#winning

Of Love and Haircuts

This seemingly random (and completely staged) photo may not make sense right away, but I swear it will. This was one of the VERY FEW photos of my daughter’s tween hair I ever got. Just keep reading.

The nurse cooed at the creature emerging from my crowning cervix. “Ohhh, she has so much hair! Do you want me to put a mirror down here so you can see it?”

That is how the original essay began, but the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition limited me to 450 words, so I had to cut them.

I also had a few other irreverent jokes, but if I’m being honest, those lines didn’t really capture the spirit of Erma herself. And that was the whole point of the contest.

So I cut them as well and submitted a 449-word essay to the contest (I’m sure you can imagine how hard it is for me to limit my words), and GUESS WHAT? I won an Honorable Mention!

That recognition felt pretty darn good. You know, since the world is a dumpster fire, and the rejections letters are taking over my Inbox. (It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.)

Anyhow, you can read my award-winning essay on the Erma Bombeck website. I also invite you to read a more Foxy-fied version (with pictures!!!) right here. Then, tell me which one you like more—or better yet, tell me how much you love them both! Please? Pretty please? I’ll be your best friend…

[Read more…]

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Bless the Baby, but Fuck All the Fluids

By Foxy

With a few weeks left in my first pregnancy, my bladder broke. Like, I literally couldn’t stop the pee.

Fortunately, I was sitting on the toilet when it happened. I’d just finished peeing for the thousandth time that day and started to wipe when more liquid shot out. I wiped again, and even more came out. As I sat there contemplating wearing an adult diaper for the next few weeks, I noticed the tissue was slightly pinkish, not yellow. I gave it a quick sniff (barf) and confirmed it wasn’t urine.

Relief at not facing incontinence led to the horror that my water bag was busted. Impossible! I just started maternity leave! I still have three-and-a-half weeks to go! I haven’t packed my hospital bag!

I called my husband multiple times. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer because he was in class so I called my friend, Carrie, who lived close by. She was thirty-four weeks pregnant with her third child. She would know what to do.

“Hang tight,” she said. “I’ll be right there.” I attached a ginormous maxi pad to my underwear, grabbed my keys, and waited by the door. Slowly dripping like an old faucet with a broken washer.

[Read more…]

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.)

Beware of Killer Tampons

By Foxy

“Did you get it in yet?” My best friend whisper-screamed through the gap in the school bathroom stall.

“No. I can’t seem to find the hole.” My twelve-year-old hands shook, and I dropped a second tampon in the toilet. “Shit.”

“Well, that should only happen if you put it in the wrong hole,” my feminine-hygiene-product dealer joked.

My voice tinged with hysteria. “I just can’t figure out how to get it in.”

Her voice was calm; clearly she’d put many a period plug up her hot pocket. “Look, I gave you three. Why don’t you try the last one at home.”

That thought terrified me. “Maybe … but my mom will kill me if she finds out I’m using tampons.”

[Read more…]

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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.)

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.)

A Snake, an Ass, and a Chupacabra Walk into a Bar

By Foxy

Recently my teenage daughter asked us to join her in GISHWHES (the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen). This was a BIG ask. It required me to leave my house. To put on pants. To people. (I don’t people well.)

But my teenager asked so the only answer was, “Of course I will!” Which is probably what the creators intended. To bring people together and get them out of their comfort zones.

I approached this hunt like I do many things: reluctantly LABES OUT.

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.)

For Sale: My Husband’s Final Hopes and Dreams

By Foxy

I haven’t been camping in over a decade. Wanna know why? Because I hate it. I fucking hate it.

I guess I didn’t always find camping so detestable. I spent my summers in high school working as a counselor at a campground outside of Yosemite. Three full months of that camping shit. In college, I used to personally initiate camping trips on the weekends and during breaks—pitching a tent, hiking, fishing, cooking up my catch—all that crap. Even in my early married years, I actually enjoyed camping as a leisurely activity.

Me, as a camp counselor. Of course that dirty hippy loved camping. Of course she did.

But now? Camping is dead to me.

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Sometimes Anxiety Isn’t a Complete Asshole

By Foxy

When you live with anxiety, it can be difficult to distinguish between the symptoms of the condition and all of the bullshit going on around you. I ~~frequently~~ occasionally find myself asking, “Is this person being a jackass—or am I irritated because of my anxiety disorder?” (Sometimes it’s a tough call.)

Combine anxiety with depression, and those two jerks regularly have me paralyzed, wanting to complete a task but lacking the required energy. Unable to string together coherent thoughts. Unable to approach normal social situations with any grace (if I even make it out the door at all). Unable to function in the afternoon. Well, except binge-watching Netflix. I can always do that.

But sometimes, just sometimes, anxiety isn’t a complete asshole.

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The Problem with Multi-Colored Rugs

By Foxy

We recently adopted quite possibly the most adorable puppy ever. On doggy death row because of several birth defects, Scooter has a difficult time walking straight and frequently stumbles around like a drunk. (No comparisons to me, thankyouverymuch.) But he’s a total sweetie, not in any pain, and a lovely companion.

Multi-colored rugs and puppy poop created my worst nightmare.

And, OMG, LOOK AT THAT FACE.

Scooter keeps me company in the dining room where I write in a makeshift office space at the table. But the slippery wood floors are a bit tough for him to walk on. When he’s not on the area rug under the table, he often falls on his face. And his butt. And all over the place. (Again, no need for comparisons to yours truly.)

Anyhow, I decided to move my office downstairs to the basement, which is carpeted. The carpeting would make it easier for him to get around and to wrestle with our other dog, which would be great physical therapy.

So I gathered up my supplies from the dining room and brought the first load downstairs. I threw away moved my children’s art supplies from the desk-turned-craft-table, reclaimed it as my own, and started setting up my new writing station when I heard my husband’s frantic voice booming from upstairs, “YOU BETTER STAY OUT OF THE KITCHEN!”

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The REAL Love Your Spouse Challenge

By Foxy

I’ve been seeing all these beautiful pictures of my friends and their spouses on Facebook in the “Love Your Spouse Challenge,” a seven-day challenge designed to “celebrate your special union.” First dates. Weddings. Nights out on the town. Perfection, right?

Some of you have even created hilarious spoofs by posting pictures of your grilled-cheese sandwiches, burritos, and doughnuts (don’t you spell it “donut” or I will cut you). Hilarious, for sure, but not the real challenge.

The glamour shots aren’t the real challenge either though. It’s too easy to post flawless pictures of you and your spouse—special moments and occasions that highlight your love at its finest. What about the ugly moments? The hard ones? (That’s what she said.) The unflattering pictures? That’s where the real challenge comes in.

Allow me to up the ante.

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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