A Handmaid’s Tale Anxiety

I just completed the first 5 episodes of Margaret Atwood’s A Handmaid’s Tale, which has been adapted into a television series on Hulu. OMG! It stressed the hell out of me. I haven’t sleep in 3 days.

I have had latent anxiety for many years about the possibility of the US being overtaken by a bunch of religious extremists and A Handmaid’s Tale exacerbated that anxiety, big time. Don’t get me wrong. I love a good dystopian story. Loved The Hunger Games. Loved The Maze Runner. Loved The Giver. But this one was way too real, way too relevant.

I think I may just try to go back to worrying about salad bars and porcelain dolls. That was a far easier life.

PS: If you would like hear me talk about my fear of salad bars and porcelain dolls, you can always find me on my podcast or on my website, and feel free to share your stories of what you’re afraid of…






I’m Launching a Podcast!

I’ve had wicked writer’s block in my attempt to complete book 2. So how did I deal with it? I created a podcast with my best friend, Kevin.

It’s called Terrifyingly Beautiful. Check us out on iTunes. Here’s a description:

Join two self-proclaimed “anxiety experts” and best friends, David Robert and Kevin O’Connell, as each week they pop open a bottle of wine and share hilarious stories about the stuff that keeps them up at night. Spoiler alert: It’s everything. Will they be able to help each other navigate their fears? Probably not but you’ll die laughing as they try.

iTunes link is below. And please if you have a spare moment, click Subscribe, download episodes and feel free to leave a review.  We would be tickled to death. I’ll be posting here as well. Have a wonderful week ahead!!


I’m Back!!

Hey Everyone,

Well, it certainly has been some time since my last blog entry. I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I have been focused on my second book. It’s turning out to be far more challenging than I had thought. My first book, Wanderlush, literally fell out of my head and into a 179-page glossy soft cover. The second book is proving to be a tad more stubborn. It has anchored itself to the inside of my brain and refuses to budge. I’ve written roughly 1o0 words in the past three months. At this rate I’ll be 90 when the damn books is published.

I’ve been keeping up with everyone’s blogs and many have been sources of inspiration and entertainment so thank you. Any advice you can give to help me move this book along would be GREATLY appreciated!

I’ll be posting more frequently now that I have fully accepted my writer’s block. Boy do I have some stories to share:)


Sun Visor Design Flaw

I had some business out of town so I rented a car rather than put the miles on my own vehicle. About 30 minutes into my drive the sun peered through the clouds, impairing my vision. I leaned forward and then to the side in an attempt to find a spot where the sun wasn’t blinding me. No luck. So, I pulled down the sun visor. Bad idea. I had a better chance of seeing with the sun in my eyes. How could this visor be legal? Once I was able to pull over, I snapped this picture. LOL



Embarrassing Autocorrects

I was having dinner with a few friends on Friday night and I asked one of them to help me identify a bird I had seen earlier in the week. She was a bird enthusiast and possessed a wealth of knowledge about local fowl.

“It was small and white,” I said. “Sort of like a compact duck.”

“All white?”

“With a black stripe on its face,” I replied.

“No clue. I’d google it.”

I retrieved my iPhone from my coat pocket and googled what I thought was white ducks of Rhode Island.

While I waited for my search results to appear, our waitress approached and leaned in to take my drink order. She stopped short, caught a glimpse of my phone’s screen and burst into an uncontrollable giggle. I looked down at my iPhone and was met with roughly a dozen images of penises in various states of repose.

My iPhone autocorrected duck to dick.

Normally, I would have felt the need to explain and thus dig a deeper hole but this time I looked directly at the waitress and said, “We’re trying to agree on my Timber profile pic. Did you happen to spot a favorite?”

Her response was priceless. “Dicks really aren’t my thing. I’m swiping left.”




The Difference Between Copying and Printing








I had to print several documents from a USB drive so I googled “local print shop” and found a store close to my home. Rather than reveal the store name, I’ll instead offer up that it rhymes with poopy-S.

Me: Hi, I need to print a few documents. Are these printers self-service?

Clerk: You’re making copies?

Me: No, I’m looking to print some documents.

Clerk: Okay, so you’ll need a key to access our copy machines.

Whatever, I thought. The clerk hands me a small box that looked like a harmonica.

Me: What’s this for?

Clerk: It’s a copy counter. You insert it into the copy machine and it counts the number of copies.

