Good News

I have some good news.

What? (Is this Mer’s blog?)


I just had to borrow this, ES.

Drum roll, please.

I am now officially divorced. This means that I will never have to see his lying, cheating, nasty ass ever again.

It also means that once I receive the actual paperwork, I can legally go back to my maiden name, O’Leary.

I was so anxious about facing him from across that conference table this past Monday. It didn’t help that the magistrate was a condescending prick. But thankfully, I had my daughter sitting right next to me and with her comforting presence, I found the strength to withstand the intense patriarchal vibes that were bouncing off of the walls.

I started out tough and defensive, but there’s nothing that I loathe more than having someone talk down to me. It triggered all of the fuckery that I’ve dealt with over the years, so I started to cry.


Damn you, emotions.

Right in front of asshat and that douche of a magistrate!

There were some words exchanged between B and asshat. She informed him that my mom had recently died rather traumatically. He had the fucking audacity to say that this knowledge made his heart hurt. He was so sorry because he had really cared about her.

How badly I had wanted to say that in order for your heart to hurt, you first need one to begin with. But I stayed silent. My daughter said later that he had been staring at me almost the entire time, but I had avoided making eye contact with him.

I wasn’t going to give him any extra fuel that he so desperately craved.

Once it was all over, the ink still fresh where we had signed our names, he stood up first and wished us well. He repeated his condolences about my mom. I just turned my head away and my daughter glared disgustedly at him. Getting no response from either of us, he turned around and left the room. We waited a minute or so for him to get a head start.

As we were walking down the long hallway, I looked up towards heaven and let out a tremendous sigh of relief.

“You’re free,” the kid said.

I smiled at her and wiped a stray tear away.

We both believe that my mom had been in that room with us.


ES’s 6th Annual Contest of Whatever

Being the natural-born procrastinator that I am, here’s my almost too late submission for my longtime blog friend ES and hisĀ Evil Squirrels Six Annual Contest of Whatever.

This years theme is…”a squirrel walks into a bar…”


Meet Norbert.


Hello there, bitches.

Norbert was having one hell of a day. First, he got fired from his job as a professional dog agitator. Then, upon his arrival home, he was met at the front door by his wife, who had a suitcase in her claws.

“Norbert, I just found out on Facebook that you lost your job!! I’m going to mothers house!”

“What the actual fuck? I hate social media!”

To make matters worse, his cable and internet were down for repairs.

“Now what should I do?” asked Norbert, all alone and despondent.

Ah yes, the bar down the branch! Where nobody knew his name. He could order himself a cold Guinness and drown his sorrows, just like his papa did (who was a rolling stone his ma had always said) back in the day.

So, Norbert the squirrel walked into the bar, ironically named “The Nutty Pluck.”

He decided not to sit at the bar, but within close proximity to the booze. He wanted some privacy, just in case he lost his shit and started crying, cause’ everybody knows that big squirrels don’t cry.

He took a gigantic gulp of his beer and belched so loudly, it startled a pretty female squirrel a few feet away, who turned to look at him. They accidentally (for Norbert at least) made beady black eye contact and she smiled seductively.

Much to Norbert’s surprise and dismay, she started to climb towards him. Since he suffered from social anxiety, his fluffy tail began to sweat profusely.

“Hey there, would you like some company?” she asked Norbert, giving him a wink.

“Um, no thanks, you see…sigh…I am just a lowly squirrel living in a lonely world.”

Taken aback, as she wasn’t used to being rejected, she got angry at Norbert.


Stella the Squirrel. A sexy squirrel gone amok.

“Well then, screw you!”

She turned on her hind leg, quickly becoming swallowed up by the large crowd of revelers.

Once she was far enough away, Norbert let out a massive sigh of relief and dried off his tail.


After about 5 more beers, Norbert was highly intoxicated. He started to stagger towards the front door of “The Nutty Pluck” when he suddenly felt something heavy bop him on his little furry noggin.

“What do you think of him, Ricky?”

The female squirrels voice started to wake him from his stupor. She was pointing at Norbert, who lay on the ground underneath his tree.


Poor, hapless Norbert.

He was starting to think that he should have just took a fucking nap instead of going out to get sloshed, but it was too late now, cause’ this shit was happening.

A giant ass raccoon appeared right above Norbert.


Ricky the Raccoon, rotten, but with a tender side.

“He looks like a real winner, Stella.”

Norbert tried to sit up, but the raccoon held him down with his substantially larger body.

