THANKS, I LOVE YOU: there is a bus driver out there who thinks i had a very weird morning and he’s right

so this morning i was riding the bus to work, because i’m a grown up, who has a job, and i must take not one but two busses to get there. and i get off the first bus feeling a lot of hope for not just the day but the whole week. last week was cloudy and overcast, but this week! this week is going to be different. it’s sunny. i’m going to be productive. i’m going to be focused. i’m going to get things done.

  • spoiler: i’m going to abandon all these plans immediately.

i reach into my pocket to retrieve my wallet, which has my transit pass in it, and realize: it’s not there. it is also not in my other pocket. it is also not in my gym bag.

it is still on the bus.

i flew first class by accident and it was honestly the best argument for entering into an income-based loveless marriage i can imagine

yesterday, on my flight back to chicago from atlanta, i was mysteriously bumped to first class, for no reason at all that i could ascertain.


it was truly, TRULY, the most magical experience i’ve had, ever, in my life. i’m gonna find me a rich hubby so i can only ever ride first class again. 



  •  i don’t need “has an impressive art collection” money, i don’t need “targeted by wine forgers” money, i don’t even need “sets up a scholarship at a local college” money.

  • i just want that FIRST CLASS ONLY money. 

  • first class EVEN ON INTERNATIONAL FLIGHTS money.

  • “your dad called you ‘sport’ while you were both standing on a tennis court at the maidstone club” money.

Shots!; or, There's Significantly More Milk In This Story About Teenage Drinking Than You're Probably Expecting

 i have the problem that all chronically uncool people have, which is that i can never seem to navigate myself into situations where being cool is an option. you know? like i never just “wind up” at a party or the cool kids table or in the Fun Group on school projects. that just never happens. guaranteed, in high school, if the whole group was splitting up into two cars, i would end up in the car with mostly parents.


i have made my peace with this. me and all ur moms are best friends. i’ve seen ur baby pictures, SHARON.

Life In Bikini Bottom; or, At Least One Family Has A Pretty Weird Vacation Video Of Me In The Bahamas

 i don’t know a lot, but i do know three things:


  1. dogs are good;

  2. eating is the best part of every day; and

  3. bikinis: why?

THEIR TEETH, BUDDY!!!; Or, I Respect Sharks' Right To Live But I Think They Should Stay TF Away From Me

when i was A Teen, i went to fiji for like ... 5 weeks. my stepfather paid for the trip as a high school graduation present, and it was a great time. i went with this weird like ... adventure travel group? at one point we climbed to some waterfall up on a mountain and i was walking too slowly so this huge fijian guy full-on threw me over his shoulder and ran me up the mountain like he was balto dragging TB medicine to village children through a blizzard. at one point we helped paint a building, except i was bad at it so they made me just stand in the middle of the building and sing celine dion songs a capella.


we stayed at this unused/abandoned summer camp where all the cabins were VERY harsh triangles you couldn’t quite stand upright in, and bought all our food at like, fijian cotsco. all i bought was sandwich bread, peanut butter, and roughly 24 party packs of now & laters.


  • looking back it seems actually very weird, but at the time i was just like, “sure.”

Teenage Dream; or, Roses Are Red, Carnations Are Pink, This Was A Mistake, Oh God, This Was A Terrible Mistake

as a high school freshman, i was in love with a senior boy. his name was something like, but not exactly, harry. my high school did have a handsome boy who was older than me named harry—although, now that i’m writing this, i’m remembering that actually his name was dylan.

WASPs Don’t Talk About Their Problems; Or, This Door Is Too Emotional

 at eight-ish, i was in that period of every child’s life where they’ve had their first growth spurt, but only in like...some parts of their body. growth does not happen uniformly, which is why some kids have weird torsos and others can scrape the ground with their knuckles when they walk. pretty much every child in a third-grade classroom looks a little like the product of an affair their mom had with jack skellington.

Mortality Bites; or, You Think They’re Normal But Your Parents Could Be Hiring Hitmen Under Your VERY NOSE

at the tender age of either-8-or-9, i learned about death first hand, because i witnessed a murder.

the time i walked in on a robbery and tried to buy some wine

so the thing you have to know about me is that fundamentally, to my core, the only thing i really want out of life is to never be gauche or rude, ever, ever. every single one of the mistakes that haunt my dreams are times where i blithely said or did something that violated a rule i didn’t know or maybe just forgot.


  • i live in constant fear of getting sent to the Principal’s Office of Life, where i imagine an old lady with all of the characteristics of a cat i once had (half an ear, a snaggletooth) makes me sit in detention highlighting all the parts of Emily Post that i don’t have memorized.*

the other thing you have to know about me is that i really, really love wine.

the time my highschool boyf and i got stuck on a roof

“hey, boyf?”




“where did you put the ladder?”


he looked up. “i left it where you’re standing.”


i looked again. #confirmed for no ladder.


“are you sure?”


“yeah, where else would i put it?”


“well, where did you get it?”


