Cowgirl Boots

I don’t like country music. I don’t like country themed rooms. I don’t like countries.

That last one might not be as true.

I think it’s great that country music and southern culture is a part of people’s lives. It just never struck a cord with me. However, when asked to close my eyes and imagine a place where I’m most calm and happy, I end up thinking of a field out in the country with an old house and a wrap-around porch. Maybe some horses hanging out outside and some oinkies too.

This week I’ll be visiting Colorado, for the first time, for a family trip. My mom mentioned that maybe while we’re out there I could get some cowgirl boots. I’ve never been inclined to buy cowgirl boots and frankly, I don’t think they’d fit over my meaty calves, BUT when she mentioned this, I was struck with a memory from the 3rd grade. My mom had taken me to buy saddle shoes (the kind you see at a 1950’s sock hop, because that is how I chose to express myself at eight) and there on a shelf were the most BEAUTIFUL cowgirl boots I had ever seen.

They were white, with a dark brown heel, and had 3 balloons on them. One red, one yellow, one blue.

My mom said I would never wear them and so we didn’t get them. *lays on top of 40-foot shoe pile* I had no idea what she was talking about.

I’ll know my life has meaning if I find those boots again. Preferably in my size. With extra-wide calves.

Maybe some day, when I’m laying with the oinkies, and the horsies, and maybe even some chickies, in a field with my big house and wrap-around porch out back, (I’ll figure out how avoid making run-on sentences) I’ll look down at my feet and they will be blessed with my sweet little balloon boots.


Where in the World is Lolo Sandiego?


That’s my new happenin’ slang phrase!


That’s okay, I’ll get to talk to you about my day and nights, which are just me eating different things and sitting down with my sick obsession of trying to make myself laugh. And you precious babies too, I want you to laugh and when you have wrinkles around your eyes when you’re older you can look at yourself in the mirror and blame me for having such lovely character in your face. (Or send me a bill for all your anti-aging cosmetics). HEHE.

Off topic. Back on topic. Question of the day: Where have you travelled? 

I’ve travelled to some places. Furthest south I’ve gone was on a trip to Mexico, or as my family likes to refer to it as “the vacation from hell.” I’ll tell you that story another time.

The furthest I’ve gone west is Ohio, where I lived for a few years, and recently visited to be in my best friend’s wedding (I was Julia Roberts [no I wasn’t]).

The furthest I’ve gone north is Maine, during a gay pride motorcycle rally, which was scary and adorable.

AND the furthest I’ve gone east is where I’m sitting right now (half true, but I’m not going to tell you which half).

I would like to travel more because I like the thought of being somewhere I’ve never been before and having that experience, but also being someplace that’s experiencing me for the first time too.

Ew, there’s a non fair-trade hair in my organically grown bark coffee.

Alright well, it’s Friday, so it’s time to put on my shark pajamas and spend 4 hours sweating in them trying to make a 15 second video of a Troll doll doing the Macarena.

Until next time my little waffle tarts!

Bucket List


Half way through the Blog Challenge!

Today’s questions is…

What’s at the top of your bucket list?

Right now I’m working on one of my top goals which was “watch every episode of the X-Files.” 

I’m almost done with it! 

Some others include “go on vacation (to white sand beach/luxury hotel)” and “become famous.” There’s also something on there about patting an elephant. They seem nice.

My stand-up class is almost over! 

I’m going to be sad once it’s over, but it’s been a lot of fun taking it. 

My showcase is coming up next week, so I’ve been mumbling to myself a lot, trying to remember lines. 

Well, I can’t stick around, I’ve got to shampoo my hair and burn it straight.

Until next time, my little shartdonays!

Comedy Cruise!

And I’m not using that as a schticky nickname for when Tom Cruise is being a snarky little tart.

But really, there is a comedy cruise! I’ve been eyeing this puppy for a few weeks now. There are going to be some great people on there like Maria Bamford, Marc Maron, and the beloved Eugene Mirman.

Here be the link! —> <—

They have a payment plan for tickets if, like me, you dedicate too much of your paycheck to iced coffee.

There will also be music going on there too! But Jesus, I’m not going to give you all the details. You have to go look for yourself and be amazed.

Okay, until next time, my sweet roast ducks!

Perks of Living on Cape Cod: A (Rejected) List

BEHOLD! Another rejected list submission.

Perks of Living on Cape Cod

Your diamond bracelets second as napkin rings for your surprise picnics on the beach!


You know ALL of the Kennedy cousins, and are close friends with Shecky, Harpo, and Twanda Kennedy.

Those Madras Bermuda shorts look great on the golf course. And that seagull golf club cover? You are too much!

A belt to match every set of loafers with little whales, little crabs, and adorable little sailboats. I am in Heaven!

Meeting David Sedaris

By “meeting” I mean, “I hope to be meeting David Sedaris this Sunday when I go to his lecture in Boston.” The sweat beads are already pouring down my bleached mustache. I’ve never been to an author’s event before, so I’ve been doing some prep work and researching on how David (I decided we need to be on a first name basis if we are going to be best friends) interacts with his readers. By all appearances he seems to a nice guy, a gentleman, someone who is concerned with the well-being of his readers. He really cares. OR he is a master illusionist, like the old man in The Prestige who carried the giant fishbowl between his legs. He commits to the act. Even if that’s true, I still find myself in an utter panic trying to figure out what I’m going to wear. Would he like my gold sparkle oxfords or the zebra ones? He could find them hellacious, daring, or even delightfully tacky. Either way, it could make or break our trip to Cabo together, where we share laughs in slow motion over breezy exotic music you hear in those resort commercials.

Regardless of what I’m wearing, even if it’s evening ball gown, no amount of unique style and flare could set me apart from the crowd of adoring fans better than my nervous stammer. I would call it a stutter, but that implies that you might have some control over your life. A stammer is for hillbillies in the back woods, licking their lips as you lotion your elbows, repeating words in incoherent sentences. It’s something I can’t really help, but I’m hoping it won’t get me escorted from the premises. 

I’ll let you guys know how it goes, but I think as long as you have the news on, you’ll be able to get the gist.