Guest Post!

Well hello there! I hope each of you had a lovely Christmas, Hannukkah, Boxing Day, Kwanzaa, and whatever else falls into the holiday category. I had a lovely Christmas as did my family.

This morning my fabulous friend sent a story about her morning to my email. I read it and immediately wanted to share it with you...1. because it was funny and I'm sure you can relate, b. because I'm lazy today and don't want to right anything substantial, which I'm also sure you can relate to. (I have put a few notes into the story, you'll notice them because they will be in red font.)

You're welcome.

Stephanie's story starts......now!

So you know how some customer service people have that kind of irritating sense of humor, where they say the opposite of what you say then think it's really funny. (these people are called sociopaths)

I hate those people. It is their fault my coffee was disgusting this morning:

I drive out of my way to Kaladi this morning because the coffee shop downstairs is closed this week, and I need espresso to get through the day. So I order my coffee, "Grande half-caramel latte" (like a boss). Cashier responds "Half-caf latte?" I say "No. A half a shot of caramel, full caffeine please." She responds, "oh, extra caramel latte" (what the hell is wrong with this person?)

I stare at her blankly. Thinking she is one of those idiots at the beginning of this story. Like, I'm going to say "no. not extra. THE OPPOSITE OF EXTRA. HAaaaLF." And then she'll say "hahahahah I know I'm just joshin' ya" at which point I feel like an ass. Every time. Gah. (people that say "joshin'" are psychopaths...great, she's a socio-psychopath)

Meanwhile, the actual barista goes, "I got it" and takes the cup before I can decide whether to say HALF again or do that awkward laugh. I think, naw, she saw the whole thing go down and heard me order twice. I'm good.

"Extra caramel latte!" Stares into my eyes. It was disgusting. (Stephanie, did your nemesis call ahead and tell them you were coming so that they could totally ruin your morning? Look into this.)

Here's the thing. She heard me say half. Otherwise how would she have responded "half-caf". How did she get to "extra" HOW!?!? (in other planets "half" means "extra", she's from Jupiter obviously)

I wish I would have actually lit my $4.00 on fire. That would have been a better experience.

Clearly, socio-psychopath.


I Don't Like This

I'm sure that this entire post will just sound like a rant. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. I don't know, I'm already irritated.

You've heard of Subway right? You know, the place you go to tell people how to make your sandwich? I've been there quite a few times, and by "quite a few times" I mean a lot. I've been there a lot.

I went there today. I wanted a BLT. On Honey Oat bread. With lots of things on it. Now here's where I wonder if I'm the only one that does this...I can usually tell by looking at a person whether or not I can tell them my entire vegetable order or if I need to go one at a time. Do you understand what I'm talking about here? No need to fret, I'll explain.

I've ordered my type of sandwich. That order taking person puts my bread with meat into the oven to toast. Now I stand in front of the vegetable adding lady and wait for my sandwich to come out. She gets it out of the oven and then asks, "What do you want on it?". I can do one of two things, I can rattle off all of the things I want, or I can say "Lettuce." Wait for her to add lettuce. "Bell peppers..." and so on.

I size her up (totally judging a book by its cover, what the fuck ever) and decide that she cannot handle having the whole list given to her at once.

I say, "Lettuce..."

She looks at me, without adding the lettuce mind you, and says, "What else?" She's basically forcing me to tell her everything. I narrow my eyes at her because, duh, she basically challenged me.

"Lettuce, bell peppers, onions, olives, a few jalapeno peppers, mayo, salt and pepper." One breath.

She adds the lettuce, looks at me and says, "did you say bell peppers?"

Then of course I had to go through the entire list with her one by fucking one, because "oh gee, I thought I could remember a list of seven things". (I count the salt and pepper as one thing because they are mixed together in that little shaker cup. Sweet baby Jesus, they barely have to do anything themselves.)

I don't have a picture pertaining to this story, so here's a cute
kitty that has fallen asleep in his food.
He's so tired you guys.


God Bless the Seamstress

I will start off this story by telling you about my lovely friend Amber. Yes, I have a friend whose name is the same as mine. No, I am not having a moment of insanity and referring to myself in the third person....this time. Amber was married recently to Joshua. (See, my husbands name is Joe, hers is Joshua. Different. Kind of. I'm not crazy...right now.)

The wedding was beautiful. The reception was beautiful. Everyone and everything was beautiful.

Okay. Enough of that.

I had the pleasure and honor of participating in the wedding as a bridesmaid. I've never been a bridesmaid. Always the bride never the bridesmaid, woe is me. (For the record I've only been a bride once.) As a bridesmaid you have the general worry about having to wear a terrible dress, I lucked out and the dress that Amber (the other one, not me) picked out was great. Simple. Classic. Lovely.
There are even pockets!

See. Not bad. A few days before the wedding I was a little stressed that the dress was a bit snug. I took it into the dress place (I guess I shouldn't name it...but it rhymes with David's. Oops.) because it needed to be steamed. The ladies there had no trouble zipping it, it was just a little tough when zipping through the waist where the fabric is all gathered and bunched. I grabbed the optional straps and tags and left my dress there to be steamed. 

