Yelp is the sincerest form of flattery 1

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A conversation while getting ready for work this morning:

Scott: Hey…want to see my first Yelp review?

Katrina: We’re late. Can I see it in the car?

Scott: OK.

Two minutes later

Scott: Hey…come read this Yelp review.

Katrina: Hold your horses! I’ll read it in the car.

Scott: Want me to just read it to you?

Katrina: What did you even write a review on, anyway?

Scott: No…someone else wrote a review about me. For the dermatology clinic!

I’d mistakenly assumed Scott had taken up Yelping as an outlet for expressing his comedic opinions and charmingly cynical worldview. A review about him? Suddenly, his eagerness made much more sense.

Grinning ear to ear, he quickly shoved his phone in my face.



I couldn’t help but giggle as I looked up, only to see my husband having a total ‘Clarice loves Rudolph’ moment.



He’s been prancing around like a proud little show pony ever since.

(If show ponies had braces and spurted out lots of swear words, that is.)

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Treat Yo Self 3

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The holidays are officially in full swing. I’ve ordered Christmas cards, started crafting our Thanksgiving table scape,  and have gotten this close to pulling out the pre-lit tree at least five times.

(The only thing stopping me? There won’t be room for the all-important “kids table” at Thanksgiving if I bust out old faithful early.)

While the holidays are fun, festive and fabulous…they can also be busy, stressful and overwhelming. Every year, I like to indulge in a few things that keep me healthy, de-stressed, and calm. (I also “gift” myself an annual woman’s exam…but that’s an entirely different blog post.)

Here are the three non-OBGYN “treats” I have planned for myself this December.

1. Aloha Daily Good Greens


I’ve been seeing this whole food powder all over the internet, and am super intrigued. It’s basically a packet you add to your water, smoothie or even oatmeal. Each pouch contains 34 calories and is jam-packed with tons of organic fruits and veggies. Think of it as convenient, instant, mess-free green juice.

I have to say — I really like the idea of receiving a small bundle of powder packets in the mail as opposed to a giant box that doubles as a cooler and contains twenty pounds of glass juice bottles.

(Translation? It’s discreet enough where Scott won’t notice it, throw a hissy fit, and end up spending 2 hours figuring out how to recycle all of the packaging.)

I just signed up for the free 14-day trial on their site. Here goes nothing!


2. Aerial Yoga


I literally woke up one morning last week thinking, “I really want to try aerial yoga!”

Mostly because I yearn to wear a leotard and post lots of graceful looking photos on Instagram…but…er…also for the health benefits?

I’ve since convinced my sister to take a class with me while I’m in Seattle next month. I realize careening from a silk cocoon could end in disaster…but something about having next of kin there with me feels reassuring.


3. Ice Bar

I’ve always wanted to stay in one of those fancy, fur-lined, over-the-top ice hotels in Eastern Europe. Being that I’m not traveling to Romania anytime soon, I figured the Ice Bar at the Le Meridien Chambers hotel in Minneapolis would be a better choice as A, there’s booze, and B, I don’t have to sleep on a frozen mattress.


I’ve been so excited to coerce poor Scott into dropping $18 on a mediocre cocktail so I might miserably sip on it while attempting to look chic in the freezing cold. What could be more fun?

Tragically, I just learned that the 8-year-old tradition of Le Meridien’s ice bar will not be continued this year. But it gets worse. So much worse. The state’s only other ice bar, located on the shores of Lake Superior  (you bet your britches I would have made that four-hour drive!) is also closing this winter.

WTF, Minnesota?!

Sure, I’ll be traveling to Nebraska and Washington next month…but I’m almost certain both destinations are, well, lacking in the frozen tavern department.

Bah freaking humbug.

(Scott suggested I whip up a bloody mary and drink it in the backyard as it would be exactly the same thing. Men just don’t understand!)


What are you treating yourself to this holiday season? Any tips on how I might get my ice bar groove on without hitching a flight to Bucharest?

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The photoshoot that bordered on kidnapping 4

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Last weekend, Scott, myself and the three critters got all gussied up for our annual Christmas card photo.

scottrina 3.49.03 PM





A friend of ours shot the photos in our front yard, and I couldn’t be happier with how they turned out!

(Although I am happy to not have to wear an evening gown in 15 degree weather again anytime soon.)

Not pictured: The series of photos in which Scott spread our faux-fur blanket in front of the fireplace so he could lie across it a la Burt Reynolds.

Also not pictured: The images in which Scott insisted on “borrowing” our friend’s little girl to confuse people into believing that Scott and I had somehow acquired a two-year-old daughter.

Alright fine…I’ll suppose I can show you that one.


Child’s face blurred for privacy reasons. And, you know, so she doesn’t stumble across this photo later in life and feel completely violated.

Stay tuned for the final Christmas Card photo. It’s completely ridiculous in a “we live in Connecticut and play Polo on the weekends” sort of way.

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Baby Mama Drama: Part Two 2

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Missed part one? You can catch up here.




I was informed my frugly portrait had been used for Instagram evil when someone recognized me in the faux “VH Mistress” profile pic, and tagged me in a comment. What happened next can best be described in 4 phases. (Similar to the 7 stages of grief, only with less mourning, and more “selfie regret”.)

Step 1: Excitement

Not only did someone deem my photo worthy of an Instagram spoof…someone else had stumbled across sed spoof, and recognized me from this blog! Just like Mickey Rourke, I was famous for being ugly! (Minus the Oscar nomination and boxing career..but I still found the idea quite thrilling.)

Step 2: Confusion

After overcoming the novelty of my newfound celebrity status, I tried to figure out what my photo was actually being used for. It took quite a bit of IG stalking and internet sleuthing, but I eventually got to the bottom of things. To understand the entire debacle, there’s a few people you’ll need to meet:


Tamar Braxton 

She’s a Grammy-nominated American singer, songwriter, model and reality television personality. She also happens to be Toni Braxton’s younger sister.



Vincent Herbert

Tamar’s husband. Also a songwriter, record producer, record executive and founder of Streamline Records.

The fake Instagram profile, “VH Baby Mama” was intended to depict Vincent’s mistress/mother of his illegitimate child—AKA, your’s truly. Essentially, the basic idea was this:


To their credit…she has Vincent’s nose and my teeth.

The profile soon went viral when Tamar became aware of it and shared a link via her own Instagram feed.


Step 3: Anger

Once I realized my likeness was the butt of a D-list celebrity cheating hoax, I started to get pissed. I mean…do I really look old enough to have a child that age?

(On second thought, please don’t answer that.)

While whoever created this fake account had managed to irritate me, it was the commenters who really got under my skin. They called me a skank. A meth head. A crack whore. White trash. Nasty, disgusting, oogly, and just about every other unsavory adjective under the sun.

Perhaps my favorite remark was, “What a hoe! And where’d her eyebrows go??”

(Not sure if the rhyming was intentional…but I certainly appreciated it.)

(And my eyebrows didn’t go anywhere. It’s called being Scandinavian.)


Step 4: Closure

After reading a comment describing me as “Appalachian trailer trash that needs to be hosed down with Valtrex”, I had reached my limit. In other words, I went tattle-tale and reported the content as “inappropriate” to Instagram. Within two minutes, the profile had been removed.

It was over.

Let’s just say I’ll think twice before posting another oogly-gram on the Internet.


(Starting tomorrow, that is.)

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