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Old Hen, Same Trick

 I’ll never confess my specific goals for 2025 (remember, no accountability!) but one of my goals avoids another 2-year hiatus between articles, so here I am!

2025 has already been worse than expected (impressive!). In the midst of grappling with what to cluck about and being annoyed at my goal setting, there was a devastating plane crash killing many members of the figure skating community. The year already had me mostly humorless, then this just sharpened a dagger into most of my remaining levity. But once I flapped a few feathers out from full despair and numbness, I vowed my next article would cluck about skating in some way. Figure skating doesn’t get much exposure anymore, but it’s still a challenging, demanding yet beautiful sport to which athletes devote much of their lives. Stories deserve to be shared and figure skating deserves more exposure and respect. I don’t have a following like ESPN (yet!) but I hope my 2 followers and Ukrainian bots enjoy this.

2025. Who Is She?

 2024… Welp.

2025, here we are! Buckle up!

2025. well, shit.

But on day one two of the new year, here I am. Here we all are. Meteors (hopefully figurative) and pandemonium will keep coming, and we’ll still be here. Whether it’s surviving or thriving or sleeping, that’s an accomplishment in itself.

I’m way out of “comebacks.” I’ll always have excuses, but those aren’t funny. So I’ll just be here, on day one two of 2025 and onward. We’ll all be here together. Me and all 2 of you who read this.

I have actual “goals” for The Hen in 2025, and I’m not sharing them. I can’t fail if no one can hold me accountable! HA! But I will say I am here TRYING; trying my best to still share some cackles or something and write some words for my petite coop, even if they’re not all published. (You’ll never know about my spring hiking trip where I kept startling a midwestern woman! Sad!) So flying into a new year, Hen is taking a new approach to writing, at least for this article. Since most of us here would like a RE-DO for 2024 but can’t get one, I’m focusing on unsolicited advice that’s helping me thrive (mostly…sort of… MOMMY!) in the hangover of 2024. And you can trust me: all my therapists say I’m doing really well.

Back Up Out the Gravesite...

She hath risen again! Hen is back for a major comeback - again!

For the few of you left in my loyal coop, you know this is my longest hiatus by far. It was not planned, and I'm back with nothing profound or dramatic to share. I even have a draft in progress for my grand return - started nearly 2 YEARS AGO. Even 2 years ago, a younger sporadic blogger (me!) knew I'd left you too long. While that draft has some decent giggles you may never see, it's also a fancy list of excuses for an uninspired and out-of-touch writer. Two years later, my coop deserves better!

A Buc Shy of Perfect

 For anyone feeling sad this week from the Buccaneers' final-seconds loss playoff Sunday, I am too. This is for us and the Bucs. While this Hen isn't full of cackles this week, the Bucs and the fans deserve an homage to the year, even here on this silly blog.

It strings more because of how close the Bucs came to an unreal comeback win. It hurts more because after winning the Super Bowl last year, anything less than winning it again is a disappointment. It's a gut punch because in spite of unprecedented injuries and adversity all season, the team still won the most games in its history - just missing another Super Bowl win. So while every player, coach, and fan deserves to sit in sadness this week, there's also so much to look back on with pride, as it was another magical season, only without the fairy tail ending. 

#FREEDBRITNEY

 Britney Spears has given this Hen life once again. She's also regained her own life: Britney is FREE! I had been feeling uninspired, unfunny, and underpaid (still accepting donations), but Britney and I are back on track. I'm clawing out of a brief and mild depression, and she's clawing out of a 13-year conservatorship, where she had no control of her personal life nor her own fortune, while her own family exploited her very existence for their personal gain. We've both been through a lot.

it's been a long life.

From Hockey Hater to Lightning Lover

 As I still wipe away tears of joy from the Tampa Bay Lightning's second Stanley Cup Championship in a row, and throwing all my money at new championship merch, I realized that all this was not for my beloved Buccaneers. What was I doing and how did this home-wrecker of a team glide into my heart too? I'm adding more Lightning blue garb to compliment the Bucs red in my home, accidentally displaying enough blue and red to look that kind of "patriotic" I'm not going for. Now that I'm in too deep emotionally and financially, I'm reflecting on how I accidentally became a hockey fan and self-diagnosing a new mental condition. So join me on my journey from hockey hater to Lightning lover!

come glide with me.

I Had a Dream... and It Wasn't a Nightmare: Bucs Win!

Ahoy, coop!

I had this really weird dream that the Tampa Bay Buccaneers got to play in the Super Bowl in their own stadium, and Tom Brady was their quarterback; so they won. But 2/3 of the stadium was filled with cardboard cut-outs of people, and the real people had to cover their faces most of the time.

Oh, wait...

