Meet Moody Judy

I’m Moody Judy — your unofficial tour guide through the midlife circus - this is my manifesto

I’m equal parts chaos, caffeine, and comic relief. My hair has seen things, my fan is always nearby, and my give-a-damn meter retired years ago. I’m not here to preach balance — I’m here to laugh about the days when balance looks more like “don’t spill the coffee.” which honestly is most of the days.

Moody Judy is my alter ego — the haphazard guide who’s learning by crashing, stumbling, sometimes falling - straight through it.

She’s the part of me that doesn’t pretend to have it together, just tries to keep her head attached to her body and her coffee cup upright. She also manages to sometimes take her supplements and remember the right day to change her estrogen patch,

She’s addicted to caffeine, sarcasm, and strawberry apricot Red Bull — not necessarily in that order.

She’s acerbic, clumsy, awkward, funny, a little down and dirty, but always real. Around here, it’s laughter first, judgment never, and honesty always.

Why did I create Moody Judy?
Because midlife is wild, weird, and wonderful — and it deserves to be talked about without filters or apologies. I wanted a place where women could laugh at the madness, share a fan, a cup of coffee or a margarita, and realize we’re all figuring it out together.

Moody Judy is proof that you can have coffee breath, hot flashes, and a wicked sense of humor — and still absolutely own the day.

The Great Butter Heist

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Category: #MenopauseMoments #ButterGate2025 #DogDrama

Featuring: Wynter, the German Shorthaired Pointer a.k.a. Snack Thief Extraordinaire

Morning Madness

It started like any other morning — me, half-awake and glistening with the confidence of a woman who survived another hot flash.

Except this time, I wasn’t just glistening.
I was slippery.

As it turns out, I had been sleeping in a literal puddle of butter.

The Scene of the Crime

At first, I thought it was some kind of dream. But then the smell hit me — creamy, salty betrayal. My pillow looked like Paula Deen’s crime lab.

After a brief investigation, the culprit was identified: Wynter, my German Shorthaired Pointer, part-time menace, full-time dairy enthusiast.

She had stolen the butter off the counter and, for reasons known only to her chaotic little heart, buried it under my pillow like a dairy dowry.

Melt Down (Literally)

Between Wynter’s secret stash and my midnight hot flash, the butter had melted into what can only be described as an artisanal facial mask from hell.

And here’s the kicker:
I slept better than I have in months.

Eight hours, uninterrupted. My skin? Glowing. My hair? Suspiciously shiny.

I might be onto something. Is butter… skincare?

Lessons Learned

Butter does not belong in bedding.
Wynter cannot be trusted around dairy.
Maybe self-care is just leaning into the chaos (and changing your pillowcase).

Final Thoughts

If your bed feels extra soft tonight, check for butter.
If your dog looks guilty, check your pillow.
And if you wake up feeling inexplicably radiant — well, who am I to judge?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to buy new sheets and lock the fridge.

🕯️ Moody Judy Manifesto Moment

“Life’s a mess. At least mine smells like butter.”