Wedding day! Another bridesmaid picked up our dresses, thank goodness. By that day I couldn't handle one more thing on my plate, I was about 5 minutes away from a nervous breakdown. Hair done. Make up done. Legs and arms moisturized. Spanx on. Dress time! Grabbed my dress off the rack and shimmied into it, two of the other girls proceeded to zip me up.


"Hmmmmmmmmmm.....Um. Uh-oh."

Not sure about you but that really didn't make me feel confident in what was happening back there.

I will shorten this story by about 2 hours now. The zipper broke. Right in the center of my back. Couldn't get it on. Couldn't get it off.

"For fuck's sake!"

Is what I would've said if I hadn't of been in a church.

I stood in one place for an hour and a half while the lovely Anastasia literally sewed me into a dress. She had the perfect color thread, you couldn't tell at a glance that it was sewn on, I took the straps out of my pocket and she was able to use it to even more conceal the sewing. The only way you would've known I was sewn into my dress was by how much I was drinking and my perfect posture. At one point we had to interrupt the sewing so that we could all take pre-ceremony pictures, to hold my dress through that we just safety pinned it. At one point a safety pin popped open and punctured my lung.

I stayed in that dress until 1am, because I had to go to the after party and play charades. In a dress that I was sewn into. Charades. When I arrived home Joe had to cut the dress off of me.

At 1:01am I took my first full breath in 12 hours.

This is the point right before the safety pin popped open and tried to kill me.
For some reason my dress is shorter than everyone else.

Look at those pockets! Amazing.
Also, two days after the wedding I found MY straps in my wallet.
I had someone else's dress on the whole fucking time.


So Many Words

Phew. I just put a post up. There were so many words. Sweet baby Jesus.

I've been doing so much working and listening to so many people say so many words. This post right here is a break. A break from words...well, too many words. As we see now there are definitely words here in this post.


Civic Duty

Jury duty is what I'm talking about here.

I've been called for jury duty before and never made it past the initial large room where all of us meet for roll call. This time though, I made it farther much farther, a little too far for their tastes apparently because I was eventually sent home.

I'm not sure if jury duty is the same in your part of the world, but here's how it works here.

First, you get your jury summons in the mail. You have to fill out the survey and mail it back. Then you get something else in the mail that assigns you a number and gives you a phone number to call every night of the week you have duty. If your number is called then you are required to wake up at an un-Godly hour and rearrange your whole morning and digestive habits to drive to the courthouse. When you arrive you are shuttled through security like cattle.

If you are like me then the moment you get through security you are crouched on the counter of the coffee cart demanding the fuel you need to "dole out sweet justice". I may have or may have not said that exact thing. Actually, the barista was quite a piece of work. After standing in line for a few minutes she adjusts her body over to me and says, "Is there something that I can get for you?". Let's see. It's morning. This is a coffee cart. You are wearing an apron. Yeah, my drycleaning please, last name Wolf.

Next, you have your coffee (or drycleaning) and you go into a large room with about 100 other humans filled with disease or creepiness. Fill out your next survey, this survey is probably engineered to detect racism and love of capital punishment through handwriting. While waiting for a court clerk to come in and start assigning jurors to courtrooms open up your laptop to try and get some work done. (Oh, did you forget that while you are sitting here drinking your hot coffee and trying to not make eye contact with the creep who has turned completely around in his chair to look at you that your deadlines are passing you by, that your inbox and voicemail boxes are filling up, that your entire life is passing you by? Consider yourself reminded.) It doesn't really matter because as soon as you open your laptop they are going to call your name and usher you into a hallway outside of a courtroom to wait another 20 minutes.

There are about 40 of you now. 20 names are pulled from a box. If your name is one of them you proceed to the jury box, if not then you sit your ass right where you are and get ready to try hiding your yawns and laughter. The lawyers and judge give you just enough information about the case to peak your interest. The lawyers then ask the 20 jurors in front of them questions. Ridiculous ones. Like, if your child asked you for a snack and you said no, but later found remnants of said snack, is it possible that a neighbor broke into your house and made the exact snack that your child had wanted and then left your house stealthily? (This is where I had trouble hiding my laughter.)

After those questions the lawyers get to dismiss the jurors that they don't want. (Definitely the ones that said that they hate the police or have passwords on their e-mail accounts.) Then more names get called to take their spots. (Here's where my name got called.)

Then the lawyers ask you the same questions. You answer truthfully.

Then the lawyers decide that you are not worthy of finding out what crime the defendant "allegedly" committed and you have to leave. Right then.

That's all I know, because I had to leave right then. I'm sure my handwriting gave something away about me...that, or my snickering at the lawyers didn't bode well.

Oh, I almost forgot!
Then you get to go through the parking garage, and the booth attendant will treat you like total trash.
For the ultimate satisfaction you can mouth "bitch" right to her face before you drive away.
So gratifying.

Good luck making it through your jury duty process!


In Case You Are Wondering...

The Florence & the Machine station on Pandora is the best station ever.

Add that shit.


Out of Control

I have joined a gym. Even more amazing than that, I've actually been going to the gym. I love it! Sometimes my schedule gets the best of me and I miss a day or two but for the most part I've been pretty steady and motivated.