That allegedly happened. The dystopia of 2020 clearly hasn't stopped for 2021. In the meantime, I'll be hoarding every newspaper article, picture, and all bootleg merchandise for the rest of the year.

Shifting gears for a new year after the greatest Super Bowl in history, The Hen is here to talk about sports ball! For those of you who are pure, originalist Cackling Hen fans, don't fret: My next article will return to babbling about idiot passengers, how that former president is still flaming human garbage shit, and/or Britney. 

yay, sports!

If you missed it - The Tampa Bay Buccaneers, my favorite football team, won Super Bowl 55. While we all fought for our lives during a global pandemic, the Buccaneers decided: THIS is our year to win the Super Bowl! They lured down Tom Brady, Gronk, other talents, and one alleged felon who can catch a ball. They all gelled at the right time, won it all, and celebrated in true Tampa style: drunk on boats. So if you're wondering why I care, why you should care, or what's a Buccaneer, this article is for you!

HENniversary! Hen Turns 10 Part II: Pecks at Fame

The dumpster fire of 2020 continues to burn strong, but it's still my clucking 10-year HENniversary! In Part I: A Hen is Born, I give you the details and my birth (not messy!) and rise to local celebrity. But my reign over the University of South Florida St. Petersburg's Crows Nest couldn't last forever. Since getting the boot (graduating) in 2011, most of The Hen's life has lived here on this blog. Whether you're just joining, obsessed with every Hen article, or a Ukrainian bot, let's relive some of The Hen's highlights and glory!

HENniversary! Hen Turns 10 Part I: How the Cluck Was The Hen Born?

It's My 10-year HENniversary! I thought this was a big deal until I looked up what precious metal goes with a 10 year: tin. I'll be drinking canned beer to celebrate. 

I've been dreading this moment where I'd actually have to do something big on The Hen to commemorate this anniversary. Thankfully 2020 happened, showing many more things to dread like a global pandemic, blatant racism, and that orange criminal still in the White House. Now that the pressure's off, let's get clucking! 

Help End the Nightmare!

The last 4 years have been a fucking nightmare. I said it.

Like any period of time, there have been wonderful things and terrible things, great days and tough days, for all of us. But if you didn't guess, the nightmare has been that vile, real-life movie villain that somehow became president of the United States. Whoops!

...and my sanity and blood pressure.

The fact that this orange, evil buffoon got anywhere close to, let alone INTO, the White House has shown many of us that we can't just sit back and assume the right people will be voted into power. 2016 showed me that complacency is not an option with such human garbage leading the free world. 2016 also showed me that generic sleeping pills are no match for the 24-hour nightmare called the Trump Administration.

Now I'm getting to the good (well, better) part. Like me, I'm sure many of you have asked the question, "How can I help make Trump go away screaming and crying as a loser in 2020?" (or something similar) Good news: there are many options! Thankfully, many people and organizations are also fired up to do anything it takes to help get the orange clown out of power. I'm here as one Hen to share the few things I'm doing safely from home that are simple, but have the potential to be very effective! (And all these organizations will train you quickly and easily via a Zoom session or video tutorial.)

2020 Democratic Primary. In Memoriam.

Bernie Sanders is the final candidate to drop out of the busy Democratic Primary race, leaving Joe Biden as the last man standing and the presumed party nominee. For 2016, I created a guide to the Republican Primary candidates that now is a traumatic time capsule I refuse to read again. Since that guide didn't age well, I opted for a recap for this primary. And my catty comments on these wanna-bes won't be relevant for much longer. We've already forgotten about at least half of them.

Let's remember all the fun these losing candidates offered us in the 2020 fight to pick someone better than the current human garbage piece in the Oval Office. In no particular order! ...

TB = Tom Brady AND Tampa Bay (not from The Onion)

Coronavirus has changed the world in ways we've never seen. Millions of people are quarantined in their homes. Toilet paper is gone. And Tom Brady is a Buccaneer.

There has been zero sports news with zero sporting events, but for the first time in my life, I will thank Tom Brady. We'll get to the Twilight Zone part where Tom joins Tampa Bay, but first, I thank Tom Brady for making news unrelated to the global pandemic.

Everything is cancelled and people's homes are now their personal jail cells, but Tom Brady's coming still registers as an Onion article in my mind, just like a Donald Trump presidency. But after many refreshes and journalistic research, it is true and I repeat: Tom Brady is a Tampa Bay Buccaneer.

apocolypse.

My Corona!

In the glory days of Hen popularity and creativity, I would often cluck about current events, fads, and Britney Spears. For example...

Britney's Solid Advice!
The Hen's 2016 GOP Candidate Guide! (now haunting)
Hot Air and Deflated Balls! (Not GOP-related)
That Pasta Bowl Does End!

