Rosie The Whimperer

Last night I missed the Sarah Palin guest spot on SNL, so I had no idea why J texted me with, “OMFG ESKIMOS.”

This morning when I caught up, I texted him back: “I always forget how awesome eskimos are.”

J: “I always forget they’re in our country! WE have ESKIMOS!”

“They need to be utilized more often for sure.”

“They need to be the Mascot of Everything is what!”

“Yeah. How r u?”



Today I practically dislocated my shoulder trying to start my parents’ lawn mower. I’m typing this with a bag of frozen carrots resting up there like a parrot. I’m not a complete wuss; the starter is pretty much broken. But the only reason it started at all was because my neighbor heard me whimpering after, like, attempt 85.

I DID manage to mow the entire lawn using only left turns – it hurt too much to push down with my right arm. So while I got served in the “weaker sex” category, my problem-solving skills are still a tie.

Sometimes it’s hard to be the man of the house when you’re a 5’2, 120-ish girl who can’t do a chin-up to save her life.


My mom and I have always been a little nervous because she’s the only person who knows exactly how to take care of my dad. However, we’ve never shared that fear with each other until today. I just got done with a nice run-down of his entire routine. Holy f*cking sh*t. My mom has all of his prescriptions listed in an Excel spreadsheet. She is a miracle.

As much as I bitch about being an old maid, I am pretty greatful that I am not part of the “Sandwich Generation” – people who have to take care of their little kids and aging parents at the same time. I can’t even imagine that.

I hung out with Rachel a couple of months ago and out of nowhere, her daughter started throwing a tantrum about bacon. Ra just dropped everything like, “Hold up girl, I have to go make some bacon.” I don’t know why THAT’S the moment I realized how hard it is to be a parent, but Jesus. At least when my dad asks for lunch, he asks politely and usually throws in a joke.


Last week my life was like the world’s worst Sandra Bullock movie. This week it is more like A League of Their Own. At this rate, next week will be Beaches or Steel Magnolias or some nightmarish crap like that.

All I’ve learned from chick flicks is that change doesn’t happen until you chop all of your hair off. So:


Last night Rob Ruz had to review Daniel Tosh for the RFT, and he invited me along. I’ve never been to the Pageant for stand-up; it was pretty great.

He DID: pick me up in a functioning car and open the door for me.

He DID NOT: get super wasted and scream at me in the car while going 90 on the highway.

THEREFORE: that was the best date I’ve had since at least January. Thank you Rob!

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