Then I also have days where I eat everything. Then I go to the gym and work out in front of the very unflattering mirrors and really let myself have it.

Have you tried Zumba? Not Zumba for Wii...that shit just lets you get away with standing there doing basically nothing. 

Zumba at the gym won't even let your big toe stand there and not do anything.

For real.

I do pretty well for myself, I can basically move my body in the same direction of the instructor.

Most of the time.

In my last class my body revolted. My legs and arms must have gotten into an argument earlier in the day because when class time came around they were still not speaking to each other. In short, my legs refused to work together with my arms and really my entire upper body and just did whatever the hell they wanted to do. At one point I just gave up and cleaned my glasses on my shirt while my legs just did their thing. I felt like one of those dancers where their upper body remains still and their legs just kick and kick and jig.

Or. Like a cartoon character who tries to run really fast but only their legs move around and around.

Or. Like. A moron. I looked like a moron. The 85 year old lady next to me could rotate her hips in ways I never knew where possible and guess what, my hips still won't do that now that my body knows that it is possible.

I still love it. I'm used to looking like a moron, so I fit in perfectly.
Oh, someecards.com, you always know what to say.


All Burney and Whatnot

I burned my toe with the hair dryer this morning.

This is the first time it has happened and I must say, I am surprised that it hasn't happened sooner. All in all I am clumsy...a little wobbly, kind of like a newborn horse. A calf.

See, I was drying my hair. The hair on my head of course, I don't have hair to dry on my feet. (Thank God.) When I'm done drying my hair and about to flat iron it or curl it or do some other damage to it I just put my hair dryer on the floor...the floor where my feet go so that I can stand, unsuredly.

Just so happens that this time my hair dryer was all super close to my foot and then BAM SIZZLE cooked toe.

It hurt and I was all, "OF COURSE!" Then Joe said I should stop trying to do my hair with my feet.

Har dee har har.

What I'm trying to say is, I am my own worst enemy and apparently the hair dryer is my weapon of choice.

Well, for today anyway.

As I'm reading this it sounds kind of like, "blah blah blah toe blah blah blah stuff". I just shrugged at this sentence. What does this mean? Does it mean I don't care? Of course not. What it means is that I'm hungry and can't find a place that delivers. Ta da! This post is what happens when I'm hungry.

You're welcome.

These guys know what I'm talking about.


With Statham Like Ability

This is one of those posts where I just show you a text conversation that I've recently had. I'll give you some background to how it all got started, especially since it spiraled out of control so quickly.

Shannon and I were texting trying to coordinate a movie night with our families. Every day that she would suggest would be shot down because Joe had already made plans for us. As you are reading please remember that we are ladies...not men. And....go:

Shannon: That's it. I'm going to have to kill him. I just don't see a way around it. But we have to kill him like Jason Statham would kill somebody. We can't do it regular.

Me: Yep. We need to use the accent as well.

Shannon: I second that. And we have to be awesomely hot while we do it because that's how he would do it.

Me: Yes. We need a motorcycle. Or...a classic car. With changeable plates.

Shannon: And we need muscles and to smell fantastic no matter how much we sweat.

Me: We will sweat pure sex. It will serve as a distraction.

Shannon: And our balls will be shorn by the feathers of angels wings. (This has deteriorated so badly.)

Me: In true Amber/Shannon fashion.

Shannon: And the flexing of our leg muscles will cause tsunami's.

Me: We will carry our own custom made seats that have a cradling section just for our balls...it will of couse be reinforced with the steel of cannons.

Shannon: For our balls are made of steel and require cradling.

Me: That was implied. If not cradled they will bust through any manmade fabric or material.

Shannon: Our balls are kryptonite to mere mortals and the Gods shudder at our laser shooting nipples.

Me: I don't want my nipples to shoot things, you can have that one. Mine cut glass perhaps? That seems useful.

Shannon: I WANT LASER NIPPLES...that do not react to cold.

Me: You can have them, mine are glass cutting diamonds.

Shannon: YES!

Bam. You're dead.



You guys, I completely forgot that I had to train a small human to use the potty. I don't know, I guess it slipped my mind what with being so busy feeding him and dressing him and making sure there isn't some sort of goo in his hair. There's usually goo in his hair...but at least he's fed and partially dressed.

Amazingly he is doing well in the potty training department and he's not even two yet! That's good right? I'm going to go ahead and say yes, that's great.
Well. He's been doing great at going pee in the potty. He doesn't go every time but if we ask him if he needs to go he yells, "YEAH!" and runs to go. Today he went POOP in the potty. Poop. It's a big deal, in case you don't know.
Joe was home when this happened. The poop happened and Joe tells Cooper, "Okay buddy. You stay right here and I'll go grab you a new diaper."


Take a beat. Really let that soak in. Let the fact that a grown man told a one and a half year old to, "Stay. Right. Here."

Joe is in the other room trying to find the pull up style diapers, he's bent over digging through the diaper drawer when he looks up and there stands pantsless Coop.

Cooper has his hand stretched out and says proudly, "Dadd'n" (That's how he says Daddy.)

What do you do when someone holds there hand out to you? Do you hold your hand out back? Yes.

