True Story

A discussion I had with Megan the other day.

Beth: “I’ve tried all the natural & organic ranch dressings, but I swear nothing is as crazy yummy as Hidden Valley Ranch.  It’s just so damn delicious, and better than all of the natural kinds.”

Megan: “Oh yeah?”

Beth: “Yep.  Nothin’ better.  They must have the secret magical recipe or something.”

Megan: “Yeah, it’s probably hidden somewhere…
…Like in that valley?”

Beth: “…”





I mean, I *probably* won’t get stabbed in my sleep…

Living alone is great.  I’m six months in and I love it.  I NEVER have to wear pants.  I can pee with the door open.  I can leave my dirty dishes in the sink and my dirty underwear on the floor.  I can drink straight out of the carton.  No one judges me for having gummy worms for dinner. No one eats the last of my blue-cheese stuffed olives and then when I’m craving them says, “Oh yeah, I meant to pick some up at the store but I forgot.”.  The only little snag I’ve run into in this solo dwelling adventure is my overactive imagination…

My keys disappeared the other day.  I refuse to say I lost them because I always put them on my kitchen table when I get home.  And I know I didn’t leave them anywhere because I used them to drive myself home and let myself in my apartment.  But they are absolutely nowhere to be found.  I checked the garbage.  I checked the couch.  I checked under the couch.  I checked behind the couch. I checked the fridge.  I checked behind the fridge.  I checked on top of the fridge.  I checked under the dirty underwear on the floor.  I checked every pocket of every coat I own.  I looked everywhere for those damn keys and finally had to concede that they were gone. I have a spare set so it isn’t too big of a deal but the idea that they simply vanished is just not acceptable.  I can’t stop trying to figure out where they could have possibly gotten off to.  This is where my imagination becomes a problem.*

The following is a text conversation between myself and my very patient boyishfriend:

Me:  my keys are nowhere.  at what point do I worry about this?

Eric:  yikes. no idea.

Me:  chances that someone came in while I was in the shower and took them are slim, right?

Eric:  very slim.

Me:  more likely they sprouted legs and ran off, right?

Eric:  right.  you’ll find them in a week under a thing that moves just slightly to the left.

Me:  any idea what that thing is? I’d like to check it now.

Eric:  nope.

Me:  I’m convinced they’re stolen and someone’s going to break in and stab me into little pieces. it’s the only thing that makes any sense.

Eric:  except it doesn’t make sense.

Eric:  but you can get the locks changed anyway.  feeling safe at home is important.

Me:  no point in changing them.  I’ll be dead.

Eric:  try changing them before you die.

Me:  I admit it’s not really a realistic fear.

Eric:  agreed.

Me:  I am gonna hate saying I told you so.

Eric:  you’ll be dead.



*I partially blame Beth’s addiction to Criminal Minds for my irrational murder fantasies.  Thanks for fueling the fire on this one, friend.  Also, in case I do get stabbed into little pieces… top dresser drawer, right hand side.  Please take care of it so my mom doesn’t have to.  ;)


Why I need to start wearing my glasses more often…

Hey, it’s Beth!  Hope your weekend was so awesome, that it was even better than seeing a squirrel falling off of a fence.

So my friend Stacey and I get up early 3x a week to go jogging (do you feel like a lazy-ass yet?).  Since it’s wintertime it’s pretty darn dark still at 6:00am.  And this is where our story begins…
*While jogging in the park, I look over and see a large mound of SOMEthing beneath a tree…

Me: *grabbing Stacey’s arm – “Oh. My. God.  WHAT IS THAT!?”

Stacey: *slightly panicked – “What is what??”

Me: “Right there!  Under that tree!  WHAT. IS. THAT!?”

Stacey: “Uhm… that is a pile of rocks.”

Me: “WHAT!?  Really?  Ohmygosh thank GOD.”

Stacey: “What did you think it was?”

Me: “I thought it was a dead child!”

Stacey: “You really need to start wearing your glasses more often…”

Me: “No really!  I thought it was!  You know it’s always the joggers that find the dead bodies!*  I swear, every time you watch the news, it’s those early-morning people that stumble across a corpse during their AM cardio session.”

Stacey: “…okaaaay…and maybe you should also cut back on the ‘Criminal Minds’.”

Me: “You’re probably right.  Man, I’m glad I was wrong here.  I do NOT have the time for discovering a dead body this morning.”

Thanks for making me paranoid, y'all.

*this joke I credit to Chris Voth.  It popped into my head at that moment, and to be honest, I think it’s funny because it’s based on truth.


A few weeks ago, my lovely friend Cat. A. Combs sent me a link to THIS article.  She always sends me good stuff so I was a bit surprised when her link took me to the BBC News site. Ummm… borrriiingg.  I was wrong though. So very wrong.  The title of the article is “‘The Hoff’ crab is new ocean find.”

You have my attention, BBC news.

The article leads with, “UK scientists have found prodigious numbers of a new crab species on the Southern Ocean floor that they have dubbed “The Hoff” because of its hairy chest.”  Naturally, I imagine this:

The rest of the article is pretty dry unless crabs and Antarctic vent organisms are your thing.  For me, the introduction and the image it inspired made the story one that I simply had to share.  Thanks, Cat!

