Sunday, February 17, 2019

Well apparently I’m never going upstairs again.

Bitch Kitty’s powers are so strong that not only have they imprisoned me in my basement dungeon until a handsome prince (preferably wearing a speedo and singing show-tune duets in a comfortable key) comes to rescue me, but they’ve also turned our staircase walls into shiny molten caramel.

I made a meme ...

I thought I had a six-hour rehearsal for 9 to 5 yesterday and then a six-hour rehearsal today

But now that it’s all said (sung?) and done and I’m double-checking my math, it was six hours yesterday and a mere four hours today. My bad.

The show is really going to be spectacular. And exhausting. If my tired old ass can even keep up. And after this weekend’s (mere) ten collective hours of rehearsals, I’m dead. But it’s a happy dead.

As usual, my friend Dale nails it

“I see it in the Facebook feeds today and hear it in the locker room all of the time, you know the 'both parties are wrong, all politicians are crooks'. Nope sorry, not having it, there are differences. Let’s just talk about El Presidente, I mean Individual One. How about: attacks the Intelligence services, praise dictators, sides with White Nationalists, fails to disavow the KKK, attacks women based on their weight and looks, uses twitter to conduct foreign policy, asks foreign enemies to hack into a Presidential candidate’s email, fabricates a racist story about the former President’s birthplace (birtherism) , already has played more than 138% more golf than Obama, failure to criticize the Saudi Prince for the killing of an American journalist, on pace to beat Obama’s travel record (bigly), failed to release his taxes like he said he would, Trump’s use of Executive Orders, lied about Inauguration crowd size, lied on his business dealings with Russia, said Mexico would pay for the wall and then claimed he never said it, criticized a former decorated Prisoner of War, criticized the family of a deceased Gold Star family, criticized Navy admiral, William H. McRaven the former Navy SEAL commander who oversaw the mission to kill Osama Bin Laden, talk of grabbing women by their genitals, made fun of reporter with disabilities, attacks the media daily, pulling out of International Treaties on Climate Change, Nuclear weapons, and International Trade, attacked a Judge because of his ethnicity, virtually curtailed press conferences, large swaths of executive time, wait I almost forgot about lying about paying off porn stars and now a fake National emergency. I mean what will it take? This is your guy? Thirty-six indictments, nine guilty pleas so far, campaign chair going to jail for the rest of his life. These are all great guys, the kind you want running the country, right? Please don't say both sides do it ever again...this is not apples to apples, this is comparing apples to treason. There are differences and they matter."

Thursday, February 14, 2019

When you went to bed an hour ago

but you stumbled into a click hole of Disney-secrets videos and now it’s late and you’re tired and you really need to turn the damn lights off and go to damn sleep but first you take a totally staged helicopter selfie in which you look totally unconvincingly tired and JUST PUT DOWN YOUR DAMN PHONE AND GO TO SLEEP, JAKE. Sheesh.


Today’s episode of Surviving Leg Day was brought to you by, the dating site where everyone else is half your age and going through life on a supermodel scholarship; the How Not To Light Your Gym Selfies podcast, which we promise to listen to one of these days; a grant from the Black El Camino T-Shirt Badassery Council; the words “abductors” and “lumbar region”; and the generous support of thousands of don’t-skip-leg-day memes posted by social-networkers like you.


Wednesday, February 13, 2019


Behold my newfound normalness!

Two generations of the Full Monty diaspora, now populating the 9 to 5 bass section

Or if you want to make it creepy and weird, you could call us Malcolm and the Brotherhood of the Harold Sandwich. But don’t call us that. It’s creepy and weird.

God, I hope you get these

Bendy people try to stand out so they can dance like clones.

The way you do your hair is a metaphor for the idea that it doesn't matter what you look like.

A group of women with 50 years of age differences who've never worked together and who've probably never even met somehow simultaneously remember the choreography and staging to a generations-old song. Oh, and something about a coffee cup.

All the neighbors' cats disappeared so ...

Dude can't commit.

Mom makes too many sandwiches and moves out.

Dude dots Dot, dies.

Cats with stupid names pretty much do nothing.

Pray for a tech malfunction if you want to see some dicks at the end.

Six boobs and a garage-door opener.

Tons and tons of plotlines about French people--half of whom are poor and uneducated--who for some reason all sing in perfect English.

Dancing guys in tight jeans take a stab at cultural harmony.

Slinky Fosse choreography makes the plot irrelevant.

Drag queens overcome adversity and teach everyone a valuable lesson about discrimination and tolerance.

Then, 40 years later, the exact same plot happens again.

Tuesday, February 12, 2019


If a guy in a perfectly broken in Banana Republic circa 2010 faux-1978-throwback compass-and-fleur-de-lis-crest-collection cornflower blue crewneck T-shirt crafted from 100% soft, breathable cotton (I’m being purposefully vague here to protect everyone’s privacy) bench pressed 3 sets of 10 reps at 185 lbs without a spotter in his uncharacteristically empty gym so there was practically nobody there to see it, would it still make a sound on social media?



(Confidential to whomever inflicted this abomination on the world: “Darling, I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream” is neither creative nor clever nor meaningful nor of intrinsic or extrinsic value nor worthy of the music-listening population’s attention. Especially in a would-be headbanger gym. I hate you with the white-hot fire of a thousand competent lyricists.)

Hey, big spend-purr!

I’m working from home in my ultra-plush, super-cozy basement office today, and I figured that since Bitch Kitty liked sitting on my laptop bag so much the last time, I’d set it out again for her—and this time arrange it so she also had a space to sit inside the shoulder strap if she wanted to mix it up a bit.

She hadn’t even shown her face (or her bitch ass like last time) by noon so I sweetened the pot with a crisp $5 bill, but she apparently can’t even be enticed to sit by me with the allure of untold lifetime wealth.

I’d admire her willpower if I could just find my dignity first ...


* Bags of plastic bags hanging on the back doorknob

When you work from home on a charmingly snow-covered day, you constantly have to fight the urge to photograph your charmingly snow-covered back deck

I’d love to say that’s a rustic, charming wagon wheel in the corner to play up my all-Iowans-live-on-charming-farms cred, but it’s just our patio table turned on its side and pushed close to the house because we really have no other options for storing it in the winter.