Of course you do. Even if that other small little hand is full of poop.

Now, you're hand is full of poop.

And you are a parent.

And you are proud, because your kid just pooped in a potty.

Is it poop or is it chocolate?


Well hi there. Haven't missed me have you?

Here's a run down of what's been going on that I've been leaving you all in the dark about:
  1. I quit my job.
  2. I gained a million pounds.
  3. I'm managing a store that my mom, step-dad and their friends opened...are opening. We open on Friday. Fuck.
  4. My face is a zit field.
  5. I joined a gym yesterday.
  6. I still have an elliptical that I don't use.
  7. My oldest started second grade.
  8. My youngest says lots of words now, including but not limited to "pease", "buggy" and "boogy". (Boogy as in booger...buggy as in bug.)
  9. I got new glasses. 
  10. Your mom.
Okay, those last two I just threw in there so it would be an even number. Whatevs.

Opening a brand new from scratch business is haaaaard. It makes me whiny and tired. It also makes me use a lot more cuss words in daily conversation with my momma. Then we laugh. Then she calls me an asshole. Then we laugh again. Then she asks if I'm done with the ad design for the paper. Then I cry...

I just remember that it's due tomorrow...shit.

Oh! That's all I have to do?
Sure it is...


It's Happening

Recently Morgan (brother) needed to do some laundry because he was all out of black clothes that didn't puff out glitter with every step like a fairy Pigpen. He works at M.A.C., that should explain everything. And because I am a grown up, I have fancy grown up things like a washer and dryer. And because he and Angelo live in this super cute apartment with built in floor to ceiling book shelves and a closet just for body butter and fragrances, they don't have a washer and dryer. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay.

He requested the use of my facilities and by requested I mean, he called and said "What's the code to your garage again? Also, how much ketchup do you have?" (Oh yeah, I have a garage AND ketchup. Holler.)

Now is where I should tell you that my dryer takes FOREVER to dry clothes. Also, it will run forever. As in, it won't turn off. It would go for days if I forgot and didn't hear the clanging of metal buttons on metal dryer drum OHMYGODWHATISTHATNOISEMAKEITSTOP!

He called me while at the house and we discussed status of said dryer.

Me: What time do you need to leave to go to work?

Morgan: I should leave here at about 2...that is, if my clothes are dry by then. Your dryer sucks.

Me: I know! It takes forever, ugh, I hate it. But it runs forever, so I think it just doesn't know what to do.

Morgan: That's not how it works, it doesn't know that it's going to run forever and then disperse the time and heat.

Me: Meh. Maybe. Maybe it doesn't want to be so hot, maybe it's saying, "No. I want to operate at a cool 60 degrees and I will take 7 days to dry these towels thank you."

Morgan: Maybe.

Me: The machines are taking over, and mine are the first to start.

Morgan: I love that when the machines take over, it's not to rule the world, but just to inconvenience you.

Me: I KNOOOOW! So rude.

Then he made fishticks and used 3 cups of ketchup, because he hates to run out of ketchup mid-fishtick consumption.

This was after 500 fishsticks. He used a gallon of ketchup.


The Blog Post That Gets My Blog Flagged By All Government Agencies

This is where I tell you that today I will be getting some in-front of the camera acting practice. I will be playing a crackhead. This is my second time working with this particular director and it has been fun to practice and get a few pointers.

I consulted with Morgan on how to make myself look like a crackhead, besides the obvious suggestion that I'm sure you are thinking of right now, which is, duh, become a crackhead real quick.

He told me what he did when he had to make someone look like a crackhead so I tried it out last night and I must say, it worked. After about an hour of walking around the house like that, Madison said, "Did someone punch you...in BOTH of your eyes?"

Then she said that she had a headache. She had been whining a good bit all evening, mostly when I asked her to do something or to eat her food. "My head hurts....my tummy doesn't feel good..." You know, the kid standard. I kept having her drink water and made her lay down. As you know from previous posts, this kid does not do well with being still. She has these legs...and arms....and they're spindly and they move without even being told to. Finally I just sent her to my bed, because sometimes when you're a kid you just feel better if you can lay in momma's bed.

I still go to my momma's house and lay in her bed.

I started looking for any children's pain relief medicine I could find...which was none. At this point she starts crying ya'll. Actually crying. Now I'm really trying to find medicine. MEDICINE THAT I KNOW WE FUCKING HAVE WHERE IS IT!!!!!????? I tore apart every drawer, every cabinet, and every shelf. If you are a parent, and you have ever had a child in so much pain that they are crying and you can't find anything to help them, then I'm sure you know the feeling. It's 11 pm, and I can't figure out what to do. I have infant's tylenol but I can't find a damn thing anywhere that tells me how much I can give an older kid if needed. I have grown up tylenol but it tells you right there to not give it to kids or else all of their organs will go on strike and develop drug problems and bad attitudes.

FINE! We're going to the store I yell at the medicine cabinet. I snatch Coop out of his slumber in his Wonder Pets pajamas, grab Madison by the hand and run out the door. Anyone seeing this from the street would've thought our house had a bomb in it. [Oh, hi Homeland Security, no bomb's here, just an exaggeration. Sorry for any inconvenience.]