“i don’t know, i found it….on……the grass………”


  • A WORD OF ADVICE: don’t ever just assume that ladders left lying around are for public use!!! they are ALMOST NEVER for public use.

the time i conquered an oven and almost killed myself with coffee

when i was in argentina i did a homestay and my housemom, MonMons (real name monica, insisted that “everything you put into your body is trash” which, in her defense, was true) had one of those gas stoves that you have to light with an actual match.


i don’t know if any of you have spent any time on this blog but like the absolute LAST thing i would put in baby!mollyhall’s hands is GASOLINE and MATCHES. i was terrified of that stove. i refused to use it. i would go to extreme lengths to avoid having to do literally anything with that stove. 

the time with the Great Jam Caper

when i was living in argentina, my friend bryan was actually not living with me but with this guy named jake and another guy named……..uh, something. i forget his name, but i know that in high school he was in a screamer band. i think they may have had a song on the radio once, or almost had a song on the radio once, but then they all broke up because they went to college.


anyway jake & Screamer Band Guy (SBG) lived with bryan in this little apartment in san telmo, which was the perfect neighborhood for bryan specifically to be living in because of who bryan is as a person (san telmo has world famous flea markets and bryan unironically called himself my mom and cooked me italian food when i was sad).  


the thing about bryan is that he had this raspberry jam that he was obsessed with and that was i guess really hard to get in argentina. the boys all shared all their food, but the jam was always off limits unless you asked bryan first.

the time i got stuck on a ski lift and almost ruined a family vacation

back when i lived with my dad, until i was 10 or so, we used to go skiing every (almost every??? many???? idk, i’m bad at time intervals) winter vacation. my dad’s family unit (brother-sister-stepmom-dad) was very athletic. my brother and sister were always doing Sport Things.


i was not always doing Sport Things. i couldn’t catch a Sport Ball if you put superglue on my hands.

the time i may have accidentally led my local cashier to believe my dad was dead

so i’m like 98% sure that the checkout guy in my building’s grocery store thinks my dad is dead.

the time that PAUL MCCARTNEY gave me a swimming lesson

DISCLAIMER: i have no memory of this story. this is just a story that has been told to me SO MANY TIMES that quite frankly i’m not sure whether i remember bits of it or if i’ve just been incepted.


so my grandparents used to have a house in jamaica. for a while my nana started semi-permanently living there, and my mom was like, “you know what’s better than being in america??? BEING IN JAMAICA, YO MOM, WAIT UP,” and would spend long chunks of the year living there helping to take care of her. 


anyway, this story takes place in jamaica because my grandparents’ house was like… in a neighborhood near to (??? idk how vacation home neighborhoods are laid out) where paul mccartney’s vacation house was.

the worst email i’ve ever sent

have you ever done something so monumentally stupid that you can’t even, like, process it????? like your brain just shuts down.


  • "oh, well, i guess we’ll just go ahead and die here,” your brain says. “we’ve had a good run. this  feels like a nice comfy way to quietly exit the universe.”

the time my mom adopted a wild boar and it exactly as you might expect it to

the year i lived abroad, my parents had no one in the country who could talk sense into them, saying things like, “domestic animals are for cuddling, and wild animals aren’t pets because they arewild animals,” so my mother adopted a wild boar.


here are some fun facts about wild boar:


  • they are a problem, environmentally, because some asshole brought them over without THINKING about why america maybe DIDN’T HAVE WILD BOAR and why just introducing them WILLY-NILLY might be a PROBLEM for an ENVIRONMENT THAT WAS NOT EQUIPPED. FOR WILD BOAR.

  • they will kill you.

  • wild boar will kill you.

  • they don’t give a shit about the family you have to feed, they will kill you until you are dead.

the time my cousin barea accidentally lit her head on fire and now i think she’s hiding something

so around christmastime a few years ago—let’s say 5 years? maybe 6? i don’t know, some time between 2005 and 2010. this morning i referred to something that happened when i was four as “the other day,” so don’t ask me these things—i was spending christmas with my father and his side of the family. 




  • my dad, a 6’4 Mister Dad, who just looks like he should be wearing a tweed suit with elbow patches on it at all times

  • my grandparents, dammah and dappah; dappah lost a thumb in a boating accident and dammah snail-mails me poetry she’s written while walking on the beach

  • my brother, the straight-A grumpy cat whose two favorite hobbies at the time were video games and not talking to anyone at social functions

  • my cousin andrew, an eagle scout and general rapscallion

  • my cousin barea, who loved the color orange, philosophy, and this really sweet blue satin cape that made her look like a young minerva mcgonagall 

  • my aunt terse, a practicing witch (wiccan? i’m not really sure; my young brain only understood that she had a magic wand, roughly a dozen cats, and a moon garden)

  • and me.


essentially every family gathering was like an episode of Leave It To Beaver meets Sabrina the Teenage Witch. 

