Happy Anniversary, Mr. D!

All women want to be princesses, from Carrie Bradshaw to Cinderella. We all want to be beautiful, dress the part, find The One, live happily ever after.

I said that the other night, back when we were going out on our shitty date. You looked so handsome—you always do—and in my stoner reverie, I called you my Prince Charming, though perhaps the better analogy would have been to call you the Jordan Catalano to my Angela Chase (minus the Rayanne Graff mess).

Remember that night about a year back when we went for a 12L ride with our Weed Husband? So much fun. So many laughs and good tunes, but my favorite memory was a single moment on the drive home. You looked so hot in your navy blue shirt, and I wanted to be in your arms, and at that very moment, you played my song, leaned over to kiss me (you have a great lean, even better than Jordan Catalano’s), and quoting Little A, you said, “You’re my favorite best friend.”


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Hillary and the Lioness

I’ve been looking forward to the debates all election season, even let the kids stay up til 10 to watch. I’m glad I did, too, and not just because they fell asleep the minute we marched upstairs.

I want them to remember this moment in history.

“I like the woman,” Little A said early in the night.

“That’s Hillary,” Big A told her. “I like her too.”

I’m happy you do, my sweet A’s. Hillary is sharp, resilient, hard-working, ambitious, self-made, successful, strategic, and classy. She is a boss bitch, and I believe all women should aspire to boss bitchdom.

Aspire to be President of the United States of America one day.

It makes me proud to live in a time when you can set that kind of goal.

One of my favorite fantasies is my time machine one—where I’m the hot, bedazzled Queen of Studio 54, shimmering under the disco ball and inventing the dance moves of the future—but then I remember, no, that was a shitty period for most women; that 2016 is actually the best possible time for our gender, where opportunities abound, and girls can run the world, Beyoncé style.

The night before Leymah Gbowee won the 2011 Nobel Peace Prize for helping to lead the women’s protests that toppled Liberia’s dictator, she was asked how American women could help those who experienced the horrors and mass rapes of war. Her response: “More women in power.”

This is the Golden Age of the Boss Bitch, and Hillary is proof.

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Bless you, NameBright

I paid $2,000 for the highmom.com domain name. I’m not sure how stupid that was; I tend to vacillate between “What that fuck were you thinking” and “That’s not really that much money.”

Anyway, I purchased the site from NameBright.com, and dropping that kind of cash on a site I’d never heard of made me uneasy. I kept wishing I had bought it from GoDaddy, finding comfort in its creepy name and sleazy commercials. (Hashtag brand recognition.)

But almost immediately after I purchase highmom, I realize I have no clue what I’m doing. (If this post were a Family Guy clip, we’d segue to the scene from “Don’t make me over,” which sadly doesn’t exist on YouTube. But it’s the one where Peter, Joe, Cleveland and Quagmire are on stage, in costume, before a crowd of prisoners, ready to play their first song just as Peter realizes they don’t know any.) Anyway, that’s me: lost, intimidated and completely overwhelmed. I don’t know what a name server is. I don’t know what my next steps are. This whole process scares the shit out of me, and so I do the only thing I know how. Nothing.

I’d still be making payments on a nonexistent site were it not for Mr. D. He suggests I call the company, have them walk me through the steps. And oh how they do. The lucky customer service rep who answers my call spends close to an hour answering all of my stupid questions. And they are stupid. (But whatever. I’ve learned your ability to grasp a concept is inversely proportional to the simplicity of the questions you ask about it.) Anyway, he explains things in such digestible detail that I finally understand I need to find a web hosting site.

So I call my friend WJD, who has recently moved to Denver (and who I really need to visit for some of that Rocky Mountain high). He’s launching a new mobile company, has built websites for some big clients in the past and all-around just knows his shit. When he recommends DreamHost, I listen. And I eventually launch this blog.

DreamHost and NameBright are probably totally different services (or maybe they’re identical. Who knows. I certainly don’t.). Anyway, the only discernible difference I’ve noticed is in the customer service.

DremHost offers 24/7 live chat, which is amazing. Until you start asking questions. Talking to them makes me feel like I’m getting my eyebrows waxed at a Korean nail salon. (“Oh, you a very hairy girl. Very hairy.”). They’re just so condescending; some of the actual conversations I’ve had include lines like, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about” and “I don’t know how to help you beyond the answers I’ve given.” I always exit the pop-up box feeling like a complete dummy (which, when it comes to web development, I admittedly am).

But then I call NameBright and feel like they’re holding my hand and patiently navigating me through these uncharted, digital waters. Or maybe they’re just better at understanding their consumer. “Oh, she’s high? And she’s a mom? She’s clearly tired and confused. Let’s take it easy on this one.”

Whatever the reason, I thank you, NameBright. I was wrong for ever doubting you.