It’s Pumpkin Spice Equinox, Bitches.

I am literally shitting pumpkin spiced foods and beverages out my ears at this point, that is how much I am up in this fall business.

I have been for weeks.

Every year, I find myself here. Writing a blog post about how fucking fabulous fall is. Others have done the same, about decorative gourds season, and about the bliss that comes with the best fucking season of all seasons to ever exist.

Eventually I get sick of it. I tire of the maple candles and the apple picking and the farm stands and the pumpkin spiced flavors and the basic bitch UGG boots. Then I move on to Hallmark movies and cherry and cinnamon flavor palettes and holiday music and putting my tree up before Thanksgiving.

But for now, it’s fall. It’s fall and I am in my zone.

I’ve reached the point where I stop procrastinating on the Halloween costumes, and they begin to take their final form. My two oldest kids – 15 and 11 – still dress up to please their brother, and I am ready. I am ready to sew, tuck, pin, and hot glue that shit together like the most Pinteresty Mom you’ve ever known.

My fall display has been out on the front porch for several weeks now, but I’m ready for phase two: excessive fall display. I’m talking hay bails, I’m talking corn stalks, I’m talking fucking potted marigolds.

Two weeks before Halloween, it will morph to Halloween-themed.

November 1st, we move back to excessive fall display with a flair of Thanksgiving.

And about a week before Thanksgiving, the Christmas bonanza takes over and my fall display moves to the table for Thanksgiving dinner.

I have a system. I’m ready. It’s go time.

As I am typing this, I’m actually – legitimately – sitting here, yelling -nay, screaming – in my Steroid Starla voice: LET’S DO THIS! LET’S GO! Because fall is my jam, and I’ve got my canning gear out.

Literally. I’m ready to make some pickles. To pickle some watermelon rinds. To give salsa and pesto and spaghetti sauce another go around. To make up some fucking fruit butters and canned pie fillings. I hate cooking, and I especially loathe the heat and load of canning. And yet the thought of spending an entire day over a steaming pot of vinegar and boiling water has tingles shooting out of every hole of my Martha Stewart reading – water bath canning – yes, I can do this and no, none of us are going to get a deadly intestinal disease from improper processing – head.

And the icing on this fall’s apple cake is: we seem to have escaped our typical, autumnal heat wave. For quite a few years, it would be a muggy 105 degrees for several weeks through September and October. We would slog around in the heat, wondering how we could ever celebrate autumn when it feels like we live on the equator in the middle of summer.

But – fingers crossed – with the exception of a couple days of heat here, and a few days of humidity there – it is cooling down.

Cooling down for, you guessed it: layers.

The thing I’m loving this year is the new appreciation for basic ass girls like me being into this shit. Like finally people are standing up to the naysayers of all-things-pumpkin spice and proclaiming: NO! You will not make fun of me for enjoying the fusion of nutmeg and cloves! NO! You will accept and embrace the addition of cinnamon to create a trifecta of flavors that have literally been around for centuries. “You know pumpkin spice doesn’t even have pumpkin in it!” the naysayers proclaim, and finally we are there, ready to respond: no shit … it’s called pumpkin spice because it’s the spice used in pumpkin pie, you ignorant, nutmeg-hating twats.

So today is the first day of fall and I’m feeling fabulous about it. I’ve got crafts staged in the garage, and pumpkin spice pancake mix prepped in the fridge for breakfast. It’s Pumpkin Spice Equinox, bitches.

STFU Fridays: And the award goes to …


The other night we watched this movie called Goats. It was actually a pretty good flick, although the mother of the main character was into this New Age free-spirit thing. She did mental cleansing. She’d talk about her inner energy – very annoying.

That said, there was one scene towards the end where she was just screaming out all her anger and hostility and stress. She just screamed and screamed until she felt better.

Imagine me doing that now – standing outside in a hippy, New Age outfit. Screaming GO FUCK YOURSELF. This is called the B(itch)Log for a reason, right? Guh…

And the award for biggest a-hole of a husband goes to …

Is this the first time I’ve talked shit about my husband on this blog? No. Will this be the last? Probably not.

