Since Buttercup was a little tiny baby, she has despised goodbyes. Newborn shrieks would replace content gurgles the instant she got wind of diaper bags being packed up, hugs exchanged with whomever it was we were visiting, and car keys jangling.

Those newborn shrieks have since been replaced with tantrums, MAMA I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE I LIKE IT HERE’s and hours of pouting afterward just to prove her point. And that was when we visited my adult friends. Without kids, people. Heaven help me when it was an actual play date that was ending.

She’s five now. Adorable. Smart. Hilarious. She has strength and character and Mother of…

She’s going to break me with that attitude.

Her teacher told me the other day that Buttercup crossed her arms over her chest, dug her heels firmly into the ground, and flat out refused the green journal being handed to her for an activity in class. It seemed that Teacher Lady had assigned each child in class a random journal that was theirs to use for the entire school year. Only problem was that green has never been one of her favorite colors and apparently Buttercup was a bit miffed that her preferences had not been taken into consideration.

“I don’t like that color,” she said. And I know exactly how she said it.

I’m not working in that.” she said. And I can hear the bitch that will replace the brat when my little princess grows up just the tiniest bit more. Because, and trust me on this, it’s a milestone that you and your family will note. There might not be a Hallmark card to designated for the very moment you realize it is now socially acceptable to tell at at least one person outside of your head that your kid was a total bitch today and then get weepy because yesterday she had just been bratty. Something changed while she slept. She grew up a little bit. And now you aren’t sure if you are crying because you miss your baby are are dead-fucking terrified because it’s probably only moments before she realizes she has hormones and all hell officially breaks loose.

Which explains the instant sobs when the ultra-sound tech announced that the baby in the belly was a girl. So sweet and dress-able when they’re small. But then they grow up.

And it’s always too fast.

We had a play date recently with her BFF from preschool two years ago. In elementary school years, these two have known each other for decades.We managed to leave with only downcast eyes and whispers about being sad as we walked out to our car.

“I like it here. I’m sad I have to go.”

And I understood. Because I just learned that a play date of my own is ending.

An Army of Ermas riding off into the sunset on September 30. The site will remain live for fans to peek at when they need to go searching for a favorite laugh. But there will be no more reasons to try and swear less while while writing about something funny. And I’m going to miss that.

I want to pout. Maybe throwing a tantrum will make the fun last long enough for everyone to forget we were supposed to be leaving. Or I could change tactics and promise to play nicer and share more and not call people names anymore.

I kneel down to Buttercup’s level and give her a hug before we get into the car.

“I know, sweetie. I’m going to miss my friends, too. But we’ll see them again. And it will be soon. Right now, though, it’s time to leave.”

Thank you, Ermas. It was fun while it lasted. And to Boss Lady, Stacey Graham: Thank you doesn’t even begin to describe the gratitude I have in my heart for having had the opportunity to be a part of such an amazing group of writers.


Maybe it’s the phase of the moon. Or perhaps it’s my head adjusting to new meds. Or it could just be that my Muse decided to clock out without notifying me and is currently sipping mimosas by the pool at some beach side resort while I sit here staring at my blog wondering what the hell I’m going to write about.

If it’s the latter, that bitch is so fired.

Until I figure out where my motivation went, I’ll thank the Universe for providing me with a few bits of awesomeness to fill this space. Hopefully, my motivation will find its way back home by Wednesday, with that being my next regular posting day, and all.

And now?


The First Bit of Awesomeness

My friend Jenna Glatzer must have stolen my scale, as is evidenced by the following Facebook posting:

Dear Bathroom Scale, I’ve been eating nothing but bird food and cereal for 2 weeks. You are now supposed to show me a LOWER number as a reward for my efforts. I don’t mean to question your competence as a scale, but I just thought I’d point out that you seem to be doing it wrong. If you need help understanding how to lower your numbers, please ask my bank account.


The Second Bit of Awesomeness


It’s Back to the 80′s week at Funny Not Slutty, y’all. I was lucky enough to be included in the awesomeness, which happened to work out nicely since I was still in possession of The Funny. We’ve got 80′s babies and leotards and John Cusack and a whole bunch of, like, neon-colored, multi-bangled hilariousness going on over there from a boatload of talented women. Click on over, read my piece on what the M in MTV should stand for these days, and save me a trip to my therapist with a little ego boost I like to refer to as A Comment.



