I’m worried that if I think everything is about to get better, it will actually get worse.

My self-esteem is in the toilet. Every day some weird little thing happens that reminds me that I’m getting older, and while I’m grateful for the privilege, I’m also not ready to be invisible in the way that so many older women seem to be. I probably never will be. This has been particularly difficult to deal with recently due to my hysterectomy and oophorectomy.

On the flip side, the beauty of getting older is that I find myself giving way fewer fucks about so many things that used to cause a lot of anxiety. It is very liberating to see how so much of what people say and do is just utter fucking nonsense that I don’t need to concern myself with any longer.

a few truths

  1. I set up a joint Instagram account for the kids, which I manage, because they begged me for an account where they could post pics of the pets. I told them the rules, one of which is: I can follow you, but you cannot follow me. Lol.
  2. Speaking of social media, I’ve been hate following a blog for a few years now, and lately it has been an epic trainwreck that I just can’t look away from. It’s almost like a reality tv show. It’s a guilty pleasure of mine.
  3. I have no idea wtf I’m doing, and I’m not sure how I’ve managed to convince so many people that I do. In reality: i feel like i’m drowning.


The ex and I told Jackson about Gracie. That went about as well as you’d imagine. He’s heartbroken…obviously.

So tomorrow afternoon it’s happening. I’m seriously sad. I’m also annoyed that the ex’s gf is insisting on being there. I mean…really?? So I guess I get to ugly cry in front of her. Even my ex is like yeah I wish she wasn’t coming. Ugh…catch a fucking hint. She’s not your dog. She was never your dog. She’s never going to be your dog. This is hard enough without adding her into the mix. I don’t have anything against her, but she’s going to make an awful situation extremely awkward. Fuck.

Can you tell I’m in a bad mood?

Oh and I’m pretty sure I have a raging sinus infection, but I’m too sick and tired and sad to do anything about it right now.

Maybe tomorrow.

It’s a vicious cycle.

You can’t just walk away from 500 active cases, no matter how much you want to, and you still need to make money, so you have to take on even more cases. And this goes on and on and on for the rest of your fucking life until you just drop dead from the stress of it all.

That’s what it’s like being a lawyer.

Oh and you likely paid like $100,000.00 for the privilege.

truthful tuesday: it’s tuesday, right?

  • I keep starting and deleting posts.
  • I’m just not feeling it, and by it, I basically mean anything and everything.
  • If this bitch mumbles something under her breath one more time…
  • I’m not into the holidays so much this year. I was for a while, but then I just stalled out. I don’t care about making the rest of the cookies. I don’t care about shopping for presents. I don’t even care about getting presents. Fuck presents. It’s not like we don’t have enough shit as it is.
  • I went to drop Bismarck off for his first day at doggy daycare this morning, but ended up driving off because that place was sketch as fuck. It’s looks like it’s at someone’s house. Fuck that shit. You need to warn a bitch about shit like that. My neighbor recommended them to me and now I want to give her all the side eye. I’m not leaving my dog at some grubby, meth shack to be neglected and likely leave with fleas. NO THANKS.
  • Luckily, D has found a posh place in Chesterfield that is on my way to work and looks way more like what I was expecting. $400/month for doggy daycare. We’re those people now.
  • Whatever. We can afford it.
  • I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of paperwork.
  • As per usual, incompetence abounds.
  • I hate that shit where somebody waits until the last minute to do something, which then becomes an emergency for them, and then they think that means it is now also an emergency to me. NOPE.
  • Managing people is the fucking worst sometimes. Sometimes I daydream about quitting and doing doc review instead.
  • I had four Facebook messages this morning and three of them were friends/acquaintances asking for legal advice and/or help. #lawyerlife
  • I’m so fucking chubby. *lol sob*
  • I know, I know. “Oh, Jenn, your size small dress feels a little tight. Boo hoo poor baby.” But what the fuck ever this is my blog and I’ll do what I want, and I want to wine about my mom bod and chub roll.
  • I’m grumpy as fuck today.
  • And I have zero motivation right now to do anything about it.
  • Honestly, though…beer would help. Beer me. Now. Please.

Truthy Tuesday 

I fucking love Halloween. Always have. I’m glad I’m with someone now who doesn’t shame me for it. 

That said, my ex looked sad when I left tonight. He likes having the family together, I think. I feel bad for his gf, honestly. It’s a whole thing. 

I love Marilyn Manson. Idgaf. His covers of Personal Jesus and Sweet Dreams are fucking legit. 

I had an hour long phone conversation today with a female colleague I’ve never cared for, but I’ve changed my mind about her. She’s smart and articulate and she’s paved the way for women like me in the bk bar. Mad props to her. 

I can admit when I’ve been wrong. 

In other news, I need to stop letting someone else get under my skin. What’s  that meme about not letting people have space in your head??? That. STAHP.

I’m maintaining my weight and that’s my goal for the honeymoon. Because I’m going to DRINK. 

And fuck. 

Eat, drink, and be merry. For tomorrow we’re dying. 

We’re out on the town tonight and I’m only blogging because D is picking up the bbq while I watch the drinks. 

We’re watching PA2 when we get home. 

Happy, happy. 💙

WHEW Dr. Frankenstone is fucking me up.