I'd take that Hulk dress and I would wear the fuck out of it, to the point that I'd cross into Miss Havisham territory.

Amazon Prime has it on streaming. I'd marathon it if I didn't have an extremely impressionable toddler running around.

Girl, 300 pound back squat? HELLO. That is amazing. I broke 225 and my husband just about lost it.

GO BIG!

Just broke a 250 pound deadlift — which is 25 pounds over my weight. She can kiss my strong-yet-dimpled ass.

I voted and I am so fucking proud of my hometown. Good for you, Albuquerque — and for once, I'm not being facetious.

Yeah, we're also going to need Piccard on this, stat.

I feel like there was a real missed opportunity with "side 'stache."

On one hand, I hope not. On the other, I really hope there's only one of the ex wandering around, because he was a douche.

Hiddles looks like my very first boyfriend, but more so in the Wallander series. It's disconcerting, because he's so pretty but I just want to junk punch him.

Way to go New Mexico. Between this, Albuquerque Police wanting to arm themselves with assault rifles and the crazy lady handing out anti-abortion propaganda to trick-or-treaters, we're having a fine week out Arizona-ing Arizona.

Do you know how my two-year-old doesn't show off her underpants* when she's playing? SHE WEARS PANTS**. Kronkite on a cracker, this is not that hard.

Yep. A friend needed a side-by-side retouch jobbie for her portfolio and did me. I looked so unreal and beautiful and not at all like a zombified woman in her mid 30s who hasn't slept more than four hours together in two years. I kind of wanted to marry her after that.

I blame Harper Lee, the lit curriculum of the early 1990s and the "Jennifer S" syndrome of our youths.

Someone bitched at me about giving my baby an old lady's name. I smiled sweetly and said, "that's the point."

My daughter's old lady name also missed the list. With any luck, she will not be one of five Harriets in her kindergarten class.

I'm wondering if your awful boss is my awful boss, because this sounds eerily familiar.

Three days after I found out I was pregnant, there was a management shake up, and I was given a new boss. This woman was a condensed nightmare. There was the usual micromanaging and nitpicking, and then there was the full-strength crazy:

I think Le Petit Comte is only a couple of months older than the atomic toddler. She's turning two this week. My BFF sent her a nice collection of IKEA play food and sent me gin.

It's almost easier to tell people that I'm bipolar ii than it was to tell people I was being treated for PPD. Almost. Either way, I've found that once I come out about my mental status, some people will give me a wide berth — or ask extremely inappropriate questions like, am I going to cut off my ear or kill my baby.