I Know, Guys…I Suck, But Tomorrow, I Might Suck AND Be Rich


Yeah, yeah, yeah…I’ve been slacking with the writing, but I’m going to defend myself and say that I’ve been tied up with Christmas, getting back to work, and my ex-husband holding my children for ransom.  True story.

Anyhoo, one of you, and you know who you are, emailed me, asking if I’d secretly won the lottery and had taken off for parts unknown.  Another of you emailed asking if I was “Seriously dead or just sitting in an asylum and haven’t earned internet privileges, yet”.  I think we can all agree that the second option is far more likely.

Regardless…if any of the following things happen, you’ll know who won the Powerball.

  1. A huge animal rescue opens, called “Megan’s Big Bitches (and boy dogs, too)”.
  2. Sully gets to have his balls back.  Don’t ask how…it’s just going to happen.
  3. Underwires?  Now unbreakable.  You’re welcome.
  4. Tina Fey is on a lifetime retainer to do this, every time one of my children fails to follow a direction already given fifteen times.
  5. My new legal name: “Thelonious McWhiskeydick”.
  6. An army of drones will follow Donald Trump to all public events, dropping piles of dildos on him.
  7. Unicorns become an actual fucking thing.
  8. Ryan is now at the helm of a privately owned newspaper, whose only purpose is to campaign for increased teacher salaries and talk about how sexually inadequate all my exes were.
  9. This blog starts delivering chocolate bars, Willy Wonka style.

    Let’s be honest…this movie was an episode of Criminal Minds with chocolate.

    10. Oprah Winfrey names me one of her new favorite things.

It Should Come As A Shock To No One That I Have A Fucking Mental Problem.


Okay, so I *might* have a well documented school-supply hoarding situation.  Bottom line: if it’s on deep discount, I’ll buy it, and at any given moment, I am completely capable of opening my own OfficeMax.  My coworker used to just find my stash impressive, but now when I text her my victories, she just finds it concerning.

Me: Target clearance!  I just scored 77 spiral notebooks for $8!!!

Michelle: Okay, that’s awesome, but how many can you possibly use?

Me: I use them!

Michelle: You used maybe 20 last year.

Me: See!  I’m covered for almost 4 years!

Michelle: And the 200 you already have in the closet?

Me: Shhhhhh….let me have this.

I Don’t Even Have A Penis, DMV. Fuck You Guys.


Me: Soooo, I got my new plate.

Ryan: You get a good one?

Me: (Sends picture)

Ryan: Haaaaaa!  Can’t. Stop. Laughing.

Me: I am NOT keeping these.

Ryan: Are you sure?  It’ll make you incredibly popular when you park in the student parking lot.

Me: Jesus fucking Christ.

Ryan: Whatever prisoner printed those is currently laughing his ass off.

Me: Can we be clear that the prisoner in question is PROBABLY a former student of mine?

Ryan: Are you going to order vanity plates now?

Me: The irony is, that if I had tried to order this EXACT plate, the DMV would have rejected my request.

Ryan: What are you going to do?

Me: Ughhhhh…I refuse to spend $50 for vanity plates.

Ryan: Well, then…you only have one option.

Me: Which is?

Ryan: Take them to the DMV, wait in line for a few hours, and then explain to a bureaucrat how you don’t want to advertise that you get “BNRS469”.


Ryan: That would make a much better licence plate.

Please, Whatever You Do…Don’t Ask Him How Much A Candy Bar Cost in 1952



(Ironically, my father complains when my daughter texts all the way to school…if only he knew.)

Caolinn: Grandpa’s been complaining about a 20 cent increase in the price of a McMuffin for ten minutes.  Please send a rope.

Me: Snort

Caolinn: “It’s a twenty percent increase!  That’s INSANE!”

Me:That’s fabulous.

Caolinn: Glad you think so, because guess who’s gonna be late to school because of breakfast sandwich inflation?

Me: I’ll call the attendance office.

Caolinn: God, I can’t wait to hear that one.  “Reason for tardy? Depression-era sandwich rage.”

If This Isn’t PMS, Next Week Is Going To Be ROUGH.