The Third Bit of Awesomeness

You know that An Army of Ermas site I contribute to? (This is the part where you nod your head and say yes because even if you didn’t know before you know NOW and will spend your coffee break catching up so you don’t have to lie next time) My editor over there, Angie Mansfield, decided I was worth an interview on her blog, The Wandering Zebra and it would be ever so sweet if you’d pop on over, laugh in the right spots, and leave a comment to make me look good for The Powers That Be. (This is the part where you nod your head and…oh never mind. I see you are already familiar with this program. Carry on.)


The Fourth Bit of Awesomeness

Remember that LifeProof iPhone case contest? You know, the one for the case that you can pretty much do anything with and STILL have a working phone? Want to know who gets a free case in their choice of color? I’ll tell you. Or rather, selected one of you lucky bastards and I get to pass on the good news. Shelley Oswald will soon be tweeting from the shower with her purple LifeProof case JUST BECAUSE SHE CAN.

Thank you to LifeProof for sponsoring the contest and to all of you for entering.


The Fifth Bit of Awesomeness

This one is my favorite.

There’s gonna be a wedding, y’all. And I’m gonna be a bridesmaid! Congratulations to my BFF Heather and her new fiance Dave. Buttercup approves, so you guys are all clear to proceed with the planning on the nuptials.

Happy Monday, you crazy kids.


A conversation about a family trip.

Me: “David called. He and Erica want Buttercup to be a flower girl in their wedding with her being their goddaughter, and all.”

The Husband: “How much does the dress cost?”

Me: “$170.00.”

The Husband: “Where’s the wedding?”

Me: “Far enough away from everyone’s homes that they took it upon themselves to block off a bunch of hotel rooms for guests.”

The Husband: “What do those run?”

Me: “I think it’s $150.00 for the night.”

The Husband: “I need a new suit. You need a dress. She needs shoes”

Me: “Why don’t I get new shoes?”

The Husband: “Because we’re already broke and we haven’t even looked at plane fare yet.”

Me: “Actually, I just bought three seats on a plane landing in Detroit two days before the wedding.”

The Husband: “Do I even want to know?”

Me: “It was twelve hundred for the round-trip tickets.”

The Husband: “You should have just said, ‘No honey…you really don’t want to know.’”

Me: “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t be able to tell you that I booked the tickets out of the Phoenix airport and we need to figure in 115.9 miles worth of gas for the Yukon.”

The Husband: “But we live in Tucson.”

Me: “Very good. Here’s a cookie. But if we drive twenty minutes to the Tuscon airport to wait two hours for a plane that lands 45 minutes later in Phoenix because every flight out of Tucson seems to connect there, most likely 20 minutes later than planned and leaving us 10 minutes to race to the other end of the airport to catch the connecting flight that will take us to Detroit, I’ll probably kill you for not just letting me cut out the middle man and driving two hours to Phoenix in the first place, that’s why.”

The Husband: “Phoenix it is, then. How much more is this trip going to cost us?”

Me: “Well, we can’t show up without a wedding gift.”

The Husband: “Really? We’re paying for a flower girl dress, flying cross country, springing for a hotel room, and putting up with both sides of the Crazy until we get on the plane back to Tucson and it’s not considered socially acceptable for us to get a pass on the freaking wedding gift?”

Me: “You mean we can’t afford a $3.95 Hallmark card?”

The Husband: “We’re just getting them a card?”

Me: “I figured it was a nice way of presenting our plane ticket stubs, don’t ya think?”

End of conversation.


I love to laugh. Almost as much as I love to make other people laugh (clarification: on PURPOSE, yo.)

So when I was asked to officially hop on the An Army of Ermas bandwagon by the incredibly awesome Stacey I. Graham, I naturally said (and I quote), “Hell Yes!” The beauty of the Ermas site is the multitude of talent you’ll find and the humor* (and ability to relate to the real life moments) in the stories shared by each and every writer for the site.

Being a writer myself, I always like to get to know the person behind the words on the screen, and I’m hoping you will, too. There’s a lot of Ermas and I’d like for you to get to know each one. Today I’m featuring an interview with Adam Slade. I promise I only featured him first because of the sexy English accent I’m imagining.

PMC- Vanilla or chocolate? I know you expected me to start with age, rank, and serial number, but we need to set the tone for this interview first. Vanilla is safe and boring. Chocolate is funny and a bit adventurous. Or was it the other way around?

Adam-Vanilla, but in a funny and adventurous way. Ha! I’m complex!(With real vanilla pods. Mmm…)

PMC: Sneaky bastard. Okay then. Do you chew your ice cream?

Adam: Yes. Unless it contains nothing chewy. In which case, yes.

PMC: Good. I don’t trust people who don’t chew ice cream. Now that we’re past the pleasantries, I want name, rank, and serial number. Who are you, exactly. And why should I think you’re funny?

