Category Archives: Archive


A New Year’s Day Poop Story

Everyone’s New Year’s night photos are so great, but I have a 💩 story to share tonight, so if that’s not your cup of tea, scroll on.


OK. We put Elliott in underwear Thursday, after he woke up with a poopy diaper, declaring it time to be potty trained because he’ll be 4 in April. He’s done great — no pee accidents. He’s a champion holder, which is good and bad, because he’s almost too good at holding it all in. You know where I’m going with this.

Three days go by in underwear and no accidents! But also, no #2. He just refuses. He didn’t even accidentally 💩 in his sleep, when we put him in a pull up! And this is with me increasingly dosing his chocolate milk with MiraLax, per his pediatrician’s advice. Finally, tonight, he is in pain, but he insists he can’t poop. I sat with him for nearly an hour and a half, feeling like I was a labor coach, encouraging him to push it out, intermittently telling him I loved him and trying to get him to relax. We end up totally late for midnight service at church, where he continues to pace and whimper, while still fighting a BM.

A nurse at church said we should try a mineral oil enema, which we were not keen to try, but the poor dude was in such pain all the way home. So as Trinity gloves up, I watched Elliott pace and moan from the living room to the kitchen, and finally saw his legs start to collapse. So I’m like, oh, here we go, and I rush him into the bathroom, pull down his now trashed underwear (thank God for hand me downs) and get him on the toilet. Oh, there was poop smeared everywhere — the bottom of the toilet bowl, the edge of the kid attachment to the toilet, on Elliott’s legs. He finally gets it all out, and he is just jubilant — high fiving us, telling us repeatedly how he pooped in the potty. After we get everyone cleaned up and in bed, Trin’s washing his hands and asks me how I knew he was having an accident.

I said I had seen his legs start to collapse, and he starts just cracking up. “He pulled a Bridesmaids?!” Oh. My. God. I start gasping, laughing, because that’s exactly what he did.

This is two days after two boys vomiting in their bed, so parents-to-be, keep your sense of humor.

Sexually Harassed At The Grocery Store

I’m just so flummoxed. I can’t believe this just happened to me — a married, overweight 39-year-old mom of 3.

I had gone grocery shopping by myself at Food 4 Less in jeans, a house shirt and flat orthotic sandals (just so you know they are not fancy). It’s hot out here in the valley, so you know I was sweating by the time I got my groceries bagged up and out to the car. I was nearly done when the dude who had been in line behind me walked past and said something softly that I thought was “nice dress.” I just nodded a closed-mouth smile at him and said, “thanks,” then wondered to myself, “dress? I’m not wearing a dress.”

I put the cart away and there he was going back past our family car again, because apparently he was lost and wasn’t even parked in that row. I’ve got my keys out when he stops me and starts asking if I’m married, and oh my husband would probably be upset if he asked for my number. (YA THINK?!) Then he asks how old I am, and when I say I have to get going, he asks if it would be inappropriate if he touched them.

Suddenly it hits me what he had said the first time around and my eyes get wide and I’m like, “REALLY INAPPROPRIATE. ” and he walks off and I get into my car, stunned that that actually happened. Then I thought, “crap, Trin is never going to let me come here again by myself.” (We usually go to Albertsons together, but trying to save money, you know?)

I pull out as quickly as possible and seeing the dude walk all the way to the other side of the parking lot, I realize he FOLLOWED ME TO MY CAR.

I didn’t feel unsafe at any point. But still….this was obviously not about me. I’m literally still recovering from a gastrointestinal illness, trying to get back in super early morning work mode and trying to get my usual Sunday night madness done. This was about dude and his issues.

*the awful part is, I cannot stop thinking about this and what I could have done to not draw this kind of attention. Should I have worn something different? Should I have asked him to repeat himself when he first said what he said? Should I have followed him and started yelling at him about what a jackass he was? Should I have worn my bitch-about-her-business look in the store and not met his eye in the register line? Ugh. I know, this is not my fault, but THIS. This is how street harassment makes women feel.

**I managed to push it out of my head after crying after Trinity and I had our good night prayer. But then it woke me up about an hour and a half before I had to get up for my 4 a.m. shift. And I couldn’t get back to sleep.


