Dear Missouri,


What did I ever do to you?  Yes, fine, I mock everything that crosses my path and a lesser state might assume* when I move in that it’s only a matter of time.  But so far I’m finding your people delightful, your greenery lush, yet varied and thus not oppressive, (I’m looking at you, pacific northwest) and your food worth crowing about.  Sure, the cheese is… questionable… but it’s easy enough to avoid and thus I’ve not said one unkind word even though I’ve been warned about terrible taxes, can’t get on a plane with my new driver’s license, and everything has taken longer than it should have because of your weird bureaucracies and local customs. 


Side note: this house has no toilet paper holders.  When I pointed it out to Scott (when he came by to do the paperwork on our first day) he said, “here in Missouri we like to hold our paper products, keep ‘em safe.”  Now, I know, and y’all know, that he was full of shit and making excuses for why this janky-ass haunted house doesn’t have a proper place to set your toilet paper roll (there are also no towel bars, in case you’re curious) but he said it with such sincerity, and with such an easy gesture—as though he were cuddling his toilet paper—that for a moment I did wonder.


But back to you, Missouri.  What is your deal?  How the fuck long is your summer?


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Also, I’m a Stripper


We have reached that magical time of year when we fight over the thermostat.


spring expectations vs reality (Tangled sunny garden vs. Emperor's New Groove raining on llama)

I genuinely hate spring.



The issue: in order to avoid the migraines brought on by the sudden increase in humidemies,* I crank the AC to help dry out the air.  Husband, whose back muscles apparently seize up in the cold, comes fe-fi-fo-fumming around to find out why he can see his breath and just like that we’ve got an argument going!


And to think, some couples have to wait until relatives visit or someone has an affair.  #blessed


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