When You Try to be Mom of the Year but You Die from Red Bull and the Kids Get Attacked by Bears.

  Prom totally killed me this time. Partly because I remembered my own prom festivities that resulted in a shit show where at least one person was literally sideways on the ground when her heels sunk into the grass, and she toppled over like a felled tree after sampling the “seasoned” watermelon, so therefore I was panicked

When Nuts Make You Crazy and You Shoot Your Own Eye Out.

Friday I was eating pistachios, partly because they were the only food in my entire house but mostly because I was avoiding paying the pile of pink bills Ryan told me I had to pay* and on my third nut I realized that the reason the pistachio people make commercials touting how healthy it is to gorge on a bag of pistachio nuts rather

I Blame The Horse Pill Antibiotics. And the Paint Fumes. And the Painful Chin Volcano.

So today I thought it would be a good idea to spray paint the baseboard heater thingies in my house, mostly because they have rust stains all over them, and after taking a 23 day staging class I learned that’s like totally ghetto, and when you live in your house too long you stop seeing shit like that,

Dear Mom: I’m Sorry for all the Shit I did to You to Drive You Crazy(ier).

Dear Mom, For Mother’s Day, I’d like to take this moment to say I’m sorry for all the terrible stuff I did to you over the years. You are truly the BEST mom in the world! 1) I’m sorry for telling you the flowering plant I got you for Mother’s Day a few years ago was called Chlamydia,

How The Hell Do You Fail a Trip to Mexico????

You know it’s going to be an awesome Monday when it starts off with a 7 a.m. email wake up alert that begins: HOLA, IF YOU ARE RECEIVING THIS EMAIL, YOUR SON/DAUGHTER IS FAILING MY CLASS, and then you realize your stupid alarm didn’t go off because after 14 fishbowls of chardonnay you set the alarm to PM not AM, so you run out the

Banned from the Gym for a Medical Condition I Don’t Even Have

Yesterday when I got to the gym I realized the Ben Gay I slathered all over my lower back from the grueling 9 hour solo drive from Maryland was making theee entire gym smell like a toxic Christmas tree farm. And old people. And my pungent back was causing every treadmill sprinter/weight grunter to grimace in disgust and keel over

When You Drive Your Car off a Cliff to Scare off the Bears. And They Aren’t Scared.

You know something is terribly wrong when you pull in the driveway at dusk to find your husband leaning out of the bedroom window frantically waving his arms at you to stop your car, and then your kid starts calling you screaming DO NOT GET OUT OF YOUR CAR! And you’re like what motherfucking horror movie is unfolding in my house

When You Try to be like the Pioneer Woman but are More Like Honey Boo Boo’s Mom. On Fire.

This weekend Ryan’s like, “Hey Jules, why don’t you watch one of those cooking shows on TV, and maybe you’ll learn how to cook without burning dinner.” And I’m like, “Who has time for that bullshit?” And Ryan’s all, “I’ve seen you waste an entire day staring at crap made from pallets on Pinterest. So clearly you have the

When People Ask Me If I Like My Job… Yes, Aside from The Serial Killers and Spitting Cat Ladies.

People ask me all the time about real estate. Do I love it? Is it fun? Do I meet interesting people? Really there is never a dull moment, and when you sit around in your navy blue blazer and Chanel scarf* ready for the phone to ring, no one calls. But the minute you’ve had six martinis, and you’re

When You Finally Aren’t The Drunkest, Loudest Person on the Plane. Just the Biggest A-hole.

Ryan and I were totally “those assholes” on the flight. The shitheads who fake a severe case of scabies and lice and Dysentery and Swine Flu so that no one would dare sit in our row because after the last flight where I had to make out with Ethan Hawke after being roofied and groped by Uncle Buck, I just