Writing through the stress…usually in a unicorn onesie.

If you need to know one thing about me, it is this: I love my name. My name is boss. To be clear, my name isn’t actually “boss,” which would be weird. But it is boss as in the slang (that dates back to the 1880s!), meaning super hip and with it. Somebody should give my parents a medal or something for coming up with this spectacular moniker for their firstborn child.

My name is Lindsay Rae. Currently, I am standing over a garbage can in my unicorn onesie, eating a chicken leg and typing on my laptop with fingers…

We must get some things out in the open

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Dear Dude From My Teenage Years, Whose Name Escapes Me At The Moment,

First things first, I sincerely apologize for cock blocking you, good sir. You need to know that this was not my intention.

My intention was for me and my girl, J, to come to your place, get our drinks on from your parent’s liquor cabinet and then hook up with you and your friend. You had your sights set on J, that much as evident. And who can blame you? The chick was and still is a beauty.

I was planning on getting in a good make-out sesh with your chubster pal (I’m a bit of a chubster myself, so…

Diary — Stay Out!

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I’ve been badgering my husband lately. Badgering is the only word for it because it is nonstop and relentless. I want him to be more supportive of my work. I keep pressing him to read my content and share it on his social media networks — brag about your amazing wife, dammit!

He is a good man who cooks amazing food for me and cleans the house, and he’s, like, the best dad to our children. He is sweet and tells me I’m beautiful when my hair is greasy, and I’ve eaten too much of that delicious food I mentioned…

It’s not what you’re thinking, I promise

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“Look,” I said with the excitement of a child seeing an elephant for the first time, “that man over there is masturbating in broad daylight!”

My husband, who moments before was feeling glum and downtrodden, glanced to his right while still keeping an eye on the busy road.

“Oh my God,” he replied upon locking onto the sight, “he’s really going at it!”

We had been driving home from an appointment with our accountant. This was one month after closing down our business after a bad run of financial luck. …

That time I had to deal with a very crappy situation

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There are specific learning moments we all experienced growing up. Those times when we know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the exact situation we are facing will forever hold firm in our memory if only to provide us with insight as to how not to do things in the future.

As I hovered over my bathroom sink, which was triple-lined with plastic grocery bags and proceeded to explode with diarrhea, I realized that this was one of those moments.

But I suppose I should start from the beginning and explain just how I came to be pooping into…

Car comedy

How am I allowed to drive?

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I avoid driving at all costs. And so I should! I’m a terrible driver. Like, not good at all. My husband worries endlessly about the fix I might get in while driving our poor children down the block to school.

Here are a few admissions as to why the powers that be should probably revoke my driver’s license immediately:

I slow down to a crawl when a cute dog is walking on the sidewalk.


It doesn’t matter if there are cars behind me or what the posted speed limit is — I want to ogle that dog! My daughter likes it when I do this because she too can appreciate adorable puppers. But my…

And adventures in drunk Facebooking

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She sits in her kitchen, waiting for the oven to preheat so she can bake the bread. The bread is the only thing on her mind right now because that’s all she’s allowing her brain to focus on. There is a very large glass of wine at her side, and, actually, she’s thinking about that too.

She shouldn’t be as drunk as she is, at 2:30 in the afternoon, but what can she say? It’s Mother’s Day, and has yet to be wished a Happy Mother’s Day by any member of her immediate family.

Happy Mother’s Day to me, she…

Well, sort of

“Oooh,” I squealed to my husband as I rolled over in bed that morning, “today’s the day, Jamie!”

Jamie was still half asleep but groggily draped an arm over me and whispered, “You’ll do great, Lind-Bae.” I don’t know why, but he insists on using that stupid nickname anytime I’m excited — I suspect to ruin my good cheer.

It was a warm spring morning, and I was determined that today would be the day I became an adult woman. Of course, being 34 at the time, I technically was an adult woman. …

The dangers of niche writing

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Every time I sit down to write, before my fingers even touch the keyboard, I rub my hands together maniacally. Like I’m the evil antagonist of my own story. I don’t know why I do this. Maybe I’m trying to hone the ancient comedian writing gods and we all know how dark and twisted those folks are.

There I’ll be, staring at a blank Google docs sheet, the sound of my dry palms chafing one another, with a glimpse of a joke tiptoeing through my mind.

I must figure out the joke.

That’s what my ego tells me. It whispers…

Lindsay Brown

Mother, writer, user of too many hashtags.

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