I’ve been riveted by the sexual assault stories swirling around this year’s election, with good reason. There are probably instances of impropriety I can’t remember much earlier in life, but I’ve dealt with unwanted groping since junior high, when boys thought my early development was an invitation to touch and grab. I was ashamed and nearly crying on a bus trip to the beach, when two boys I’d known since kindergarten thought it was a game to try and grab me from their seats behind me. I had to borrow a big puffy jacket from my friend sitting next to me to try and shield myself, but they still kept trying. I didn’t drive until I was 20, but walking to bus stops or waiting for buses and for my mom to pick me up was excruciating because I endured catcalls and whistles. I would wear billowing T-shirts on 100-degree Fullerton days, sunglasses, headphones and a ferocious expression to get through each day. I thought it was my fault, especially since family members would look at me disapprovingly just for wearing a sleeveless shirt, or something that didn’t completely obscure my figure. It came to a breaking point when I finally gave in to a guy who had visited my church and had been touted as “a good boy” by a close family member. I had made the mistake of letting him come over to my house, but to get him out without getting in trouble, I had to say, “OK, fine.”

It’s not fine.

I worry more and more about having a public blog. I don’t mind so much writing about myself, and actually, if I had a more anonymous blog, I might actually reveal more. Well, maybe not anonymous, but more discreet and not attached to my resume. OK, this is what I might do. I might continue to post entries on this site, darleeneisms. However, I won’t keep the archives here. I’ll put them somewhere else, or maybe not at all. I just worry now about maintaining my credibility. I don’t want to have someone from the city do a random search on my name and point it out to my boss or something.Maybe I’m being paranoid. Heh. But I know one of my sources knows I’m not, because he was fired because of his blog. At any rate (I’ve noticed that this is one of my favorite phrases now), I am looking to revamp my site. I don’t mind the white backgrounds, black type so much. Who knows, I might change it back again. I don’t know yet. But I am definitely looking to change the design. I would like to incorporate more photos, but I haven’t been able to take so many photos lately, I’ve been so busy.

Can I just say that I utterly adore NSN Guy? Just spending time with him is so great. I know I’ve raving, but at least smile in begrudging admiration that I genuinely love and cherish this guy. There are times, yes, when he is a boy and I chat with other people (mostly strangers off other sites) for, I guess, attention. Distant and impersonal attention. NSN Guy sounded skeptical when I told him yesterday I chatted with some guy off one of these sites. But he just doesn’t know that I sometimes grin stupidly at the thought of him as I sit in traffic on the 101. I love messing up his hair (especially since I know he’s so fastidious about his appearance – not conceited by any stretch, just fastidious). I love touching his face. I love touching his skin, although he says I’m the one with the nice skin. He’s just so adorable. No picture I take of him could ever do him justice.

OK. Have I made you all ill yet? I can’t help it. Let me try and change the subject. Have I mentioned I’m trying to lose weight? I’m just not happy that I can’t fit into pants that used to be loose on me. It boggles my mind that I used to be so skinny and I didn’t realize it. Then it boggles my mind that I’ve gained so much weight, then I get all depressed and pissy about it. No, I don’t. I just go eat another chocolate chip cookie. No, I’m kidding. I dunno. I am trying to change my eating habits – by drinking more water, not eating so late, exercising more often – but I can’t seem to make myself stick to stuff. At any rate……we’ll see what happens. I don’t know if I care enough to want to fit into a bikini.

I haven’t been writing as often as I could be. There are several reasons why, and laziness is not the main reason. It’s a reason, yeah, but not the main reason. One reason is that, in the position I’m in, I could easily jeapordize my career. Essentially I don’t want to be talking out of context about something – like something I’ve covered – and be sued for it. That just wouldn’t be good. I’d get fired and sued – yeah, not good at all. Plus, I’ve been going through a lot of personal stuff that has to do with NSN Guy. It’s not something I feel comfortable sharing with the entire planet. Maybe one day, I’ll feel comfortable, but not now. Third, I have just been too tired.With all that said, can I just say I absolutely love my job? I’ve been told by other reporters that this is the hardest, most high-pressure beat at the paper, and while I can see that is true, I still love it. I love the pace. I love the stories I’ve been doing. I love the multi-tasking I have to do to keep up. Everyday, I go home and am exhausted, but satiated. Everyday is different. Everyday is something new. It’s awesome. Sometimes, the people I work with leave something to be desired, but its part of the job. I have a feeling, sometimes, too, that one of the reasons why I love this job so much is because it took me so long to get it, and it was not an easy thing to get. Ah well – I always knew that the harder you have to work for something, the more it would be worth.

There are so many things I dream about doing now. I want to continue in this beat – for a long time. I want to join the LA Times’ Reading by 9 program. I want to volunteer at a local high school and bring some girls to Planned Parenthood myself (I made NSN Guy laugh when I told him this). I want to go to SF and NY again this year.