Cooper thinks we're going to a party, he's squealing and clapping his hands. Madison is holding her head like if she let's go it will fall apart. I go to the 24-hour grocery store and pull up to the door...the doors that are barricaded with carts. ASSHOLES! I drive to the other doors. Madison wants to stay in the car, but I assure her that if I leave her in the car screaming with a toddler the police will come and take me away.

In the store I put both kids in the buggy and turn to go into the second set of doors...BLOCKED BY A FUCKING SIGN! So, I turn to go into the other doors. Unfortunately, at the same time as a young man who I berated with my comments to noone that WHY IS IT SO DIFFICULT TO GET INTO THIS DAMN STORE AND LOOK! IT'S LIKE A MAZE IN HERE! WHY ARE THERE BEACH TOYS?THERE'S NO BEACH HERE, NO ONE'S BUILDING ANY SANDCASTLES!!!! That man will never get married or have kids. Or go to that store ever again.

I finally get out of the maze of unnecessary summer products and I see that there's only one cashier open and there's a long ass line, a line that I have to cut through with a crying child to get to the pharmacy, a line that I know I'm going to have to stand in with a crying child when I come back. As I cut through the line, I look at everyone and say OF COURSE!! Like it's their fault.

That's when I notice they are all staring at me. That's when I remember.


I look like a crackhead. I have two children in my cart, both in their pajamas, one of them screaming, one of them clapping, my hair is half in a pony tail and half falling down all crazy, it's almost midnight. At this point I looked down just to make sure I had pants on, I was really unsure. I was surprised to see that I was fully dressed.

Well, at least there's that.

I got to the pharmacy and tore into a box of Tylenol Meltaways, which must be the fucking best thing ever because as soon as she was done chewing them up her headache was feeling better...which was all just in her mind because as soon as we got in the car she was crying again.

While at the pharmacy I stocked up on all child medications because I'll be damned if this happens again. Then I surveyed my cart to make sure I couldn't cook meth with any of these items because I just knew there would be questions at the check out counter, what with me being a crackhead and all. But, because I don't even know what's involved in cooking meth I just crossed my fingers. [Hello, DEA. No meth or crack here, I assure you. Thanks for stopping by.]
And that's that. We went home and I put Cooper back to bed, which really confused the shit out of him because he think's it's morning and where's the balloons, I thought we were going to a party?!


After...OH MY GOD RUN!!
(note: those aren't real zits...I totally put those on with make-up.)


One Year Ago

I'm about to do one of those posts about a personal matter that isn't comical or necessarily humorous in fashion, so if you'd like to step away I won't be offended.

One year ago Mammaw passed away. One year ago my Momma's Momma was called up to heaven. One year ago the lady that always made pancakes in the morning that were just the right size, and she would leave the leftover ones on a plate on the stove and they were good all day even if they were cold and she would call me sugar-root and hug me tight, that lady, she left her pain and her illnesses behind for glory and an eternity playing cards and hulling peas on a front porch probably.

I believe in heaven. If you don't that's fine, I don't mind. As long as you don't mind what I believe, because I couldn't imagine living this life with nothing to look forward to afterwards.

This lady:

(name that movie)
 Mammaw and Pappaw

I always aspired to be as beautiful as her.

Standard 70s pose. Only thing missing? Finger guns.

This was Mammaw's standard summer attire. 
Fishing day.
 She loved us no matter what hairstyle or how many piercings we had.

Never one to miss an opportunity to do something funny in a picture.

 Momma and Mammaw

 All of us girls/ladies/women together all because of the one we love the most.

Thank you for sticking around and sharing in this day with me and thank you for sticking around for every day that I happen to share with you.

I appreciate it.


Wanted: My Brain.

If you happen to see my brain around could you please send it home straightaway? Thanks, oh, and tell it to bring some milk. We're all out.

I have been having one of those weeks, and it's only Tuesday. We are in the middle of a typical Alaskan summer. Which means 20 hours of sun...but without the sun. Also, rain. It has me all fucked up yall. I can't even write funny things, or meaningful things or real things that maybe you'll care about.

I could bring up the Rep. Weiner thing, and how I bet the guys at Fox News and MSNBC are just having a field day with coming up with titles for all the stories this guy is creating. I'm sure that's being done all over the place, right? Sure.

I have a song stuck in my head, I have no clue what the words are...I'm just mumbling them and humming and also whistling (sorry Lord). I wonder if Shazam works like that, maybe I can just hit the SHAZAM button and hum it and then it can tell me what the song is. Please hold...

Nope. Now I look like an idiot because I'm humming and whistling into my phone.

Dear Shazam, please make it so I can hum into the phone and then tell me the song. Thanks.

See what happend all up there? That's what an email typically looks like from me, if you haven't had the pleasure of corresponding with me yet. I just write things, usually just one sentence, press enter and then BAM, new topic. Now you know.

Sometimes I don't have much to say.
Surprising, I know.


Accidental Thievery

Years ago, about 8 years...I think, I don't know. Whenever it was, I think Morgan was in middle school. We lived in a really nice neighborhood and he would often bike to the local grocery store.