“You ain’t going anywhere, asshat.”

Stella laughed criminally and flipped Norbert the middle finger.

“I didn’t do anything to her!” Norbert stammered, trying to defend himself.

“Right, you didn’t. Hurt her feelings a little.” The raccoon chuckled and then pulled a switch blade knife out of seemingly nowhere. He put it right flush against his wee little neck.

Norbert’s whole life passed before his eyes.

It had been a decent life, he figured. He’d eaten his fair share of nuts and dodged many a car while crossing the road. He just sucked at keeping a job (fucking stupid dogs!) and if he was being honest with himself, his wife was a nasty meanie head.

“JUST DO IT ALREADY!!” he screamed somewhat incoherently at Ricky the Raccoon, finally losing his shit.

Stella and Ricky both looked at each other in amazement.

“Well, he’s no fun,” said Stella, seemingly disappointed.

“You’re right Stella, he’s making this way too fucking easy,” said Ricky, astonished. He looked down at Norbert and then moved so that he could help him up off the filthy ground.

“No hard feelings, chump. You’re the most boring victim Stella has ever found for us. You’re free to go.”

Stella rolled her eyes. “Maybe we’ll have better luck in Acornville. This one seemed perfect, Ricky, I swear. Scared of his own shadow!”

Norbert was now standing and holding his pounding, lightly bleeding head.

“So wait…you guys are just letting me go?” Norbert asked, confused.

Ricky made a sweeping motion with his paw.

“Go now before I change my mind, you lucky bastard.”

Norbert didn’t look back, he just scurried the fuck outta there.


Once he got back to his empty nest, it really occurred to him that he had just escaped being murdered by two insane rodents. It made his job loss and losing his unpleasantly toxic wife seem less shitty by comparison.

On a whim, he started to pack up his few belongings. It was time for him to move on to higher trees.


Maybe north or south, he wasn’t sure. But he did know two things.

He’d never walk into a bar ever again.

And he wasn’t going anywhere near Acornville.

The End

Another Plight of Being Poor

The car that I bought last November is headed for the junkyard. It’s only a matter of time.

The look on the mechanics face told me something was tragically wrong before he even said any words.

“Bad news Miss. Merry.”

He walked over to me in the cushy Hyundai dealership waiting area. “You’re pistons are shot, especially in cylinder 4, which is where that noise you heard was coming from. You might not even be able to get it home today or it might last you another month or so. You need a new engine at the cost of $3,000, so might I recommend a trade in? One of our salesmen would love to help you get a new or used automobile!”

I sat in shock for at least 30 seconds, staring out of the window at my soon to be departed car. They had already taken it off of the lift.

“My credit is shit and I’m on a fixed income,” I replied slowly. (Yes, I did actually use the word shit.)

A nod. “Oh, I understand. But our guys here do miracles for people, are you sure?”

“Yes, it would be a waste of my time, seriously. The highest car payment that I could possibly afford is $100 and even that’s cutting it close.”

“Well,” he responded, “the car is safe enough to drive, but the engine will fail. I just cannot predict when that will happen. I’m really sorry.”

I felt numb. I managed a smile anyways. “Thanks.”

So I got into my car and drove it home. I remained numb and calm until evening approached. Then I became depressed and severely pissed the fuck off.

I went to bed early because I just wanted the day to come to an end.


It wasn’t what I was expecting at all. Here I was trying to be responsible and take it in soon after I noticed the “cha-cha cha, shee-shee shee” sound that it started making about two weeks ago instead of just ignoring it (procrastination is one of my specialties).

It’s weird having a car that still runs, but with a terminal diagnosis. Usually my cars are just DOA and that’s that. End of the line.

So I’ll drive it into the ground and try to save up some money somehow so that I can hopefully replace it. It’s the only option that I have.

I survive benefit to benefit from the gov and there’s not much at the end of the month to stuff away.

I usually take being poor rather well. I live a simple life, I’m careful with the money that I do have. I make sure that my bills are paid, that I have a roof over my head and food to eat.

But when disasters strike, for example when a washer or hot water tank breaks, I’m basically screwed. It’s a horrible feeling to be so helpless.

Having a car, to me, means freedom and independence.

The mechanic told me to stay local and only drive it when I absolutely need to, like going to the drugstore to get my medications or grocery shopping, various doctor appointments and things like that.

Perhaps if the good Lord sees fit, he’ll give me a few more months before it takes its final mile.

I know it’s just a car, but for me and millions of others in this world, it’s just another plight of being poor.