My daughter, the soon to be fifteen-year-old, texting me from drama camp…  Note: my daughter and I both have very similar senses of humor, and she knows I think she’s amazing, so don’t send me crazy messages about how we call each other names…we like it…it works for us.

Caolinn: Mom…Mom…Mom

Caolinn: Mom.


Me: For the love of God, what!?

Caolinn: Pizza Hut took the cookie pizza thing from the Domino’s ad and made it into a thing and I need it NOW.

Me: Ha ha!

Caolinn: Mom, I actually need it. Please take me to get one and I’ll give you ALL MY QUARTERS.

Me: Define “need”.

Caolinn: Need as in I’ll die if I don’t get it.  I will legitimately cease to exist.

Me: I’ll think about it, freakshow.

Caolinn: I’m not a freakshow, I’m a trendsetter, Mother, and I’m also hungry and it’s a goddamn cookie pizza.  How do you not see how IMPORTANT this is!?

Me: Jesus Christ…fine…I’ll get you the cookie pizza.


Me: I think when you get home, we need to discuss the impact that drama camp is having on you, and whether this is a good thing for you to be in, or not.

Caolinn: Can’t…breathe…so….happy…

Me: *sigh*

Unless The Question Is, “What Sucks?”, Then Cash Is Always The Answer.




(A text conversation, in which I HOPE autocorrect is to blame.)

Pam: If your students do a presentation for the parents, and the parents get you a thank you…what’s your preference? $10 bouquet flowers or $10 Starbucks card?

Me: Gift card…always the gift card.

Pam: My friend said, ‘flowers are classy’. And I’m thinking fuck classy, three kids in this class ate dicks. The teachers need coffee damn it, not flowers.

Me: Um…what?

Pam: “Are” NOT “ate”!!!

Me: If three kids ate dicks…you’re gonna have to spend more than $10, and might I suggest instead of Starbucks, you put the cash toward some attorney’s fees.

A Foot-Long Italian, Indeed.



In telling this story, I am admitting that I am the asshole, sitting on their cell phone while ordering at Subway.  In my defense, my friend, Drew, knew what I was doing, so he was “on hold” the entire time I was ordering.  And by “on hold”, I mean a man who sometimes makes $1200/hr was sitting on my phone, listening to me tell a guy who makes $7.25/hr that, yes, I do want more banana peppers on that.

Me: “That one will be a six-inch teriyaki chicken on wheat, please.”

Subway Guy: “Hey, I’m going to put double meat on it, but don’t worry, I won’t charge you.” (wink)

Me: “Oh…um…thanks, that’s very sweet of you.”

Subway Guy: “Go ahead and grab the large cup, too, it’s hot outside.”

Me: “Oh…are you sure?”

Subway Guy: “Yeah, no problem.  You’re in here a lot.” (wink)

Me: “Well…thank you.”

Drew: “Are you getting mother fucking hit on…AT SUBWAY!?”

Me: (walking out) “What?  No!  He’s like 23!”

Drew: “Megan, I’ve seen you get hit on before…granted, this is the first time it was while the other person was wearing plastic gloves.”

Me: “He was just using good customer service, since I’m in there all the time.”

Drew: “Megan, he just gave you ‘double meat’ for free…how much more literal can he get?  I’m surprised he didn’t offer you the ‘other six inches on the house’.”

Me: “Ew.”

Drew: “He was two seconds from offering to give you something else to ‘eat fresh’.”

Me: “Seriously, ewww…you’re ruining my free sandwich upgrade, here.  He was NOT hitting on me.”

Drew: “They don’t offer me free double meat.”

Me: “Yeah, but you’re rich.  And a dick.”

Drew: “What are you wearing?”

Me: “Now, YOU’RE hitting on me.”

Drew: “No, if I was hitting on you, I’d at least have the intelligence to offer you a free cookie.  Anyone who knows you, knows that you’re only slutty for carbs.”

Me: “Why are we friends, again?”

Drew: “Because I write all your prescriptions for free…which you THINK would get me something, but no.”

Me: “Flonase isn’t sexy.”

Drew: “Right.  But fast food cookies…that’s a ticket to romance.”