Me: I’m not making copies. Will it also count the printed pages?

Clerk: We’re talking about the same thing.

Me: I guess I’m just used to other print shops where you can use a credit card at the actual machine to print documents. It’s self service.

Clerk: Yeah.

I insert the box into the machine and then begin my search for the USB port. No luck.

Me: Where’s this machine’s USB port?

Clerk: It doesn’t have one.

I should have known. Any copy/printer that is the same color as the kitchen appliances my parents had when I was growing up was likely a bad sign.

Me: So, this machine doesn’t allow printing?

Clerk: Sure it does.

Me: I thought we were talking about the same thing? And your front window has a huge sign that says you’re a full service print shop.

Clerk: We are. You place your documents into the feeder and it prints a copy for you.

Me: That’s copying, not printing.

Clerk: Why are you so combative, Dude?

Me: I’m not combative. It’s just that printers were invented in like 1899 and here we are in 2016 and you’re clueless about the difference between printing and copying.

Clerk walks over to my machine and lifts the top cover.

Clerk: Watch.

He places his hand on the glass surface and presses Start. The machine lights up and a bright blue bar scrolls across the glass. A second later a sheet of paper emerges from the side of the machine. The clerk grabs the paper and holds it up.

Clerk: See. I just printed a copy of my hand.

Me: That’s still copying, not printing. You know what. It’s okay. I’ll just find another way to do this.

Clerk: So, you’re giving up?

Me: To be honest I sort of gave up when you handed me the harmonica.

Clerk: What’s a harmon–

Me: Yes! I’m giving up. Have a wonderful life. Good-bye.


Is It Okay to Discipline Someone Else’s Child?


The picture will make more sense after you read the post:)

I was standing in a cashier line at a clothing retailer yesterday when I felt a sudden burst of taps against my butt. I turned around and looked down to find a child holding a metal clothes hanger. He was smacking the hanger against the accessory displays that lined the cashier aisle. I assumed the child had tapped me with the hanger. The child’s attention seemed to be directed elsewhere so I turned my own attention back to my iPhone while I waited. A minute later I felt a second round of taps against my butt. It was the same child.

I glanced around my immediate vicinity and noticed a young woman on the opposite side of the accessory display. An empty child stroller stood in front of her.

Ah ha. I found the mom.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” I said.

The woman looked at me.

“Is this your child?”

She looked at the boy for a second and then back at me. “Yeah, why?”

“He’s hitting me with a clothes hanger. Could you ask him to stop please?”

“He’s a child,” she replied.

“I’m well aware of that. That’s why I’m speaking to you.”

“What’s the issue here?”

“Normally I don’t mind being spanked on the ass but not by a 4 year-old kid. Can you retrieve him, please.”

The woman became defiant. “It’s a wire hanger. It won’t hurt anything. And in case you haven’t noticed, my son has developmental limitations. You can’t expect him to behave like other children.”

“I hadn’t noticed. In fact, the only developmental limitations I’ve observed are the ones being emitted from you.”

“What did you call me?”

“Nothing yet. But there’s still 9 people ahead of me so there’s plenty of time for me to test my vocabulary on you.”

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,” she snapped.

“I was until I had to defend my anal cavity from a coat hanger.”

“I don’t appreciate that vulgar language around my child.”

“You’re wearing a sweatshirt that reads I’m the Boss Bitch. You can stop playing the victim card.”

The kid must have been upset that I was in a verbal kerfuffle with his mom. He whacked me with the hanger again. This time on the knee.

I looked at the mom. “Pay attention if you want any prayer of being a decent mom.” I gently removed the hanger from the child’s hand and stared down at him.

“Kid, I’m going to give you likely the best advice you’ll receive in your life, apart from telling you to not grow up to be like your mom.”

I clenched the wire hanger in one hand and pursed my lips in my best Joan Crawford imitation. “NO.. WIRE… HANGERS!”


What is Black Tar Mexican Heroin?


I attended a party last night and one of the people in the group I was chatting with asked the question, “what is the scariest thing you’ve experienced?” Several people described near-miss car accidents while another talked about a recent skydiving trip.