the time that I WAS A DONUT GOD

SO THE THING ABOUT TRASHBAG DONUTS IS: i worked at a camp for kids the summer that I was 20. and part of that meant eating the same things that the kids ate, being on the same nutritional plan. which was great, you know, because it was theoretically a good nutrition plan and we should all treat our bodies like temples OR WHATEVER.


but the tHING WAS, right, that sometimes, someTIMES, you just. you just want JUNK FOOD. you just want to put stuff into your body that you KNOW IS GOING TO CLOG YOU ARTERIES, BUT LIKE, FUCK IT, DEATH COMES FOR ALL OF US. IT COMES FOR ALL OF US, EVEN GLUTEN-FREE VEGANS WHO LOVE RUNNING.

the time i accidentally tripped on ambien and tried to fight my own reflection

so ambien can be a really good drug for people with bad insomnia. but when my doctor prescribed it to me, she looked me dead in the eyeballs and said, “take this when you are ready to sleep. keep it on your bedside table. when you are in bed, lights off, ready to go, take one of these pills. don’t take one of these pills at any other time.”


i was like, “yo, doc, recreational drug use is just not really on the menu. literally the most illegal thing i do is not put on a seatbelt in cabs.”


the time i brought shame on my high school in front of the AP review board

so while i was at boarding school i took ap physics, which was a bad decision for all parties involved because a) as a pigeon-toed loser with a center of gravity her body doesn’t know what to do with, physics has never done anything but betray me, and b) i’m not very good at math.

the time a slight misunderstanding almost send me to porn prison

so here’s a fun story about "the first wives club." guess who loves this movie? me! i do! i love this movie. i love this movie so much that when i was in the 7th grade and i saw “first wives club 2” on pay per view i was like: HELL YEAH!! FIRST WIVES CLUBTWO!! NO ONE TOLD ME THERE WAS A SEQUEL!!!


here’s the synopsis for first wives club 2:


  • disgruntled first wives take their ex-husbands’ new lovers under their wing.

the time my friend ginna fell out of the ceiling

DISCLAIMER: weirdly, when i talked to ginna about this story she says she remembers it happening freshman year of high school? and she says we were in bess's room, not mine, hiding because it was after light's out. honestly, i don't know. memory is weird.


anyway, this is how i remember it.

the time i almost died thanks to a piece of luxury furniture

the summer that i was about thirteen or fourteen, my mother decided to buy a la-z-boy for my stepdad, skip, for their anniversary. she did this because my mother loves giving presents and my stepdad loves sitting down.


she needed someone to help transport the chair from the furniture store back to our house. my brother was, at the time, at Sports Camp For Young Boys Who Want Girls To Kiss Them, and skip was obviously out of the question, so her only option was me.


me at 13, a self-portrait:

  • pigeon-toed

  • desperately physically unfit

  • favorite snack was mozzarella cheese. no garnish. just…… balls of mozzarella cheese

  • in my “i only listen to blink-182 and my favorite color is linkin park after dark nailpolish,” phase


the time my mother left me to die in a fire so that she could rescue five fish, all named jerry

so obviously the problem with listening to country music too much is that it is a constant reminder of my wayward youth growing up on a farm in virginia, and all the stupid crap i used to get up to while my poor mother ran after me waving her hands in the air shouting things like, "why are there eggs on the garage door????“ and, "HOW did you end up in LOUISA COUNTY??? YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN SCHOOL,” and, “YOU’RE GOING TO GET THE PLAGUE IF YOU DON’T GET THAT PIGEON BLOOD OFF YOUR HANDS.”


  • just girly things!

anyway, i’ve been thinking about my mother.

the time i got drunk on a tuesday and threw bar nuts at strangers

when i lived in spain, i worked as a “bartender” in madrid. i put “bartender” in quotation marks because my boss fernando trusted me with literally nothing but cleaning glasses and occasionally a CLOSELY SUPERVISED mojito. the bar was called “la chocita sueca,” which basically means “the swedish hut,” but can also, as far as i can tell, mean something VERY DIFFERENT and vERY RUDE.

  • this led to a lot of general confusion from the patrons, who were always wondering whether i (the only super, super white person) was The Swede. 

  • “THIS BAR IS NOT NAMED AFTER ME,” i would shout, trying to be heard above the music and the huge portrait of elvis that hung behind the bar. “I AM LITERALLY JUST HERE TO WASH DISHES AND MAKE TERRIBLE MOJITOS.”


  • “nO.”


  • “VERY SURE.”







  • at which point fernando would sweep in and say soothingly, “shhh, it’s okay. why don’t you go wipe down the vomit on the bar??”

  • rinse. rather. repeat.

the time i got robbed at knifepoint (but by a gentleman)

so when i was studying in argentina, it was like a thursday, and they were having what’s called a “feria” which is kind a holiday?? in argentina sometimes they decide to CANCEL EVERYTHING, ostensibly to celebrate things like books and students but i suspect really so that nobody has to go to work.


  • argentina gets me.


ANYWAY, i decided that day to go the gym! this was new and different for me, a person who considers “intense chewing” to be exercise. 

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