And it should scare you, too.

Frances McDormand in Chloé Zhao’s film “Nomadland” (Joshua Richards/Searchlight Pictures)

Let me just get this out of the way: I love Frances McDormand.

Ever since Fargo changed our world view about pregnant cops and wood chippers, I have fangirled over her chin dimple and her IDGAF attitude. She is that rarest of things: a truly talented actor who is both the character she plays and yet deeply herself.

In Nomadland, the quasi-documentary about America’s transient labor force, McDormand’s performance is beautifully spare and naturalistic. She’s aging before our eyes like (gasp!) a normal human being instead of a Hollywood star. …

Follow me on Instagram #RVlife #poopbucket #vandownbytheriver

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Hey Facebook Fam!

Big news! I’ve decided to live in a van down by the river! 🚐🌊🙌

You’re probably saying to yourself, “Wow, why didn’t I think of ditching my job and my home and my family to live in a van down by the river?”

Well, I’ve been following a lot of #RVlife posts on the IG and I couldn’t stop thinking about how great it would be to live in a van down by the river!

And then I watched that movie Nomadland with Frannie McDormand, and maybe I took the scene about pooping into a bucket the…

Open Letters

You’re so much more than just a giant rodent that’s taking advantage of me.

All raccoons are named Rocky. I don’t make the rules. (Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash)

Dear Rocky,

First of all, I’d like to apologize for thinking you were a groundhog. But it’s dark in my basement, and you’ve taken up residence in an old coal chute in a hundred-year-old house, so cut me some slack. I’ve got a lot going on, not least of which is ancient electrical wiring, snakes in my bedroom, and now a feral tub of lard who contributes nothing towards the heating bill.

Somehow you came in from the outside (I’m still trying to Nancy Drew that one), chewed through the drywall compound and screening that covered the hole in the…

Dearest Mother, I write to you from the depths of this Hellish place from which all hope has fled.

(photo: Bev Potter)

Dearest Mother —

I write to you from doggy jail, a Hellish place from which all hope has fled. The conditions here are unspeakable. My bedding is but a scrap of fabric thrown carelessly to the floor by the Warden (that would be you).

My cell contains no couch. No recliner. No second couch. No comfy pillows upon which to drool and fart. No Queen-size Sealy Posturepedic to lie across diagonally so that no one else has room to sleep except for one inch of mattress right at the edge.

And worst of all (I beg that you steel yourself…

You don’t deserve to see me wear eyeliner.

Kate Winslet/HBO (Fair Use)

God, I hate all of you. Especially when you wake me up to solve your stupid murders.

You’re going to need to knock louder than that to break through this carb-induced couch coma. I’m not even wasting eyeliner on you. You don’t deserve to see me wear eyeliner.

My skin glows because I’m covered in potato chip grease.

On the outside I might appear to be a reasonably competent police detective. But on the inside I’m a roiling stew of IBS and self-loathing. Only the vacant thousand-yard stare gives it away. …

Maybe I exaggerate.

Photo by Sammy Williams on Unsplash

Some people are just beautiful. There’s no debate about it, it’s just a fact. And the rest of us have to drag our disfigured carcasses through life without complaining too much because, hey, them’s the breaks.

Jackie was beautiful. She had flawless skin with a hint of natural blush and jet black hair. She was like a living, breathing Snow White. Next to her, I was one of the acne-ridden and deeply unpopular dwarves.

I lived on a 76-acre farm in the middle of nowhere, an only child with middle-aged parents who were too busy working at the automotive plant…


The Captain says I have the upper body strength of a 12-year-old girl.

Photo by Rishabh Pammi on Unsplash

** July 20, 2021 **

[07:00 HOURS GMT] Liftoff uneventful. I went tinkle in my suit, but the astronaut diaper performed admirably. Note to self: Make Amazon warehouse workers and delivery drivers wear astronaut diapers to cut down on bathroom breaks. Deduct diaper cost from wages.

[07:02 HOURS GMT] In space, no one can hear you fart. Maybe that white truffle and gold leaf garnished lobster thermidor served on the washboard abs of a Maxim cover girl last night was a mistake. Note to self: Bring Tums the next time I go into space.

[07:07 HOURS GMT] We are weightless…

Open Letters

I assume you have died from my greatness.

Photo by Cookie the Pom on Unsplash

Dear Editor:

This letter will be embarrassing for both of us. Well, not for you, because you’re never going to read it. It will go straight to an email folder labeled “talentless hacks” just like everything else I’ve ever sent to you.

It’s almost like you’re God. Prayer is just a query letter to God. You put everything to have into it, and then you never hear back.

At this point, even an automatic response would be appreciated. But please, I beg of you, kill me quickly. Just say, “No.” That’s it. That’s all the email has to say.




Check out the big vocabulary on you! You used more unique words than 92% of Grammarly users. Keep it up!

Looks like somebody’s been busy! Your writing statistics show that you were more productive than 93% of Grammarly users last week. Now let’s just work on the quality!

You certainly have a way with words! You set a new personal productivity record last week. But seriously, nobody wants to read another self-help article unless it’s self-helping you to be less boring. That was awkwardly phrased, but you know what we mean.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: Conjurer. Your brain and fingers…

Bev Potter

Legal secretary by day, insomniac by night. BA, MA. If life is a journey, I’m lost. Slackjaw, Points In Case, The Funny Times, The Haven. Twitter: @blade_funner

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