So You Found My Blog on Google: Here are the Answers You Were Looking For

As something of a great American success story (28, female, lives alone, one cat, middle manager, KILLIN IT), I feel a duty to help others who are in search of answers. One way that people find answers is by asking search engines like Google.  These searches are easily the most embarrassing thing anyone will find about me when I die.  I've asked Google about whether my cat will eat me if I die and no one finds me, about all manner of vile illnesses that I'm convinced I have, and in one especially shameful episode, the age of consent in the UK. One of the fun things about having a blog is seeing what people Googled to end up on your blog...or so I thought.  Some SEO science magic has brought some of the coolest and some of the scariest people of the world to my blog.  They didn't find their answers here, so I am providing them now.


To get right to it, sir or madam, the answer is a resounding "YES." I'm sorry.   Chances are, you asked Google this because someone already hexed you with scabies and you are just checking to be sure.  Scabies, being an epidermal illness, is easy to hex someone with because unlike viruses or bacterial infections, the hex does not require you to know the person's blood type or ethnic heritage. I don't make up the rules about hexes, I just report them.

If you answer "Yes" to any of the following, you too might be at risk of a scabies hex.

  • Did a recent love-interest-gone-sour have any or all of the following DVDS in their collection: The Craft, The Witches, The Witches of Eastwick, The Witch of Blackbird Pond,  Eve's Bayou, or any season of the WB's "Charmed"?
  • Did you this year, or at any time in the last ten years, attend Burning Man?
  • Did you recently meet an elderly woman in a swamp?
  • If you answered yes to the above, did you cross her?
  • If you answered yes to the above, WHY? EVERYONE KNOWS SWAMP LADIES DO SCABIES HEXES.

And now you know.

I just can't with this bitch.


Oh you make me chuckle.  There is not a single adjective to describe these people. But some ideal choices include "trendy" "bold" "choice" "spectacular" "exquisite" and "iconic." This is by no means an exhaustive list.  I assume you were writing a trend piece on the hottest tastemakers in interior design, if you come back , please leave a link to your piece in the comments.

Because he is probably better looking than your family.


To ask if Leonardo DiCaprio is still throwing parties is to misunderstand the essence of him entirely. Leo doesn't throw parties, he IS a party.  To your first question, I have asked his personal assistant for today's itinerary and provided below.

9:00-10:30am: Wake up, brush teeth, peel Lukas Haas off the couch after another all-nighter.

10:30-12: Emoji text-war with Martin Scorsese. Marty, WHAT A CHARACTER, AM I RIGHT? (Ed Note: PA confirmed that Marty won the emoji text war)

12-3: Have sex with lingerie model of Slavic origin who was three years old when Titanic was released in theaters.

3:30-5pm: Visit the gravesite of Knut the German Polar Bear. 

5:30-midnight: Pop. Lock. Pop. Lock. Pop. Lock.



Resources for the Homeless Can be Found Here:

Bellevue Hospital Can be Found Here:,0,7467693700886689760&ei=VXcCUpCSB43trQe4zYEg&ved=0CK0BEPwS

True Fact: As a city hospital, Bellevue cannot refuse anyone, so people literally fly from all over the world to go there, so it doesn't matter where you Googled from, there is help for you in our fair city!


Being an angsty teenager is hard, I know. My advice to you is to  keep your head up, don't sext with anyone unsavory (and since you're in high school, that is almost everyone), and keep this angst to yourself until you find an appropriately sadsack venue. Examples include: Concerts by teen bands at the local Y, Hot Topic, and Benedict Cumberbatch fan fiction message boards.

And remember, angsty teens eventually turn into MIDDLE MANAGER SWANS so fret not, little one. #itgetsbetter



Ways My Mom is Cooler Than Me: Elvis Chat Edition

This is the story of the time my mom could have totally married Elvis Presley and BLEW IT. Come, let's take a journey. My mother Gail grew up in a small town in Arkansas just west of Memphis, TN in the 1960s.  My mom, her sister, and their good friend were total babes in that way that so many Southern teens from the 60s were so naturally, they thought they had a decent chance of banging Elvis based on proximity to his home and his penchant for underaged tang. So their friend Frances was the babeliest babe of them all and had the tits (I refuse to use balls as an indicator of courage) to approach the security guard at Graceland and ask for the phone number to the house.  I've never seen a picture of Frances but I imagine her kinda like this:


So duh, she got the digits.

As the three gathered around what I always imagine was a comically large puke green rotary phone (60s, Arkansas, ya know) and dialed, Frances suddenly lost her tits and handed the phone to my then twelve year old mom.  A sultry, unmistakeable voice answered.



My mother attempted to hang up but the older girls pulled the phone away.   She timidly introduced herself as Debbie (She started going by her middle name of Gail later in life so as not to be confused with that bitch that shills cupcakes in the bonnet).  My mother describes the rest of the conversation in less detail but from what I've gathered, it went something like this.

"Hi Debbie. How did you get this number?"

"I...don't know."

"How old are you, Debbie?"

"Almost 13."


"That's a great age, Debbie." ( Okay, he didn't say that, but you know, he was a perv so he probably thought it)


"So how did you get this number, Debbie?"

"I can't tell you."

"Well if you tell me who gave you this number, I can give you tickets to a screening at the Orpheum."

Apparently, Elvis used to rent out the Orpheum Theater for private screenings with all his BFFs.  An inner circle that my mom could  have TOTALLY been a part of if she had just gotten it together on this call.

"Oh, I...I really can't."


"Okay, Debbie, well you have a good night."



So look, I realize that he was probably trying to figure out who gave out his number so he could fire the guy that gave it out willy nilly like that.  But...BUT just maybe he really wanted to invite my mom and her friends to a screening at the Orpheum and then totally bone and/or marry them! I would gladly sacrifice ever having come into existence if my mom had had the chance to be Mrs. Elvis Presley, cause she's a great lady and deserves.... the lifetime of self-doubt and relentless feelings of regret and shame that Priscilla Presley got from being married to that egomaniacal, mommy-issue ridden man...wait, nevermind. But it could have been different for her!

Ugh, the closest I've ever been to my celebrity musician crush was when I met Billy Corgan in a time when he was way past his prime, performing solo at one of the jankiest venues in San Diego.  He was his usual cranky ass self, signed a poster and wouldn't flash even a little bit of his snaggle tooth for our pictures.  Moms, they have all the luck.