Tag Archives: girls poop

What Does Mindy Kaling’s Hips, Bob Marley’s Teeth and the Best Women Farters All Have in Common?

The is my first search terms post and I’m really excited to exploit my misplaced sense of self-importance. People have stumbled on to my blog from a lot of silly search terms like “girls+poop”, “all men are boob guys” (really?), “how do i reverse seven years of bad luck from breaking a mirror”, “the best women farters”, “how wide are Mindy Kaling’s hips?” (leave her hips alone, a-hole) and let’s say a lot more terms regarding pooping, farting, and women, which is totally kick-ass.

Why, yes, please tell me again about how sexism no longer exists..

Why, yes, please tell me again about how sexism no longer exists..

I am especially honored to fit into the category “women farters,” because as we all know, this is an exclusive club for wild, unabashedly raucous women who have no moral values, especially not being lady-like. I mean, the first time I farted I had to look around the room and then at myself in the mirror to make sure my lady bits didn’t fall off from the mere unrefined act of flatulence. Wait, no, that never happened. I’ve been breaking wind since 1989, suckers! But yes, I do consider myself among “the best women farters” — it’s an honor I believe I have rightfully and dignifiedly earned. Just ask my first boyfriend.

tv-once-upon-a-time03To the person who wants to reverse the bad luck they struck after breaking a mirror, I hope you are under the age of thirteen. If not, here’s some advice: sit in your living room staring at the television. Turn on a show like say, Once Upon a Time and imagine everything that happens in this show is real. Now walk over to your television and sit down in front of it — remember, you must believe that the town of Storybrooke and Rumplestiltskin are real (as the show predicates). Try now to reach into your television with your hand. Remember, you must believe. Now try sticking your head up in there. Did that not work? No? Okay. Well then try holding your hand up and turning it around so that your palm is now facing you. Now bring your palm to your forehead. Do it again. One more time. Okay, your luck should now be reversed.

On to you, person who is too concerned with the width of Mindy Kaling’s hips. Do you actually measure your own hips? What is this piece of information worth to you in a dollar amount? And why do you think the internet should have this particular statistic? Please do me a favor and go buy a book and then actually read it instead of wasting all of our time on your celebrity appearance-oriented inquisitions.

But the real reason for this post is this gem: “want a redo on growing up.” Finally, my soul mate finds me. Let’s talk fellow wannabe redo-er, we’re all friends here. What about growing up do you want to do over? All of it? If you’re like me, you would go back in time and not make fun of David O.’s power ranger undies in first grade because you  could tell how embarrassed he was after. You also would’ve started reading books before 8th grade. Aw, man, if I could do it over, I’d write more stuff down (says the girl with 30 childhood journals sitting in her closet) that way my dad couldn’t use my lack of childhood memories as a favorite personal anecdote at family get-togethers.

What else? I would’ve rehearsed more for my audition for You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown in 5th grade and maybe not have used “Hit Me Baby One More Time” as my song choice — Britney always let me down. I would’ve been such a good Snoopy.

I would’ve quit soccer WAY sooner. soccer

I would’ve spent more time in bouncy houses because they don’t tell you once you reach a certain age it is no longer appropriate to jump around in bouncy houses. Something about “letting the kids have their turn.”

I definitely would’ve shown Mickey some more respect at Disney World instead of running away, crying. That mouse has been through a lot.

I would’ve embraced the mean-spirited nickname Aly Dicky as a potential anecdote for my future famous self. Actually, let’s just pretend I loved the nickname from now on.

I definitely would’ve worn my retainer more, that way I could smile freely as an adult without worrying about which angle best hides my snaggle tooth.

I would’ve spent more time playing tricks on my parents, like switching the sugar with salt, so I’d have more funny childhood stories to write about.

I would play with legos ALL the time.

I would continue my Harriet the Spy venture for way longer since my invisible decoder pen was everything, but this time I’d disinvite my next door neighbor, Ashley because she thought she was sooo cool because we both had the same bedroom set but she had the matching wallpaper AND the book shelf.

dressmeI would’ve worn this outfit every day. (C’mon that’s adorable).

