Foxy

The Perfect Wife

The invitation to my husband’s company Christmas party could not have arrived at a better time. Like a summons from heaven, we were invited to don elegant clothing, dine amongst corporate elite, and spend the evening at an upscale hotel.

I wept tears of joy.

See, at the time, I had a three-year-old daughter, an infant son, two large dogs, and four cats under my round-the-clock care. (Take my advice: just have the baby; don’t pretend you’re not ready and adopt too many animals instead.) Still nursing my son, I was severely sleep deprived and generally ragged. Showers were infrequent (as was any basic hygiene), and milk, bodily fluids, and other mysterious substances constantly covered my skin and clothing. My best outfit included some capri maternity jeans from Old Navy and whatever machine-washable shirt didn’t have stains on it.

I was desperate for an adult night out without anyone clinging to me, needing to be comforted, fed, or changed. I was desperate to feel clean and beautiful. I was desperate for a full night’s sleep.

Oh yeah, I also wanted to support my husband, Mr. Foxy. Recently promoted, he wanted to make a good impression with the new VPs and the CEO. Arm candy couldn’t hurt. Operation “Be the Perfect Wife in Exchange for a Free Night on the Town” commenced.

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I Do NOT Recommend This Diet Plan

By Foxy

When I was in the 4^th grade, I reenacted a Saturday Night Live skit in front of my entire class. It was one of the Doug and Wendy Whiner skits wherein they loudly and annoyingly proclaim, “We’ve got DI-VER-TICU-LII-TIS.” My classmates laughed, but it was almost certainly at me making an ass of myself rather than understanding any of the dialogue.

When I told that story to my friend Rabbit, she replied, “Of course you did.”

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How Do You Make a Clown Nativity Set Even More Awesome?

By Foxy

No, Mr. Foxy, the answer is not “Throw it into the 2020 dumpster fire!” STOP SUGGESTING THAT.

As you may recall, earlier this year, I wrote about my Clown Nativity set. Or maybe you purged that story from your brain. Seriously though, compared to some of my other whacked-out projects, the Clown Nativity set is pretty benign. In fact, I think it’s awesome. But, because the pandemic is making me do crazy shit, I wanted to make it even more awesome-er.

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What’s Your New Pandemic Hobby?

By Foxy

Folks, shit’s about to get weird ‘round here.

When government ineptitude first led to shelter-in-place, I figured I’d make the best of my time at home. I Kon-mari’d the fuck out of some closets and cabinets. I fixed a necklace (in two minutes) that had been broken for six years. I even filled out the baby books for my children (who are 17 and 14). Eventually, I ran out of projects and got tired of doom-scrolling and rage-tweeting. So I decided that a new hobby was the key to my pandemic paradise.

Now, I’ve been watching y’all. Not in a creepy way, I swear. But I’ve been ~~judging~~ reviewing what you’re posting on Facebook and Instagram and the like. I know some of you are exercising more. Some of you are making sourdough bread with your own starter named Earl. Y’all are reading more, doing puzzles, and even learning new languages. Good for you.

I took my productivity in a positively Foxy direction: dolls. My new hobby began with “let’s make a creepy Halloween decoration (that’s what Mr. Foxy calls it, but we all know it will be up year-round).” But it got so much worse. SO. MUCH. WORSE.

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Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

What Do You Do with a Headless Doll … and Other Random Questions

By Foxy

It’s possible I have a problem. Fine, I have several problems, but medication takes care of the worst of them. However, much to my husband’s dismay, I may have developed a problematic obsession with dolls and clowns. And it doesn’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon.

It’s gotten so bad, people are constantly offering me their “unwanted” dolls and clowns. In fact, the other day, my freighbor (friend + neighbor) offered me a clown, but specified that she didn’t want to see it altered or cut up or bloodied in anyway. Clearly, I had to decline her offer. I mean, I can not be shackled like that.

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Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

What Do You Do with a Bunch of Clowns Nobody Wants?

By Foxy

No, the answer isn’t “throw them in the dumpster.” Or “douse them with acid.” Or even “incinerate them in a funeral pyre.”

I mean, not when they’re your 100-year-old Aunt Ramona’s clowns.

No, that just won’t do them justice…

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Where Did the Murder Hornets Go?

By Foxy

Mr. Foxy and I have a looong history with rescue animals. When we met, I had a rat, and he had a bunny. After we started dating, he added a kitten (because he’s allergic to dogs), and not to be outdone, I adopted a cat of my own. Then, after we moved in together got married, we found an abandoned kitty in the parking lot of Chili’s restaurant so (obviously) we instantly had a third cat (named Chili, of course). Somewhere along the line, the bunny moved to a farm, and the rat died. (RIP, Buttercup.)

Then, a couple of years later, we stupidly added a fourth cat. (He was the devil.) And a few years after that, a dog (because Mr. Foxy decided he wasn’t going to be allergic to them anymore). A year after that, a second dog.

If you’re keeping tally, you will note that at the height of our insanity, we had four cats and two dogs. At the same time. So what did we do after that?

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“That Girl Who Wouldn’t Shut Up”

By Foxy

IT'S MY MEGAPHONE, BITCHES.

Okay, foxy friends, I know I haven’t been around much the past few years. Sure, I’ve popped in once or twice to reassure you that I didn’t join a cult and to show you my ~~fucked-up~~ FABULOUS Porcelain Doll Funeral/Murder Scene display. But I really haven’t been around.

Here’s the thing: I’VE MISSED YOU. I’ve missed this blog and telling silly stories. And interacting with y’all on social media. And all that other shit. But I think things are going to get better now. I mean, not on the global apocalypse front, but better on Foxy Wine Pocket. I mean, just get a load of this story…

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

I’m Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

By Foxy

My 16-year-old daughter recently declared, “Thank goodness Mom bypassed the Pinterest Mom phase and went straight to the Crazy Old Lady phase.”

As I sit here, midday, in my lounge pants and bathrobe with tissues shoved up both sleeves, petting my tiny, spoiled lap dog, and grumbling about the state of the world, I just don’t understand what she is referring to.

Okay, FINE. It’s possible hanging out so much with my 99-year-old Great Aunt Ramona has hastened my transition to Crazy Old Lady more quickly than I’d realized. Especially when it comes to the random (and what Mr. Foxy might call “disturbing”) shit I’ve started to collect.

For instance, this past year, I bought an entire collection of handmade porcelain dolls at a local silent auction. (I don’t even like porcelain dolls.)

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

Things to Know Before Accidentally Exposing a Sex Abuse Scandal

By Foxy

Hello? *tap, tap, tap* Is this thing on?

Oh hey. Remember me? It’s Foxy. I used to tell you funny stories. Well, I’m still here, and I still like to write ridiculous shit. I’m still collecting phallic Cheetos, snuggling with my rescue puppies, and enjoying all things wine and bacon. Alas, I have a new hobby—apparently—which is to inadvertently uncover decades-long sexual misconduct scandals and make myself a public target for hate speech and victim shaming.

I wish I were kidding on that last one.

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

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