People I Want to Punch in the Throat

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Anyone Else Falling Apart Or Is It Just Me?


So I'm pretty sure I'm going through a midlife crisis. I feel like I'm falling apart. I feel like the more I try to keep from falling apart, the faster I fall apart. I feel like I'm drowning and I can't breathe. And, on top of all that, I also feel numb. I'm not positive that's a midlife crisis, because when I Google midlife crisis or signs of a midlife crisis, so much of the information points to how men feel or how men can cope. There's not a lot of information out there for women.

I thought, Maybe it doesn't happen to us? No, I think it's more like we don't talk about this stuff. 

I was reminded of a story about my overwhelmed great-grandmother asking her doctor for some help and he told her, "Nice women don't discuss such things."

Nice women don't discuss such things.

I guess it's a good thing I'm not a nice woman? Because I'm ready to discuss this uncomfortable topic.

I'm miserable. I've been feeling this way for about a year now and I was afraid to say anything even to my closest friends and family. It's a really shitty thing to say out loud, because I know it hurts the people close to me, plus it just sounds like typical suburban angst. If I was a refugee somewhere, I wouldn't get the luxury to say, "I'm just not happy." I'm not running for my life, I'm not watching people around me get murdered, I don't have any real strife in my life, so what the fuck? Buck up! Right?  

I don't know, though. Don't I deserve to be happy? Don't I owe it to myself? Isn't that what I'm always preaching? Or am I supposed to keep this all to myself and just muddle through and not make waves?

50 Shades of Suburbia

Heya! What are you doing today? I'm just working...like always. I have to work every day or else I'm not going to get paid, y'know? It can be kind of a drag after a while and I'm always like, "How am I ever going to retire? My kids will have to sell books at my funeral to pay for my coffin."

Money is something that keeps me up at night. Sure, I could spend less, but where's the fun in that? I'd rather just come up with new ways to make more money.

Today I stumbled upon my retirement plan. I'm going to buy this house and rent it out as an AirBnB. Yeah, that's right. Here, take a look at this listing and be sure to scroll through ALLLLL the pictures. Ahh shoot, I leave for a couple of hours and the MLS listing was changed. But have no fear, Philadelphia Magazine has the pics.

At first you'll be like: "Oh hey! Jen's right. This is a lovely home in suburban Pennsylvania with an open and inviting floor plan and award-winning schools. I love all the large, bright spaces to spread out and relax in."



"Wow! Look at that large unfinished space upstairs. I could easily finish it off and create a library since this house has everything except a library and I think every home needs a library."



"Ooh, look! In addition to all these things, the home also has a stunning finished basement complete with a work out room and ... um ..."


"Hang on. What am I looking at? Is that for Pilates? I think my friend, Karen, has this set up in her basement. It's from Italy. I hear, it's like, the hot, new workout."


 But...wait. Is IT for Pilates? Is that a stock? And a rack? Wait. What's hanging on those hooks on the wall? Is this Mr. Grey's man cave?"



"O. M. G. It's an S&M sex den!"



"I mean, it's tastefully done, though, right? I mean, the wood has a certain charm...and it's neatly organized...and well, I, just didn't know such a space could be so...inviting? Right?!"



My plan is genius, you guys. If you read the description carefully it says that ALL FURNISHINGS are included. I think that means ALLLLLL of it, right? At least I'd be writing that shit into the contract. Except the fur rugs. They can keep those, because, EWW.

It also says that this house rents out on AirBnB for $2,000 a night on the weekends for parties. Hell yeah, it does! I'm not good at math, but I'm pretty sure that adds up real quick when you get into the right AirBnB crowd. I could retire in, like, four years of Saturdays.

I shared this on my personal Facebook page and people were like:



There was a lot of worrying about the clean up and maybe what those walls and floors...and ceilings have seen, but here's the thing. I've stayed next door to people doing kinky shit in hotel rooms and you know those rooms aren't getting any kind of hose down. I figured at $2k a night, I can afford a haz mat team to clean the place and a lifetime supply of Clorox wipes.

The Hubs isn't on board, with my get rich quick scheme, but all I can say is:




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Gender Reveal Parties




I have nothing against party planners.  I know it's their job to always come up with new ideas to sell to people, but when they start throwing Potty Parties and Period Parties you know they're grasping at straws.

The latest trend I've heard about is a Gender Reveal Party.  Wouldn't you love to be invited to one of those?  Well, I would not.  I'll just tell my friends right now:  Save your stamp.  I'm not coming.