I’m still trying to make business crying a thing.

It’s basically a part of my schedule now.

I can’t be the only small business owner in the world who breaks down crying 2/3rd through the quarter every quarter.

I’ve actually come to rely on it. Things are difficult and stressful, and I’m working a lot, even as my productivity is going downhill, so finally I just breakdown crying, either alone or with Ben, never in public or with clients (to clarify: I don’t business cry in public. I regular cry in public all the time, although I never regular cry with clients. And yes, they are two different things.) But after the crying, I just stand up and go back to work and I usually make good, clear-headed decisions about how to avoid what made me cry in the first place, and I go on to the next quarter where something else will have me business crying 2 months in like clockwork.

My company grows one crying fit at a time, and I’m totally cool with that.

Samsung Note 5 Sending Text Messages to Work Email

This happened to me the other day and all the posts I read were for Galaxy 5s and didn’t work for my phone. So, if you tried going into the “more” section of your Microsoft Exchange ActiveSync only to realize that it doesn’t look like the “more” section on the other blogs, welcome home.

This is how I got stupid Microsoft Sync to stop sending sexy text messages from my boyfriend to my work email, and you can too!

Seriously, why in the crap would anybody ever want their text messages to go to their email? “Oh gee, I could read this on the phone that only I see, or I could make sure the whole IT department knows how I like my eggs prepared, and I’m not talking about breakfast.” I grantee one 80 year old jerk was in the dev meeting that day and brought this needless suffering down on all of us.

I mean, there are freaks in this world, so make it a feature, but don’t make it the default for fuck’s sake.

Anyway. If you’re having this problem right now, you have to remove the sync first, so go into your settings, and open the accounts section…


Click on the Exchange


And remove the current account.


Then go back into accounts.

You’re going to think you should click on this


Don’t do it.


Don’t even think about it. This is the bastard that got you into this problem in the first place.


Instead, scroll all the way down to add account.


Go over to your native email program. This is what you want.


Follow the prompts to set up your email account.

After that, the phone will act like you set up a Microsoft Exchange account, and you can go into the exchange and set calendar sync without ruining your life.


You’re welcome.

One of these things is an illegal narcotic in Portland, Ore.

Advil Cold and Sinus

Don’t get me wrong, I’m real happy that potheads aren’t defacto criminals anymore, I’ve been wishing for that for a long time. But when the fuck will I be able to breath out of my nose without breaking the law?

Why My Abuser Isn’t Invited to My Wedding

Friend Lisa shared this really well written article by a Ellen Burns, who isn’t inviting her mother to her wedding because they’re estranged, and she explained, perhaps better than I can the conflicted feelings a person can have over their estranged mother. Although there is a weird bit about how she’s going to make sure everybody knows her dad’s girlfriend isn’t her mom, which seems like a stressful and time consuming project, but whatever.

You guys probably know this if you’ve read the blog before, but I’m also estranged from my mom, and she is also not invited to my wedding.

It took me a really long time to come to terms with the fact that my childhood was abusive. When I was growing up, I vacillated between rationalizing that abused people on TV always ended up in the hospital, and nobody ever took me to the hospital so I was fine, and thinking that I didn’t cry every time somebody hit me like those pussies on TV. I read books about domestic violence, I saw billboards about it, but as far as I was concerned, those were all for somebody else.

I did move out of my house when I was still in high school but it wasn’t because I suddenly realized my mom was abusive. A friend told me she was abusive and it seemed like she was probably thinking more rationally than I was, so I listened to her. I knew that I had stopped fighting back months before, I knew that I had done everything I could to avoid the outbursts, I knew that if it went on much longer, either my mother or I would be dead by my hand and I knew I probably had a far better chance of ending my own suffering than I did hers. But I still didn’t think it was abuse.

Before I lived with my mother, I lived with my grandparents, and when my grandfather would punch me, he’d do it once or twice, always in the head, always above my hairline where no one could see any marks. I never thought that was abusive because he had the restraint to rabbit punch a little girl only one or two times.

When my mother would attack me, it was mostly psychological. She would keep me awake all night, or wake me up by dragging me out of bed and across the floor while screaming. She would block the door with her body and call me worthless, accuse me of ridiculous crimes like drug running or prostitution (where I was supposed to have the time or energy even to suck a free dick with the shit she did, I’ll never know). But she never punched me in the head, so it wasn’t abuse. She just threw things at me and shoved me and drove extremely recklessly at very high speeds when I pissed her off in the car, or she would trick me to get in the car thinking everything was fine just so she could get on the freeway and scream for 40 straight minutes while dodging in and out of traffic like a cheap Mexican Transporter.