One day he returned from the grocery store with a bike that wasn't his own.

Morgan: "You won't believe what happened!"

Me: "What?"

Morgan: "Someone STOLE my bike and left my theirs!!"

Me: "sigh"

Morgan: "Isn't that insane?! What assholes!!"

Me: "Morgan. Let me get this straight. You left your bike on the rack, went into the store, came back out and your bike was gone but this one was in its place?"

Morgan: "...  ...  ...yeeeeeessssss."

Me: "Morgan. You just stole someone's bike."

Morgan: "No....no...wait...no. Oh no."

He kept it.

And this is where I tell you of our fear that we have somehow committed a crime and don't know it. Both of us have this fear. Whenever we see a cop we think, "Oh God. Did I rob a bank and not know it? Did I shoplift and not realize it? Did I murder someone by accident and not even KNOW!?" "How am I going to prove my innoncence when I don't even know what happened!?" "Where was I yesterday?" "Where was I today, oh God. I've killed someone haven't I? Jesus."

And that was a peek into my brain. I hope you survived.

We think the exact same things.


Movies I've Seen Lately

I watch movies frequently, as you already know. I've done one of these lists before, as you already know. If you don't know, then feel free to check out my last movie breakdown here.

Wristcutters: A Love Story: If you can stand to watch a very dark comedy about the after life of people that commit suicide then this is the film for you. If you can stand to watch a movie that has an actress in it that in real life named her son Audio Science, then this is definitely the film for you. I really enjoyed it. Right up until about five minutes before the very end. I won't give it away, just in case you haven't seen it. But, prepare yourself. For. Nothing. And maybe some spinning around in space. Okay, that's all I'm going to say. And this.

Say "cheese"!

The Broken Hearts Club: Um. I loved this movie. It's a love story centered around a group of gay male friends. I'm not sure exactly how many, if any, of the actors that portrayed gay men were in fact actually gay. I know for a fact that one of them isn't. And I swear on all that is holy if you ever tell me that he is, I will punch you in the face. Okay. Aside from that. It was a lovely movie, a refreshing love story and the love story comes from a place that you don't expect.

What? This is a totally legitimate baseball team.

When Strangers Appear: I caught this flick on Lifetime during one of my Saturday afternoon laundry-fests. By laundry I mean sitting on the couch. This movie took about $15 to make. The main story seemed like a good idea...but that all goes down the drain when you realize that  *SPOILER ALERT* when the movie is over you have no clue what was going on or the reason behind it. That's right. The credits roll and you look around like maybe you've been Punk'd. (It's been years humanity, can we stop using that term now? We could call it 'Amber'd' but that would mean that before the trick happened I would have to show up and giggle right before and perhaps roll around on the floor.) So, I suggest seeing this movie if you can stand to be left not knowing. Anything.

The Sandlot 2: Stop it.

 Seriously. Don't watch this.



Today is a post where I brag about my brother. Because I love him and because I want to. And because one time I slapped him in the face because he followed me all the way from the far away barn on our farm to our house while yelling and throwing rocks. I still feel bad. I don't think he gives a shit, hell he might not even remember. That? Is love. Also, an example of how I don't let things go. One time he pulled down my pants in front of the gas station. So there.

After high school my precious Morgie Porgie went to California to attend MUD - Make-up Designory. When he left I cried like he was never coming back...even though he was coming back in a few weeks for Thanksgiving. Then he went back after Thanksgiving...I may have cried even more. Then he was gone for awhile...then he was home for summer or something...and then he went back...and then I finally had to upgrade to a Blackberry to increase my texting speed. I don't even know how people can text without a full keyboard. So inconvenient.

Then he got all done with make up school and came back home to get his business degree. Isn't he amazing? I know.

THEN he worked at a local furniture chain because OHMYGOD do you know how hard it is to get a job at the MAC counter at Nordstrom?

So, guess what? HE GOT THE JOB FINALLY! YAY! Hero of the day!

And guess what else he did in between all of that? Met someone else that is amazing, Angelo!

And guess what happened to Angelo this week also? He became manager of the salon that he works at.

What an amazing week for them and an amazing life coming up! So, that's what this is about. Saying that I'm so proud and happy to be a part of their lives and couldn't imagine a life without them.

There he is. Cute.

 There he is with my favorite girl.

There he is with my favorite boy.

 And there is Morgan and Angelo.
Even they can't believe the magnitude of the awesomeness contained here in this photo.


See A Penny Pick It Up...

Do yall know that saying, "See a penny, pick it up, all the day you'll have good luck."? I know it because it was engraved onto my soul as a young'n. Being from Louisiana, I'm full of sayings and superstitions. And no, I am not also full of shit, regardless of what my husband says.

Mammaw taught me to only pick up the pennies that are laying heads up, those are good luck. Heads down, bad luck. Not only that but she also taught me to put the penny in my shoe. She ALWAYS had a penny in her shoe, and so did I.

Momma taught me to never throw away money or vacuum up money off the ground. She explained it as, if we treat money like it means nothing or is trash then we can't expect the Lord to bless us with financial health. She didn't say it that eloquently, it was more like, "If you throw away or vacuum up money you can't expect Jesus to help you out when yer broke, also, I'll whoop yer ass." I'm not saying she isn't eloquent, because Lord knows she is, she just didn't waste her beautiful talk on my childhood ears. On a similar note, I recently had to explain to Madison what "half-ass'n it" means.