When the question came to me I decided to share a story of an event from the previous summer. Shortly after the July 4th holiday, I joined several friends on a road trip to New Hampshire for a weekend of camping. One afternoon we came up with the idea to drive to a local watering hole to swim. I piled into the front passenger seat of my friend’s Nissan Altima, while his younger brother hopped into the back seat. Our destination was less than 10 miles from our campsite and as we approached the halfway point my friend, the driver, noticed a young guy hitchhiking just ahead of us. My friend pulled the car over and offered to give the guy a ride. The man graciously accepted and he jumped into the open back seat.

The man, early 20s, clean cut, seemed nice enough. We engaged in the obligatory small talk. Where was he going? How long had he been on the road? He had just finished answering the latter question when my friend noticed flashing lights in the rearview mirror.

“Shit, it’s the cops,” he said.

My friend pulled the car onto the shoulder and we waited patiently for the policeman to approach the car.

“License and registration, please.”

“Can I ask what we’re being pulled over for?” my friend asked.

“I thought I saw open containers in the car.”

The cop stared at my friend’s license for a moment and then shifted his glare first to me then to the back seat.

“Can you all exit the vehicle and join me at the back of the car.” This was not so much a question as it was a polite order.

The four of us assembled at the back of the car and lined up shoulder to shoulder. Our backs faced the ravine.

“Before I search the car is there anything I need to be aware of. If you’re honest, I’ll be lenient.”

The officer stared at my friend first. My friend shook his head. The officer turned his attention to my friend’s brother. He, too, shook his head, as did I when the officer stood in front of me and asked the same question. Then the officer stepped to his right and faced our guest, the hitchhiker.

“And you? Do you have anything you want to bring to my attention before I search the car?”

The stranger looked down briefly and then raised his head and locked eyes with the officer.

“Okay. When you go through my bag in the back seat you will find something.”

My stomach sank. What the fuck?

I turned my head and glared at the young man.

“And I know your first reaction will be to assume it’s Mexican black tar heroin but it’s just regular hashish.”

My knees buckled. Vision blurred. Next thing I know I’m tumbling backward down into the ravine. As my limp body rolled down the gravel embankment all I could think of was how my tiny frame wouldn’t stand a chance in jail. I’d be someone’s bitch by the end of the first day. I’d likely get nicknamed Muffin or Baby Boy. I’m not even that limber anymore. I’m totally screwed.

Mexican black tar heroin? Are you fucking kidding me?

When I came to, I could see the officer and my companions staring down the ravine.

“Oooouch,” I gasped.

It took several minutes for the officer and my friend to release me from the grip of a thorn bush and haul me back onto the shoulder. I think the officer felt as though he put enough fear in me. He confiscated the bag and let us go. I couldn’t believe it. But let me tell you, those few minutes when my body was bouncing down that ravine were likely the most terrifying thus far.

What is your scariest moment?







Christmas Dog Video

Our late Jack Russell Terrier, Sophie, loved Christmas and in particular Christmas gifts. It’s hard to put myself in her head but it appeared she assumed all of the gifts were hers. In fact, she would lurk under the tree from the moment it went up until Christmas morning protecting all of the gifts.

I came across this video and thought I’d share it. I miss her so much.

Funny Story About My Open Zipper


I walk into my local coffee shop this morning and the clerk greets me with a huge smile. This wasn’t terribly surprising as most days the clerks are cheerful but I don’t usually get a lot of attention.

The clerk stared at me for 10 long seconds before saying how wonderful the day was going and how she was super excited to take my order.She called two of her colleagues over to assist.

This gal is extra ordinarily attentive today.

“I’ll take the usual,” I said.

“Remind me, what size?”

“Large,” I replied.

“Hmm. Are you sure about that?” she asked.

“Yes, large.”

She and her colleagues giggle, one of whom was a guy.

Am I missing something?

“If you say so, Chief,” she replied.

I pay for my drink and turn to stroll toward the door when I notice my zipper is down. Like “open for business” down. Like “I’m so desperate I’m simply going to walk around town with my pants unzipped to see what happens” down. Like “this is my final cry for help” down.

Wait, what did she mean by “are you sure?” 

“I just want to point out that it’s cold outside,” I yelled toward the counter. “If I had known this was going to happen I would have prepared better. It’s definitely a large.”

Well, wouldn’t you know it. The three clerks who were laughing at me were gone and I realized I was now talking to a completely different group of clerks.

Awesome, so my fly is down and I’m talking gibberish to a bunch of strangers. 

I’m running out of places to shop. Seriously.