My husband started carpooling just under a month ago, and since he began the carpool has been … turbulent. By turbulent I mean that at least once a week (of the four days out of the week that they carpool), the woman is late. Her track record at present is extreme lateness 25% of this past 3 weeks. I have the text messages to prove it.

The most egregious has been when she showed up at 7:30 pm (instead of 6) to pick him up a few weeks ago; and, worse, yesterday when she asked him to wait from 6 until a whopping 8 o’clock at night to pick her up.

The reason why this makes him the a-hole, though, is that if it were something we did he would be all over my ass about it. He’d be yelling at me and arguing that I’ve done whatever it was I did wrong. If I had even requested him to go out of his way for me – it would be an offense worthy of divorce. But this bitch gets to just ride. I just don’t understand the complicated nature of being an editor. The demands on her – I should be sympathetic. She really is trying to get into a better situation at work!! He is just trying to save some money!! The Pookies should just accept the fact that he is never home.

Fuck. That. And shut the fuck up, husband. If people are not in a position at work to abide by some basic carpooling etiquette (the biggest one being the “five minutes or find your own ride” rule), then they shouldn’t be in a carpool. I understand wanting to save money, but that is only one part of life. If you cannot manage everything – you have no balance and your life is about as meaningful as the fly that has no reason for existing other than to die 15 minutes after it was born.

My life does not need to be dictated by a complete stranger’s career.

And the award for rude people who thinks their shit smells like daisies goes to …

People that do not have the common courtesy to graciously decline an invitation.

I mentioned in my blog the other day that we are having a birthday party for my dad – a surprise party. I was stressing the other day because quite a few people canceled their RSVPs, but then in the last few days quite a few more have said they are coming. It’s all evening out, but what isn’t evening out are the people that cannot even give the common courtesy of a “thanks for the invite, but we can’t make it.”

My mother in law told me a few weeks ago that common practice now is that if you say nothing it means no. That is SO FUCKING RUDE. What in the hell happened to a basic commonality of respect? We all know you opened the invite. You open mail when you get it, don’t you? You opened the email – Evite and Facebook told me so! Is this to say that your lack of response really means that you think you are too fucking busy, in your all important life, to just hit “reply” and say “sorry, can’t make it?!”

I’ve got news for you: rude, two-bit motherfuckers that think your shit smells like daisies. You ain’t all that. That’s right, I said ain’t! And that you ain’t it!! Get the fuck over yourselves! You are just as important as the rest of us (which, sadly, is pretty unimportant). Shut the fuck up with your pompous arrogance, and send a regret.

And the award for breeding stupidity goes to …

Apple! WHAT THE FUCK, Apple.

Imagine my brain this morning when I opened Safari to see they had launched their new “funness” campaign. That’s right, motherfuckers – you read that right. FUNNESS. As in a lot of fun, only in a stupid fucking word that doesn’t exist.

This reminded me of Gain’s Gooder campaign. Remember that bullshit? I contacted Gain and those fucking assholes responded that their customers liked the word Gooder. I bet they did, motherfuckers. I bet they did. Then the other day I saw a McDonald’s billboard that said their McFish bites are “epic-er.” While I’m sure the diarrhea those nasty little fish fuckers produce is epic, my eyes went crossed when I saw the word and I almost veered off the road.

Shut the fuck up, Apple! Stop making people stupid, advertisers! It is possible to be grammatically correct and still have a catchy ad. Dumbfucks.


Clearly I’m in a mood today. Everything is pissing me off, we’re going to be watching the Academies on Sunday (which always makes me angry with that gratuitous back-patting), and as I said before – I really am ready to go postal. I gotta’ get out of here. Get some air that isn’t filled with California smog and narcissistic tendencies. For now it’ll be a Valium. And some wine. I’m going to go have a Merlo-lium cocktail and shut the fuck up. You should too.