One year at Christmas, she tried to fist fight me on the front lawn of her house, then drove me home like she was trying to kill us. A couple of years later at Easter, she tried to punch/kick out the windows on Ben’s car. Easter happened because I didn’t remember the lesson I learned at Christmas, which is that the only way to completely ensure my mother doesn’t go on a rampage is to stay the fuck away from her.

Despite her absence, or maybe because of it, the wedding will be far from motherless. The real mothers in my life are invited. Ben’s amazing mother, and the extremely close pack of awesome mothers she runs with are invited. My wonderful and supportive friend Carrie, Kate’s mom Lois who took me in when I moved out of my mom’s house, both of my grandmas, and Ben’s grandma are invited in addition to the aunts, friends, and others who happen to be mothers, if not mothers to us. We will have a surfeit of mothers at this wedding.

The woman who terrorized and abused me for years, who has done absolutely nothing to inspire me to believe in even one of the multiple transformations she’s sworn she’s gone through is not invited.

I’m having a lot of feelings about that. It’s sad on a level I can not describe accurately. There is a ragged, endless hole in me that will never heal. Should never heal. As many loving, supportive mothers as I have in my life, there’s only one person in this universe who could make that better and she never will because she doesn’t have the capacity.

I knew exactly what Ellen Burns meant when she said that her mother could be warm and charismatic. As terroristic and horrible as my mom can be, she can be equally engaging and uplifting. Before I learned about manic states, I described her like a spiritual experience. People in mania can make you feel like you’re flying. It’s so exhilarating and everything is beautiful and new and you’re perfect and they’re perfect and the love you feel for them and them for you is just radiating back at you from everything everywhere you go. But that’s just a precursor to the screaming and not sleeping and all the words that were used to nurture you and embrace you get turned around to cut you until you’re just this dead little meat-wad on a cosmic yo-yo of pain.

Which is why she’s not coming to the wedding. And it’s why, as much as it hurts, I don’t feel any guilt or uncertainty about it. No one can shame me about this, and I don’t recommend they try.

Anybody who thinks I’m cold can eat a dick because it’s my wedding and abusers aren’t invited.

America: Where We Show Our Support with Racism!

There’s a tragic sort of kismit in the fact that senseless bigots go on a mass murder spree in France and a certain number of equally senseless bigots here in America are bloodthirsty for even more meaningless horror.

Yes, let’s stop taking Syrian refugees, and bomb all those Muslims. I bet nobody ever thought that their problems would be over if only they could murder everyone who was different from them.

Nope. Nobody ever.

Does Anyone But Me Say “Gakked?”

Ben keeps telling me that I’m the only person who uses the word “gakked” to mean someone who has giant muscles and/or someone who is high on cocaine. Which doesn’t make any sense to me because I am sure that I had lots of conversations about gakked out dudes of both persuasions with people other than me who were also using the exact same terminology. Gakked is the duded version of badoncadonk or bladdow. It’s short for gah-gakk gah-gakk, usually a sound you make while imitating massive muscles erupting from your own arms and chest.

Does no one else remember this?

Fuck Your Digital Phobia

Why don’t we all put our phones down and look at our children. Stare at them. Look deep into their tiny child eyes and just wait for them to blink. Assert dominance, be the alpha. Flip the fuck out and destroy every piece of electronics in your house. Rip the wiring out of the walls. Stare at your plaster dust covered babies and try to figure out wich one you’d be pretty much okay with having seriously maimed in a textile factory accident, amd/or losing to cotton lung. Because that’s what life was like before all this electrical film flammery. That’s why they’re called the greatest generation,  because they did more in 40 years with three fingers and half a lung than any of us will ever do again. As long as you’re accounting accomplishment in terms of Jim Crow legislation passed and enacted.


Get right with digital Christ because you are fucking up.

Stop whining that smartphones are ruining people. You know what’s ruining people? Whiner crybabies like you. Go live I. The forest if you’re so big on the real world. See how fun that is.

What I Wore: Stripes on Stripes on Plaids

These photos are really dark. I tried to clean them up in Photoshop, but I may have made them worse. If I’m going to start doing the What I Wore posts again, I’m going to need to fix this lighting issue. There’s really no good place to take these pictures anywhere in our apartment. Good lighting would improve that, though. I’m working on it.




Scarf was my great grandma’s
Plaid shirt from Goodwill
Green stripey dress from Goodwill
Blue tank from Old Navy
Stripey long johns from Patagonia
Stripey Socks from Sock Dreams
Supra shoes from Buffalo Exchange
Sassy look from day 1, bitches