Foxy Wine Pocket

Me, uncensored.

6 Things I Overlook Because I Love My Husband

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Husbands can suck (that's what she said). But we love them anyways. @foxywinepocket | humor | snoring | farting

“If I could loan you my eyes, you would see how perfect he is.” My grandma declared this any time someone would dare insult my grandpa. She adored him, and he her. They had a true love affair.

I believe everyone should know such intense love—a feeling so strong, a bond so tight, a connection so deep that certain flaws get overlooked, because no one is perfect. Take my husband for example.

While he can always find the TV remote (even if it’s hidden in the couch cushions), he absolutely can not find any easily locatable household object ever.

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How to Create a Fantastically Horrific Circus-Themed Centerpiece

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There comes a time in your life when you need to create the most spectacularly fucked-up centerpiece ever. I'll show you how.

There comes a time in your life when you’re required to make a circus-themed centerpiece. Maybe it’s a decoration for a child’s birthday party. Or a get-well present. Or an anniversary gift. I mean, really, what represents marriage better than mayhem and pandemonium?

And you know what evil lurks at the circus, right? CLOWNS. Fucking clowns infest the circus. And our nightmares. No circus-themed centerpiece is complete without a clown. And I’m here to show you how to make one. I’m nothing if not sick twisted helpful.

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The Road to Hell Is Paved with Clowns

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My friend Ashley contends that clowns are fun and joyful. I set out to prove her wrong. @foxywinepocket | humor | clowns

If you have followed my blog for any length of time, you are probably familiar with my stance on clowns. I hate them. Not a normal level of hate, mind you. I loathe everything about them. Their beady little eyes (that bore straight into your soul). Their expressive eyebrows (that signal to their hounds of hell to go in for the kill). Their pasty, white skin (that never sees the light of day because they hunt at night). Their big, red noses (that, let’s face it, probably need some sort of antibiotic ointment—I don’t even want to imagine where those noses have been).

My friend Ashley constantly teases me about my level of disdain for the painted archangels of the circus.

Ashley: How can you not like clowns? They’re so fun and happy.
Me: They’re vile and evil and full of dark, murderous plans.
Ashley: What?! They’re full of joy!
Me: They are harbingers of the apocalypse.
Ashley: You’re crazy. Clowns are wonderful. You can’t make me dislike them.
Me: CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

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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 Not to Wear: A Dress Guide

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What Not to Wear: A Spring Dress Guide—These are seriously horrible dresses. @foxywinepocket

Everyone needs a brand-new dress every once in a while, right? Something special and fun that makes you feel fabulous? Like glitter and rainbows? (That’s exactly why I’m in the market for a new dress, not because I’ve gained five… okay, ten… FINE, I’ve put on fifteen pounds sitting on my ass writing a book and drinking wine for the past two years.)

Now, we all have certain styles that look better than others on us. Me? I’ve got a straight waist and a flat butt so I tend to look better in empire waisted and/or fit & flare dresses so as to give me the illusion of a waistline. And an ass.

I’ve been doing some online shopping at Nordstrom, of course. Why would I actually go to a store when I can peruse the racks in my pajamas while drinking wine? I mean, I guess I could do that at the store too, but the last time I did, Security asked me to leave.

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Rules for Using Public Bathrooms

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There are horrid crimes that occur in public restrooms. So I created a list of rules to address those heinous acts. @foxywinepocket | bathroom humor | equality

The first time I used a public restroom with my father, who had recently transitioned to a woman, was—quite frankly—unsettling. Not because I was afraid any crime would occur, rather, because for the first twenty-four years of my life, she (then he) had used the men’s restroom. Walking arm-in-arm with her into the ladies room was a surreal experience for me. (Probably for her too.)

If any other women in the bathroom noticed, none of them commented. All of us gals went about our business of attending to nature’s call, and my once-male-now-female parental unit felt secure. Imagine what it would have been like for her—a woman—to use the men’s restroom? At best, there would have been looks, comments, and/or ridicule. At worst, she could have been in real danger.

Naturally, I rejoiced when Target issued a formal policy allowing patrons to select whichever bathroom and/or fitting room aligns with their gender identity. I feel it keeps our transgender community comfortable and safe, and I applaud Target for continuing to stand for equality, respect, and inclusivity.

But—let’s be brutally honest—there are indeed crimes that happen in public restrooms. Some horrid ones. So I created my own list of rules to address those heinous acts.

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Dick Pics and Breadsticks

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I recently attended a writer’s conference in Dayton, Ohio. One of the biggest perks of these type of conferences is that you get to spend time drinking networking with your online writing friends in real life. People you otherwise would not meet in-person.

I shared a hotel room with Lola Lolita, and along with Sassypiehole (just call her Sassy—that’s what I do), we attempted to drink all of the wine in the entire city of Dayton. Three days in a row. Fortunately we never passed stage 4 on the scale of drunkenness.

On the last night of the conference, in denial that my time with my friends would be coming to an end, Lola and I held sweet Charlotte hostage in our hotel room, while Quirky Chrissy ordered pizza and breadsticks and poured wine for everyone. (God bless her.)

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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.)

The Poop Club

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Not to be dramatic or anything, but I almost died last week. Like, I couldn’t walk or talk or even move beyond (barely) breathing. I did cry a lot though. And my insides melted into the mattress as my body tried to incinerate itself with a very high fever. I picked up this nasty bug—named the Erma Flu—at a writer’s conference the week before. And it KICKED. MY. ASS.

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Stink Avoidance, Cookie Acquisition, and Other Survival Skills

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Growing up in a large family taught me a wide variety of survival skills—the acquisition of snacks being one of the most important. @foxywinepocket | humor
As the youngest of six kids, I was farted on a lot. At least once a week, one of my brothers would sit on my head and let one rip. Eventually, I learned to recognize the warning signs—the glint in their eyes, the snickers, the less-than-stealthy movements—and I’d scramble behind the couch before a stinky butt made contact with my face.

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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.)

Dancing the Dead Dog Jig

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Sometimes out of nowhere, a song latches on to your brain and won't let go. Actually, it happens to me quite frequently. And this story is horrible. @foxywinepocket | humor

Sometimes out of nowhere, a song latches on to your brain, slithers through the gyri, and won’t leave until you stick an icepick in your ear.

Actually, that happens to me quite frequently. Commercial jingles and 70s sitcom theme songs surprise and “delight” me by their random appearances in my head. (Unless it’s Friday. I hate that shit.)

Naturally I feel obliged to infect entertain everyone around me by sharing those songs.

Loudly.

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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.)