The Hipster Apocalypse

Does anyone else remember the days when you went into a MAC store to get your computer fixed and you were able to talk to people who actually looked like they should be working on computers? Donning pocket protectors, tight pants, collared shirts, and always wearing bottle-rimmed glasses, a diagnosis of your coveted machine was given to you through the nasally tones of someone you actually trusted had gone to school to specialize in caring for your device. This seems to be a thing of the past, though. Now, when you go into your local Apple store to hit up the “Genius Bar,” you are confronted with something far from a cadre of geniuses and erudites in the field of computers. No, instead when you step foot into the store (each of which is far too modern, white, and rounded for its own good), you are confronted with the enemy: hipsters.

Don’t get me wrong: I will never use a computer that is not an Apple/Macintosh product. I truly believe that Apple products are far superior to Windows-based PCs. I’m one of those people. I covet my Macbook, iPad, and iPod; without them I am at an utter loss.

That said, I’m getting just a little tired of going into my local Apple store for a repair, an update, a question, or a new accessory, only to be assaulted by an onslaught of hipsters. As if this new trend were not on every corner of every street, every ad in every shop-window, I have to be confronted by them at a time when the stress of a broken computer, or the upsettedness of another required purchase, is at its height.  Something about this just seems wrong.

Mod glasses and excessive plaid be damned:  Apple is quite clearly the headquarters of The Hipster Apocalypse.  An average Apple visit goes something like this:

First, upon walking in the door, the hipster guards are all milling around waiting to check you in for your appointment.  There are (on average) at least fifteen of them, all standing around, carrying iPhones.  One time I had an appointment for technical support that was two hours before the store opened and twenty people (all with the obnoxious blue employee t-shirts and check-in iPhones) were hanging around the front, looking something like these guys:

After breaking through the army of hipster guards, I am finally checked in for my appointment.  A little known fact is that you actually need an appointment to do anything at the Apple store.  On one occasion, I went in to purchase a case for my new iPad and the employee showing them to me told me he had to schedule and check me in for an appointment before we could proceed with the purchase.  The reason for this unnecessary Apple beaurocracy remains to be seen.

While heading to the back of the store to wait by the Genius Bar until one of the “Geniuses” calls my name, I pass by a series of islands for various purposes.  At some of the islands, there are products.  It never fails that this chick is checking her email for free:

There’s almost always someone being taught how to use their Macbook (because it isn’t made as simple and self-explanatory as is humanly possible, right? . . .); the employees always in lounge pose:

And as if the contemporary beat-nick, no-showering hipster mentality hadn’t truly hit hard with the employees, there are always some yupster children running around the games section, conveniently placed right next to the Genius Bar so that people in for free help must know that hipsters really do rule at Apple.

Finally, my name is called and I head to the Genius Bar for a non-genius to fix my computer.  At the Genius Bar, the true effect of the hipster culture at the Apple store is at its worst.  Mundane conversations about bands and being emotional always extend the appointments well beyond the time needed to simply fix the actual computer.  People that think they are cool by virtue of their iPhone ownership are always milling around, tapping and honing in on the appointments to offer their superior knowledge of Apple products.  And the employees (whose New Hire Handbook must have come with a pair of thick, square glasses and focused on how to make your pants as tight as possible) are generally too busy pushing their Phil Spector-hair out of their eyes to actually listen to what is going on with the computers:

Usually when I leave the Apple store, I feel unsatisfied.  Yes, my computer is fixed.  Typically I find the accessory or help that I need.  On occasion, I even come away with something for free.  But the pangs of disappointment always grip me as I leave the store, each and every time.  Usually it’s because the hipsters were just so intolerable that I felt like I needed to punch something when I got in the car.  But every once in a while, it’s because I wish I were as cool as those really cool, emo hipsters.  I wish I could rock dirty, tight pants; overly wooly sweaters, plaid shoes and hot pink thick-rimmed glasses.  I wish I could slouch everywhere I went and fro my hair out.  And more than anything, I walk away from an Apple store dripping with jealousy, for as a non-hipster, an uncool “square,” I never get the hipsters fistbump at the end of my transaction:

While this blog does not condone or encourage violence, of course exceptions can be made when it comes to hipsters:  tomorrow is the first ever “Punch a Hipster Day.”  Join the revolution against The Hipster Apocalypse!  For more information, click here.