I’d make my family perform the plays I wrote as a child and record them so I can use them later as blackmail.

I would’ve applied for a job at Blockbuster instead of wasting all my time there for free.

I’d definitely go back in time to our family vacation in the Bahamas and tell my 11-year-old self that no, you really don’t need to get your entire head braided because no, you do not look good you little white girl, you look like when Monica from Friends got her head braided except wholly more frightening. But at least now I know how much I could never pull off being bald.

I would’ve never thought this was an acceptable Halloween costume. What the hell are those lips?


Our perception of being old ladies was apparently women sitting in bathrobes doing their hair and getting facials. Definitely accurate.

Let’s stop there for now before I end up curled into a ball shaking back and forth, regretting all my past decisions as Tengo licks my face in awful doggy delight.

What would you redo about your childhood or about anything? College major maybe? Going out with that guy with the weird mustache? Forgetting to shave your armpits before that time at the beach with all your friends? Spill it, redo-ers.


After spending the majority of Wednesday night watching Matti sleep as I wrote down tiny sentences in my tiny owl notepad meant to be ideas to elaborate on later, I decided I needed to be more proactive. So I got up, found some sleepy medicine* and wrote a to do list in my tiny notepad–if you’re trying to imagine said notepad, think second grade party favor.

Among the ten things on my list, the first two were: Make coffee and take Tengo out. So, I felt good about how the next morning would start. The next thing on my list was to buy organizational stuff for my workspace, which, I wrote down as a way to trick myself into thinking it was okay to go shopping at Home Goods because it was a means of organizing my life. It worked.

One thing I have learned about myself recently is that although I’m a self-starter, I tend to do much better if I have someone behind me telling me how great I am and how amazing I’m doing at all times. In most instances, Tengo fills this role–his encouragement comes in the form of endless licks and that’s okay with me. But Tengo, being a dog, does not know much about home improvement or the next thing on my list.

The next thing on my list was to hand in my samples to the lab at the hospital. I’m going to TRY to be very delicate here but if you know me that does not happen often so let’s just be adults. I did in fact have to do some take home tests, or as I like to call it, the do-it-yourself-poop-kit. I was the lucky new recipient of a bunch of empty containers I would have to somehow defecate into.

The lady behind the counter handing me the poop containers: “Be careful with the two skinny bottles. They have toxic chemicals that could kill you if you touch or ingest. So, here’s some gloves.” Thanks lab lady, because defecating into tiny containers isn’t anxiety producing enough!

So, I walked in confidently to return my tests, wanting to yell to the lab technicians, “Look what I did! All by myself! I have a bunch of containers full of poop, dammit! Can I get a hand or something?” And I guess I was focused too much on the possibility of killing myself with these toxic crap chemicals that I failed to do every other poop test correctly. To be fair, the man was extremely apologetic that I had to do my poop tests all over again.

“And is it really safe to refrigerate my poop with like, food and stuff in there?”

He didn’t respond.

After finding out my DIY poop kit was a complete failure I was double determined to find the coolest, most vintagey, organizational gear I could get. Because once you are organized, you are successful–says everyone. I of course got sidetracked at Goodwill, because for some fucked up reason, Goodwill is now a hip store to shop at where you can find super fab one-of-a-kind pieces of art that you don’t and never will need. Such as these gems:

photo (76) photo (77)

We now have four different decorative pieces custom made in Hong Kong in our apartment that play songs like “Up the Lazy River” at random, inexplicable times.

But I did finally get to Home Goods and I did spend way too much money trying to make myself feel successful. And it definitely worked for the ten minutes it took to get home. But now, of course, like most failed DIY projects I choose to try, I am mid project, and all the DIYing did was place another thing on my to do list before writing. So this is what I am left with:

photo (78)

And what it all really comes down to is me blaming it all on Pinterest because Pinterest can turn the most unimaginative clown into a self-prescribed DIY expert. (Like this lady who might not be an unimaginative clown but who definitely NAILED IT).

Please feel free to share your DIY fails so I don’t feel like too much of an asshat.

*you know what kind of medicine I’m talking about