AS: Adam Slade, Chief Accountant in Charge of Sheep-Dip, #42, MA’AM.

I’m an English author of fantasy and humour (with a U), and have a few books under my belt that you should definitely buy. I’ll even throw in a belt to carry them with (I won’t). I currently live in Canada with my wife and cat. Both are lovely, though one occasionally bites me.
You should think I’m funny because I try really hard at it. (Don’t believe those who say it should come naturally – notice how they’re never funny people.)
PMC: I see. Where can one buy your books? And I want that belt.

AS: One (and you, yes you) can buy my books on pretty much every internet ebook seller there is. To cut down on finger strain, though, I’ll just link that Amazonian one.

Belts come only with large purchases. Large enough that I can afford to buy a belt from the royalties.
I also write erotic romance under another name, but that’s a secret, so you’ll just have to buy lots and lots of it in the hope that you get one of mine.

PMC: I was waiting for you to tell me erotic was spelled with a “u”. So, Mr. English. Tell me about this Erma gig you’ve got going on. Did you bribe Stacey with brownies to get in, too?

AS: Nope. Unless you have a past you’re not telling me about, there’s no “u” in erotica. If I plied Stacey with my brownies, she’d have me arrested for attempted poisoning. After she beat me up, of course. Everyone knows editors have serious guns from all that crossing-out.

Last Christmas Our Glorious Leader put up a competition, asking people to submit their funniest Chrimbo-themed articles. The winner would get both praise and their article posted on the site. Since I’d wussed out of the previous call for writers, I manned up just enough to write something for the contest, and Stacey decided it was worth posting. Just after that, she offered me a spot on the Ermas roster and I said ‘booya’, followed by ‘yes’.
I tend to post about once every 2 months, as spots are limited, and sometimes I’m too late/lazy to grab one. I try and keep the articles silly.

PMC: No bribing? Obviously, there is some favoritism present. *lesigh* I was gonna say there is no “I” in erotic but that just backfired on me. So back to you. Where can one find you on the interwebz?

AS: What can I say? It’s my English charm. Or the begging. Probably the begging, come to think of it.

I’m speedy with my innuendos. It’s a gift. Or a curse. A girse? That sounds like a cross between a giraffe and a horse. Cuft, then?
You can find me in many many places, as I use the internet far too much. My main blog has links to everything else. I’d love for some new followers to go with my ol–, uh, less new ones. They’re a lovely bunch. Most can move about without walkers, too.
PMC: Do you ever tweet? Cuz I’m on, like, all the time. And I never see you! Talk more. That might reel in the non-walker crowd.

Just my two cents.

Okey dokey then. Oh wait! You said English charm! Do you have an English accent to go with it? Will you read my my grocery list?

AS: I do tweet, but nowhere near as frequently as I used to. It’s a failing of mine.

Yes, I have an English accent, and yes, I can read your shopping list. Lemme see…
Mexifro comb, oil for elliptical trainer, three extra large packets of sarcasm

PMC: You’re lucky I like you….


*I thought about adding the “U” out of respect for my English guest. Then I decided I like the way the word looks better when spelled properly.


See that nifty little button?

Good. That was Step 1.

Step 2 is a little more complicated. It involves me getting you to vote for me.

Lemme ‘splain, Lucy.

Remember that awesome An Army of Ermas site I write for? It’s the brain child of our fearless leader, Stacey Graham, who has suddenly decided that a little friendly competition might spice things up for us natives. So what does this mean for you, class? It means that as a member of the Army of Ermas, I get to post once a month on whatever funny happens to be hiding out in my brain when I sit down to write. There’s a lot of us, and the bottom line for our little competition is that whoever gets the most Facebook likes, tweets, blog hits (to the Erma’s site, mind you) and otherwise creates the biggest and loudest cheer section wins something in a year. I’m not sure what that something is, entirely, but I’m really hoping it’s a a cloning machine and a deserted island with Wi-Fi.

And yes. I said “year.” That means Step 3 is remembering.

Now it’s time for Step 4, y’all. That’s where I look in the mirror and remind myself that I suck at this kind of thing, so I’ve decided to become a cheerleader myself for the rest of the Ermas. I’ll be starting a weeklyfeature soon that showcases one of my fellow Ermas in their glory. And by weekly, I actually mean When I Get to It, cuz I’m punctual like that.

Oh, and don’t worry. Their glory will be fully clothed and with minimal F-bombs because the real Erma didn’t play like that, yo.

Step 5 is the best. That’s where you read.

And laugh.

Oh…and since we’re talking about funny, click on over here to read my latest Ermas column. It’s about a straight man with observation skills.

I know.


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