The Comeback! Stages of Emotional Coping Leaving Hens on Ice

After my longest hiatus in Hen history, I am back to pecking with a vengeance. I won't waste your time with apologies or excuses, and now that I'm unemployed, let's get clucking!

I've given much thought to exactly how I want to come back, especially since I didn't plan to be absent long enough for a comeback. I'm hopeful this return will be more like a Justin Timberlake or Kelly Clarkson splash, and less like a Jessica Simpson "who cares about her anymore?" Please care about this Hen and tell your friends.

How mature hens bruise.

The big news for this bird: I have retired from Hens on Ice. I know you're thinking that I'm too young to retire as a probably-maybe-maybe-not 21 year old. Well, these thirt...twenty-something bones and feathers don't quite have the spring of an 18 year old (they have learned to bruise nicely), and I decided to walk away with fond memories before ending up in a wheel chair or the bitter barn. Since Hens on Ice has been a huge part of my life for 4 years, it's been an emotional roller coaster to get to the numb, unemployed hen living in denial that I am today. But for future birds who try to leave Hens on Ice, I've compiled the emotional stages of leaving this whacky bird tour.

#FirstWorldProblems

Since assessing how embarrassing my room decor is, I'm home again to the embarrassment after a Hens on Ice rehearsal period. It's always nice to get out of a hotel room and enjoy the comforts of the coop. That is, when those comforts work. As much as I hate leaking hotel room toilets, busted faucets, and sensitive smoke alarms that detect my indoor smoking habit, at least the front desk or fire department will send someone to fix the problem. At home, my parents either cope or don't notice the problems, and they don't like when I call them at work with complaints. These household problems may be trivial and the epitome of "first world problems," but they still piss me off and long for a hotel repairman.

New Madonna: The Goo...The Bad...No, That's Just Enough.

Make it stop and get off that man.

Madonna is back with a star-studded new music video for "Bitch, I'm Madonna." But Katy Perry, Nicki Minaj, nor Beyonce could salvage this horror of a music video for Madge. I wanted to write a "good, bad, and the ugly" review, but I didn't see anything good until it finished. The bad and the ugly just blurred together from her colored hair to her sucking faces, so all I can say about Madonna is "that's enough." I never thought I'd see a music video that made me think Miley Cyrus wasn't so bad in "We Can't Stop." Madonna must stop.

To give Madonna some credit before the Madge-pecking begins, I am a fan. She's been a huge force in the music industry, pushing boundaries with her music and image. I love Confessions on a Dance Floor; it's my favorite place to confess! But since then, it's been a slow downward spiral of Madonna trying harder and harder to be a 20-year-old sex symbol in a the body of a young grandmother. She seems to throw her vagina in our faces more with each year, when it really should be the opposite.

Are My Room Decorations Trendy or Humiliating?

Britney demands height order.

Now that the 15 minutes of attention for "Pretty Girls" seems about over, it's time to dust off these writing wings and get clucking for my first article since getting home from my most recent Hens on Ice scholastic year. Since this is my 4th tour with the skating birds, I've already covered some juicy topics about getting off the road for a hot minute. There are big pros and cons with such a lengthy tour with the same group of crazy loons, but I did that. I found some weird stuff in my room while trying to unpack, but that's been done too (in 2 parts!). But instead of crying, retiring, and squawkingwriting about not writing. Thankfully for you, I've realized again I'm a bit more insane than I'd originally thought.
at you to just read those old articles, I'll do better than

Pretty Girls! The Good, The Bad, and the Not-So-Pretty

Britney's back! And this time, she has a new friend: Iggy Azalea. Getting these 2 big names together is a producer's dream and has all the potential in the world. With these 2 blondes running around to a title like "Pretty Girls," we can't expect a song that's too earth-shattering, but it could and should be fun, right? Here's The Hen's peck at "Pretty Girls!"

Bucket List Travel: The Salton Sea!

When Hens on Ice took us to Ontario, CA, I quickly learned that Ontario and Orange County are not the same place, and Ontario isn't even in Orange County. After a dizzying putter through the outlet mall and coughing on valley smog for 2 days, I craved an adventure. Thankfully, a bucket list destination was just down the road: The Salton Sea. Not knowing the next time I'd return to SoCal, I seized the moment being antsy and tipsy and booked a car to get out of Dodge. I dragged 2 friends along by telling them we were going to Palm Springs and we hit the road.

The Salton Sea had been on my bucket list of places to visit since I saw the wonderful documentary Plagues and Pleasures on the Salton Sea in college. It seemed like such a funny place that could be great, funny, and/or horrible to visit, and I vowed to find out personally.

What I Did for a T-Shirt

My Tuesday night started normal and simple enough: one of my friends convinced me to go out to the bar when I really just wanted to stay in my hotel room, wearing sweatpants and listening to music that makes me emotional. We thankfully made plans before I got in too deep weeping to lost loves and watching Miranda Sings videos.

Arriving at the bar, I noticed there were sassy t-shirts on the wall with the bar name and a colorful design. I knew I needed another shirt like a hole in my head, but the design with sunset colors on a black t-shirt really looked nice.

After a few cocktails and bar games, I'd forgotten about the shirt but I was hungry. I went to the vending machine to buy some chips, and saw the shirts were sold in the vending machine, just next to the Fritos! They were neatly labeled with the sizes in each vending slot, and only $15, so I checked my wallet and opted for a shirt instead of 15 bags of chips. It would last longer and look better on my mid section.

THE END OF THE BEST BAND EVER.

Bye, Zayn :(

Today's headline was one I never wanted to see: "Zayn Quits One Direction."

Are you kidding me? As if today's surprise snow storm wasn't enough, this bombshell came along to break the Internet. Just kick me while I'm down in the snow, while pouring salt in my wound and blaring Justin Bieber! It's a tragic day in my world, the music world, and just the world. I'm at least coping better than the teenage girls posting their sobbing reactions on social media; I'm sobbing in private as a writer.

Some dramatics aside, I am saddened, and not just because Zayn is my favorite, the most talented, and the best looking. It's the end of an era musically and for my general obsession. I also might have to accept that my favorite artists can't be eternal, and that my amount of Zayn/1D merchandise may be a bit obsessive and qualify me a mental health assessment.

Bon Jour! Where Am I?

What's going on?

Greetings and French phrases from Quebec City! In the tradition of reporting on my embarrassment in foreign lands, Quebec seemed like the perfect spot to dust off my writing wings and peck out a new article. From our first truck stop in the province, I knew it was only a matter of time before I made some sort of fool of myself in this land of francophones.

Having never been to Quebec before, I'd heard it is very French, but how French is that? French like France, or as French as Florida is "Spanish?" I had survived months in France my first year with Hens on Ice with a little more that "bon jour," merci," and "fromage," so I hoped our neighbor to the north would be slightly kinder than the Parisian waiter who chucked my dinner plate at me and wouldn't refill my water. Ah, the city of love.

Refugee Status with Drag Queens

Last night, I was a refugee. A first world refugee, but one nonetheless. This is not to make light of countless refugees who have had to flee their homelands, but the fact remains I was briefly a refugee quarantined at Quebec City's finest gay bar with no place to call home.

The night started with great intentions: host a surprise party at the local gay bar for a show hen who is leaving us this week. The surprise was a success and the night was off to a great start with drinks and cake under our belts all before 8 p.m. At this rate, we could have both a rowdy night out and a full night's sleep.