For more pics of The Hoff, go HERE.  That’s where I found the little gem above.

(note: if you are printing a picture of a topless David Hasselhoff on a shared printer at work, you should wait with bated breath next to the printer until the image is in your hands. Else, it could end up in the middle of a very confused co-worker’s report leading to a very awkward, “Oh. That. Uh, yeah. I printed that.”  Not that that happened, of course.  *blush)






ANYbody can be COOL!

Check out this gem of a book cover I found yesterday:

Yes, it’s a real book.  I’m not even kidding.

If you’ll read below, the author has also written the page turning book “If God Loves Me, Why Can’t I Get My Locker Open?”

I can’t make shit like this up, people.

Now I think the REAL question is, how is it I’ve managed to be so awesome with no practice at all?*

*Answer: because I’ve always been able to get my locker open.

This is what sexy looks like.

It is very rare that I get dressed up.  I haven’t bought a new dress in years.  I own exactly one pair of heels.  Most days are spent in jeans, a sweater, and my beat up Converse sneakers.  I usually add a scarf for a little flair but that’s about as good as it gets.  So when this year’s roller derby prom theme was announced as ‘formal’, I was less than thrilled.  I didn’t want to go buy a whole bunch of fancy that I would only wear the one time, so I turned to my trendy, hip, at least a size smaller than me, co-worker, Lisa.  Lisa was ecstatic at the idea of dressing me up.  This scared me.  She invited another of our co-workers and they headed out of work early to get chips and guacamole.  Great. Guacamole.  Now it’s a party.  Despite my reservations, I went to Lisa’s.  I ate the guacamole-  big mistake before trying on dresses that were barely going to fit anyway. After wrestling me into several options,  we found a simple, little, black, wrappy one that more or less worked.  If I tied it so tight I could hardly breathe.

“Well, don’t you have Spanx?”, Lisa asks me.

*blank stare*

Sure, I had heard of Spanx before but never on any occasion had I had a cause to wear them- remember that part earlier when I mentioned that I don’t dress up?

“Here.” she tosses me said ‘Spanx’ and explains that they will suck everything in and make the dress fit better.  I express my disbelief that they will even fit over my ankles; they look like they might fit a very small child.  She assures me that they will fit- that they are “like magic!”.  I’m still not convinced but I pack up the spanx and the dress, have some more guacamole (cause fuck it, I’ve got Spanx now) and head home.

The next day I am faced with this scene as I begin to get ready for derby prom:

Look how itty-bitty there are!!

At this point, I am still incredibly skeptical but decide I might as well give it a shot.

Just past the knees and I am sweating from the struggle.

Annnnnnnnnd… IN!  With tights.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what sexy looks like.


John and Beth – Preparing for bedtime.

John: “Can you warm up my feet?”

Me: “What the hell?  What are you, a chick?”

John: “They’re coooollld!  Please?”

*puts cold as hell frozen-over feet on my legs

Me: *Shrieks. “GODDAMMIT – get those things off me!!”

John: “But I’m coooooooooolllld!”

Me: “Then put some goddamn socks on!”

John: “I can’t sleep in socks, they feel weird.”

Me: “You’re weird.”

John: “Your mom is weird.”

Me: “Your face is weird.”

John:  “Good one.  Now spoon me, bitch.”

To snarkle or not to snarkle?

The quest to chose a name for this blog was not an easy one.  The path was riddled with disappointment in our unoriginality.  Every brilliant idea we conceived, someone else had already dreamed it into being. In our journey, we stumbled upon “Snarkle with Sparkle”. Jackpot!  It was available.  It was catchy.  It was perfect.  Then Google happened…

Snarkle. verb

1. ‘To fart under water then catch the under-water fart bubble in your mouth. (Harder to do in shallow water but equally as rewarding) Snarkling can involve your aquatic bum-bubbles or those of someone else.'”

or, as I imagine it:


Of course we agree that underwater fart bubbles are hilarious but catching them in your mouth??  Gross, dude.  Even if there are sparkles.


Hey! Welcome!

We are Beth and Megan.


You found our blog. Yay, you!

What’s this all about?  Well…  It’s about everything. And nothing. It’s a place for us to share our stories.  Our observations of the world.  Our snark.  Our twisted interpretations of everyday events.  It will be random.  And fun.  We like random and fun.  And smiling. Smiling’s our favorite

About us more specifically:

Megan is currently a researcher in a hematology lab at the University of Colorado.  When she’s not playing with blood, she is playing roller derby. Or trying to teach herself how to program computers. Or watching her dog spin in circles. She loves Twizzlers, sarcasm, and summer rain showers.  Squirrels scare her as they are evil, little monsters set on world domination.  She’s really good at Google and drawing poorly.

Beth works in a comedy club office, but she was funny before that.  She is annoyingly optimistic, and is in love with cute animal websites.  Sparkly things are pretty neat too.  In her free time she snowboards, rollerskates, cooks, and slaps John, her live-in boyfriend, away from her homemade cookies.  She also agrees with Megan that squirrels, although cute, will be what brings humankind crashing down to usher in the start of the apocalypse.  Oh, and zombies.  Many, many zombies.