About Last Weekend | Tuesday Nonsensical Musings


Hey everyone! Happy Tuesday. So this post is a day late because yesterday was the Mondayest Monday to ever Monday, and then I caught the plague and I’m typing this from my deathbed. I don’t get those crazy things called ‘sick days’ silly goose! P’shaw! Literally got a text from The Man…

Greetings from my deathbed where I will work until my last breath, apparently. 

“You can do that from home, right?”


I sure can! Just as soon as I’m done DYING. No big whoop. I’m right on top of that, Rose! 

Anyboozer, I also have to say I’m sorry that there will not be a ‘DWTS’ recap this week, because the plague struck me the second the Presidential Debate started and I was so delirious, I actually posted not one, but TWO almost pro-Trump things on my Facebook, one I had to delete because it was just too fever induced looney tunes even for me. 

So my weekend! Let’s discuss…

I think this sucktastic weekend began with my car driving itself into the ground on Friday afternoon. That’s not even a metaphor. It legitimately went INTO THE GROUND. I talk a bit about this on ‘Stories & Wine’ this week, so be sure to watch. Needless to say, this weekend did not get off on the right foot. 

Rest in Hell, Acura. 

The Man We Call DORIS was being a right dicksicle, and I had a PMS fueled-scream-into-his-voicemail-for-a-full-5-minutes meltdown in the back of an Uber on my way to get a car to drive. He then got the silent treatment the entire weekend, because not only am I hormonal, I’m a passive-aggressive 7-year-old, which meant I was by my onesie all weekend. “TOTALLY FINE BY ME, MEN SUCK!” I wailed into my Indian takeout for one. 

Who wouldn’t want to spend their weekend with me? I’m charming. 

Saturday was low key. Went to 2 hours of dance class to work out some of this hormonal rage, and then retail therapy was in order. I am loving getting back into dance, guys. I was frustrated at first, because if you’ve ever danced, it can take a minute for your ‘dance brain’ to return and pick up choreography. My first class back, I felt like a 400lb heifer with two left feet and about as much finesse as the Tin Man when the teacher was like, “And here you’re just going to do a triple, you know, Tuesday like things.” That resulted in me basically doing a one and a half and stumbling for my balance. But by Saturday, my confidence and skills returned, and I was feeling better about life. 

I bought shirts and groceries. Nothing glamorous there. I have a hard time with fall in the South. Like, I’m used to fall happening now. Not summer part two: Dante’s Revenge. What do you even wear? You can’t wear your summer stuff, because you will be shamed, but you can’t wear boots or even jeans or you will faint from heat exhaustion….it’s a conundrum I have yet to solve. 

I did buy a pumpkin spice candle. Whatever. 

Ate Indian takeout again. 

Sunday I was a lazy cow. I read a book in a hammock by the pool all day…

Can we talk about this stupid book? 

It’s Three Sisters Three Queens by Philippa Gregory. I like her light historical fiction, and it’s good mindless reading. I can usually read one of her books in a Saturday, however, this one took me a good month because it was just plain awful. Not the writing, the writing was the usual, but the character of Margaret Tudor was just the worst. There’s not much written about her in history, and now I think it’s because she was awful and boring at the same time. It’s hard to read a book where there is genuinely no one to root for. 

Then I went and saw Bridget Jones’s Baby. I love Bridget, and this movie was great. No spoilers. Colin Firth FOREVER. I would watch four hours of him reading the phone book. Patrick Dempsey was aiiiight. Like, whatever. I never got the hype with him. Renee, as always, was brilliant and I walked out of there with a smile on my face. 

Ate Indian takeout leftovers. I’m a baller. 

I was so excited for the Bears game on ‘Sunday Night Football.’ I don’t get to see a lot of Chicago sports down here, so whenever my teams are on it’s a treat. Until your football team shows themselves to be stunningly bad, and you decide to go to bed early because you have to work up the guts to acknowledge you left a five-minute psycho screaming voicemail when you have to face The Man in the morning. 

Oh guys…I need a shock collar sometimes. 

“You send me 20 paragraphs about-“

“It wasn’t twenty paragraphs! More like 14 and a half!”

“Why are you yelling?!”

“I’M NOT YELLING THIS IS HOW I TALK. HAVE WE MET, I AM LOUD! (lowers voice) but I will lower my voice if it helps.”

“Now you’re just being a smart ass!” 

“I am not! You always think I’m yelling when I’m just loud! You’re yelling too! I send you emails because I can’t talk to you like this!” 

Hi. We are the world’s most exhausting people. This is why no one can stand us. 

Needless to say, yesterday had a lot of screaming, yelling, him stomping off in a huff, me filming ‘Stories & Wine’ which caused me to send a feverish, wine soaked, blathering text he didn’t respond to because now I’m getting the silent treatment…then the plague hit, and the last thing I saw before I passed out was Donald Trump’s face. 

And that, friends, was the last four days of my life. Envy me. I’m baking him cupcakes for a special occasion tonight, BUT THEY WILL NOT BE MADE WITH LOVE. So, there. 

Next weekend is going to be tons of fun. My friends get back from Germany and we’re doing some fun Halloween stuff on Saturday, and I’m running a half marathon relay on Sunday!