Currently, my writing is more sporadic and calculated. But sometimes the universe reinspires with the virus of ambition and creativity. Hello, CoronaVirus! Since it cancelled my hockey game plans tonight and I've just finished binging on the new Hillary docu-series, I'm jumping on the Corona bandwagon for a Hen resurgence! Cheers!

HEN vs. HOA

As you should have read by now, I recently bought my first hen house! It had been a long-time goal of mine, and now that it's accomplished, I can proudly say I'm an adult. And as much as I love it, I'll tell you it's not all sunshine and rainbows like the educational mortgage and homeownership video told me. Some growing pains were quick fixes: from a minor DIY AC repair to overcoming the existential dread of living alone. And with all the fun of buying toilet paper and waiting on couch deliveries came an unexpected battle: the HOA.

Hen's Guide to Buying a Hen House!

My latest excuse for not writing: Buying a hen house!

It's true. I recently bid farewell to all my money and bought my first hen house. The experience was an all-consuming emotional roller coaster that truly gave me respect for adults. I don't know how they do it daily, but I applaud them. I must have done a respectable job pretending to be one, because I now hold keys to the private hen house of my dreams! (within my modest Hen budget)

After spending months consumed by adult terms like "mortgage," "interest rate," and "house," I decided to create The Hen's Guide to Buying a Hen House so you can learn and laugh from my stress and triumph.

Hens Say Dumb Things

Hens say dumb things. In the midst of all the noise we make with our beaks - some brilliant, lots ordinary - all of us have our gaffes where our brans disconnect just long enough for crazy to fly out. The current president says windmills cause cancer and grandma's racist friend wants minority groups to have their own states. These are extreme examples of spoken blunders, but some things (both examples) should never be said.

"Windmills cause cancer."

As a flying hen, I talk to a lot of people every day as part of my job, or just functioning as a social bird. Between passengers and coworkers, my beak can be exhausted by the end of the day. Somewhere in our social development, many of us have become uncomfortable with silence or short exchanges, so many hens fill that void with stupid comments.

What's Going on Tonight?

My flying endeavors recently took me to the party capital of the USA: Salt Lake City! The large Mormon population may disagree, but that was the plan reuniting with one of my college hen friends. For 25 hours, we could relive some carefree college partying in the shadow of the Mormon church. Fetch the reality cameras!

yeehaw! 

The plan was simple enough. We'd catch up and laugh for hours over a sassy dinner. Then we'd dance the night away with mason jars of liquor, just like in our prime. We may be a little older and a little wiser, with more bills and less energy, but we could still tear the night up and make the dance floor fall in love with us again, right? I'd also tested out the bar 4 years ago with Hens on Ice. We all had mason jars full of fun, so this reboot to SLC had the recipe for success.

What I Learned Off the Internet!

In my last article, I told you I left the Internet... briefly. Since my writing is sporadic and I sometimes lack creativity or inspiration as a writer, I promised to milk that big Hen event into 2 articles. As promised, here is what I learned from my social media break.

Things I Learned on a Social Media Break:

• It was easier than expected. Once I posted that I was taking a break, I knew there was no turning back. I didn't set a time frame, but I aimed for at least a few days. I didn't dramatically delete my apps or accounts; I trusted I could use my own self control, along with the fear of Internet shaming if I came back too soon. To help, I did move my Facebook and Instagram apps to a less accessible folder on my phone to get them out of my face. Once this was done, I went on with my life. After accepting this was my new reality, I truly didn't miss social media. If I felt like sharing something or wanted to know how anyone was doing, I messaged them directly. I checked news directly from a news source (when I felt like it). When I came back a week later, I knew I could have stayed off longer, but everyone needed to know I was at the Cher concert.

Leaving the Internet.

You probably didn't notice since my posts are sporadic and misguided, but I took an official break from social media. Do not fear though! I continued to write while locked in a bunker and now I'm back in full force. Watch out, cluckers!

back with caution.

My volunteer Cackling Hen life may seem perfect and glamorous, but it's not. In spite of the photo shoots and under-appreciated writing, I'm a common hen just like you with real bird problems. As much as my non-profit (not by choice and not tax deductible) writing career depends on social media, I recently found myself with possible symptoms of mild depression. After declining invitations from dear friends for brunch and a beach weekend, both activities I thought I loved, I remembered the Zoloft commercials with that depressed cartoon egg. I thought of all those questions that commercial asked while that somber egg moped around. ...Yes, I do have trouble getting out of bed in the morning! ...Yes, I have lost interest in things I used to enjoy! Convinced I was becoming that despondent cartoon egg instead of just older and worn out by idiot passengers, I vowed to do something before I cracked.