I feel like you should know this about me, since recently one of my closest friends displayed her shock at my alien like behavior. Because apparently, picking up pennies is just crazy sauce.

We were leaving the mall, I was trailing behind a bit and I noticed the shine of a penny on the ground. As I passed I noticed it was heads up, well, I can't pass that up. I do try and pick up pretty quickly because, let's face it, I don't want to remain bent over in public very long. I tried picking it up quickly but faltered because it was raining and it was kind of in a puddle, at that moment Stephanie turned around.

"Did that just happen?"

Yes it did.

And I'm one lucky sonofabitch.

Okay, well, not really...but one day I bet.




I make him say "Ball" no less than 96 times per day. It never gets old.

Don't mind the oatmeal on his face...
and please don't pay attention to the fact he is in desperate need of a haircut.

The Road Is Their Home....if you help.

Okay. There are only 9 days left to pledge money to help Thera go on tour.

Visit their Kickstarter page, and pledge whatever you can or want to. That would be fantastic. Because, see they have done a shit ton of work to get ready to go on tour and it would be so very sad if they didn't get to go. Also, if you pledge they give you presents! PRESENTS!

I'm totally down with some presents.

Here's the page, help if you can.

Thera's "The Road is our Home" tour.

How can you say no to these faces?


An Unfortunate Theme

Welp, I guess the theme of the week is spiders. Lord save me.

As I'm telling you these next couple of things please keep in mind that this happened in one day. And not just that, but all in the span on one hour. All in one hour. When I take down my ponytail later I'm betting my hair just comes out with it.

We are all in the car heading to a birthday party, at a bouncy house play land, I should've taken a xanax. On the way to buy the gift I hear a whisper scream from the backseat. It sounded like "spppprrrrrrrrrrrr".

I turned around to say, "Whaaaaa?" When I saw it...legs. I've trained myself to maintain my composure in high stress situations around my children. I stayed relatively calm while levitating out of my seat. I could see Madison slowly coming unglued.

It was hanging out on the ceiling of the vehicle like it was invited. It was not.

We pulled up the to the store and Joe let us out...well, I got out after the car stopped...Madison, not so much. When we got back to the car we asked if he had murdered the spider.


Then as I'm buckling in he says to me, "I forgot." Fool.

He said that at the same time that Madison realized that she had been betrayed. I'm afraid that anything that I say will not even come close to the description of what happened next. Basically, Madison lost all of her shit. Somehow she buckled herself in (only after I warned her of car accidents that involve being flung through windshields) while crouching in front of her seat. One bump and she would be strangled. We drove to the bouncy house play land wonderous universe and again she was out of the car like nothing I've ever seen before.

I don't think she even used the door handle, she just kicked it open with her two feet and leaped for the sidewalk grabbing her headband as it flew off her head midair.

Joe killed the spider and all was instantly well in the world.


We are in the bouncy house play land wonderous  universe of amazing miracles and Joe tells me a gem of a story. Are you ready?

He says, "Last time I brought the kids here this big fat black hairy spider came down from the ceiling on it's web...it was huuuuuge." (then he made a big circle with this fingers to demonstrate the size of the alien spider)

I said, "So...it's STILL HERE!?" (yes, people were staring)

He said, ".....................................................yessssssssssss. Fuck."

Everyone there thought I was coming down from sort of drug that I don't know about because I've never done drugs.

Don't let that smile fool you. That bag is where he keeps the teeth.
And souls.


Sweet Dreams He Says...

Do you like spiders? Did you say "No."? Or did you say, "What the fuck, are you crazy! 'Don't Like' doesn't even begin to explain my gutteral hate for those creatures of serial murder and too many damn legs!"? If you said the second thing then we are probably friends.

If you say, "Meh, spiders ain't so bad." Then you are insane. Spiders are that bad.

I'm not sure what fuels the general populations' hate on for spiders. Maybe it's because they are spiders...but I'm only guessing here.

Last night before bed. And I mean, like, right before. Like, I was already in the bed and all ready to get all snuggly with my blanket and get my dream on. So close to closing my eyes and resting peacefully.
Right before all of that.
Joe says, "Well, there are spiders in the closet."

DING says my eyes.

All I could squeak out was a "Whaaaaaaa?"

"Yep. Found one today. So you should probably check your clothes before putting them on."
Then I explain that my clothes aren't going in the closet anymore and if tomorrow he would kindly get them all out of the closet and put them on the dresser that would be fantastic. Also, why do you hate me?

His utter confusion is what baffles me. Know what else? When we met he said that he hates spiders and this was backed up by his family. They all said that he hated them. I liked that. We both have an extreme hate of spiders and that would be good for us together because we would be hyper alert to the monsters.
Little did I know that this was a lie. A falsehood if you will. He doesn't hate spiders. He isn't bothered by their presence or even their existence. He can be in the same room with one and not require emergency assistance from firefighters or ninjas or a tiny spider killing army.
Long story short, I didn't sleep well last night and so far I have lost a bathroom and a closet to a spider.

See. Even spiders are on my side.


Fantastic Find

Sometimes when I'm out mingling amongst the humans I see really awesome things that I think maybe you would like to know about. I will start sharing these things with you.

I am not being paid or acknowledged for telling you about things, this is done all on my own and the people that make or distribute whatever I tell you about have no idea who I am.

Unless I tell you otherwise.

First thing.

Okay, I didn't actually find this. My super awesome friend Stephanie gave me one of these cards for my birthday and now I am in love with them and will probably only give these cards from now on. (While we're on the subject of Stephanie, don't forget to help them go on tour by donating to their Kickstarter!)

They are by Bald Guy Greetings.

This is the card that I received:

The shop that she purchased it at is called Fuego, I couldn't find that you can order these cards from that store, but you can order them directly from the Bald Guy site itself. Or go to the site and search for the location nearest you!


Momma's Page

I hope you have checked out the page dedicated to the things that Momma says and does.

There's a new conversation up. Wanna know what it's about?

Then go read it.

Okay. Here's a hint.

Get it?


How 'bout now?


You definitely have it figure out now...right?



A Remodel

Today Madison came to me (read: ran up to me convulsing) and calmly explained (read: shrieked and drooled) that there is a spider in the downstairs bathroom. I tried to calm her down, though I was fuh-reaking out on the inside. Who doesn't hate spiders? If you don't hate spiders then maybe you are in the wrong place. Seriously. Get out. Wait. Stay. You can get rid of them for me and then keep them in your weird spider jars or whatever you people keep them in.

Since she absolutely refused to go back downstairs to get her clean pajamas out of the dryer, I had to go. What? Where do you keep your clean clothes?

The laundry room is connected to the bathroom. I walk into the bathroom the whole time yelling up to Madison, "WHERE IS IT?" she described to me where it was residing. Please understand that what I'm about to explain to you is not an exaggeration.

I saw that spider (which now I believe is actually some sort of tiny monster, but what spider isn't? AMIRIGHT!?) and I couldn't contain myself. I yelled and kept yelling all the while trying to clamor into the laundry room to grab her shorts. When I came back out of the laundry room the spider was gone...not GONE but moved briskly to another location. Probably nearby which is why I started stomping my feet like a maniac. I escaped the bathroom unscathed. I closed the door.

That room will from now on be referred to as "The Spider's Room". Whatever clothes are in there are there to stay. In fact there's a hell of a lot of clothes in there because I haven't done laundry in two weeks and I just took it all down there. Also, all of our towels.

And that's that. I now have a one bathroom house and I need to go shopping.

- towels
- socks for everyone
- underwear for everyone
- all new clothes for the kids
- just a couple of tents for me thanks, I've gained a million pounds this month
- tiny spider furniture...I can scoot it under the door probably...wait! I NEED TO BARRICADE!


New Old

While at the park the other day I saw a little boy that I thought went to Madison's school. I asked her who he was...

Me: Who is that?

Madison: I don't know his name. He's new old.

Me: What? He's not in your class?

Madison: No.

Me: What is new old? (instantly realizing I made a mistake I put my sunglasses back on so she couldn't see my eyes bleed)

Madison: Like. I've been at the school since Kindergarten, so I'm old. Gabe just started so he's new. Kelly is old new. That kid is new old.

Me: Okay. But what is old new and new old? (yall won't believe this but I kept a straight face when asking this question)

Madison: (audible sigh) Nevermind.

I still don't know what new old or old new is, but you can be I'm going to start using it in conversation.


The Road Is Their Home

Thera is about to go on tour. If you're lucky it's in a city near you. If you're super duper lucky it's in your own damn city. Can you effing imagine?! That would make you the luckiest person ever in the history of awesome things happening to an awesome person. (FYI the awesome person is you, genius.)

Here's the video for their Kickstarter page. Watch it. Then go to their page and pledge some of your money to help them tour. Because you want to. Don't you? Yes. Then click HERE!


What a Beautiful Stew

While at the bank recently I noticed that they had a new calendar out for patrons to have...for FREE. I'm all over that shit.

While standing at the teller counter waiting for her to count all my piles and piles of cash...  ...   ...

Are you done laughing? No? Okay, I'll wait.

While she was counting my items, I picked up this calendar. Opened it up to the first month (January, in case some of you are confused about how a calendar works.) and there was a bunny! All of the estrogen in my body kicked in and I whisper-squealed, "BUNNY!", the next month was a moose, then a bear, a caribou, well, you get the picture. Each month had a cute animal that is relevant to Alaska featured. I snatched that sucker up and shoved it in my bag.

Free, remember?

After I got home I took a few minutes to go through the calendar and look at all of the photo's, BUNNY!

Further inspection of each page forced me to come to a very disturbing realization. This is not just a calendar, it is a cook book.

And not just any cook book, but a cook book where they show you a photo of your food in its natural habitat. Then it tells you how to cook it.

Photo of the cutest bunny ever...here's how to cook and then eat it.

Because we hate bunnies.

And you.

And now we have your money.

And we are preparing dead bunnies on it.