Thought Processes of an Amber

Everyone has different ways of living their lives. Different reasons for doing things, different methods...different thought processes. I never really think about it but I realized that maybe mine are kind of...different? Or maybe they're the same as yours.

For instance - I have a pretty standard uniform everyday - jeans, black shirt or sweater...or jeans, sweatshirt, or cigarette pants and a top...or whatever the hell. This is my thought as I get dressed:

"When I get home tonight can I also sleep in this shirt?"

The answer is typically and almost always yes - if not the outer shirt, at the very least I can sleep in the shirt that's underneath it. BAM - convenience.

SOMETIMES the shirt you see me in is the same shirt I slept in. MOST DAYS the pants you see me in are the same pants I wore yesterday. EVERYDAY you see me, I'm adorable - so does it really matter?

My thoughts on showering -

AM Showering:

"Do I have time to dry and fix my hair? No - then no shower. I'll put it in a bun."

PM Showering:

"Do I need to dry and fix my hair tonight so that tomorrow is looks presentable? Yes - then no shower. I'll put it in a bun tomorrow."

All girls think like that right there - and if they deny it, they're liars. And their hair is dirty.

My thoughts on waking up early in the morning -

"If I set two alarms I'll have one alarm I can snooze and one that is set for my real needed wake up time and I'll get up to that one - having satisfied my need to hit 'snooze' while still waking up on time."

That's my "thought process". My "actual process"? -

/snooze /snooze - one hour later - "Fffffuuuuuuuu - I'm late."

So...am I so weird? Am I the only one that is planning on wearing the same shirt I'm wearing right now to bed tonight?

Maybe I am, and that's fine by me.


Baby Brother

I have a baby brother - well, he's not really a baby anymore. It's his birthday tomorrow and I thought maybe it would be nice of me to brag on him here for a little bit. I am the thoughtful one after all.

Morgan and I are 5 years apart in age...for a few months, and then we are 6 years apart. Growing up I was very protective of him, even if I was a bully to him - that was my job and no one else's. Most sisters will complain about all the times their brothers were mean to them and all of the terrible and irritating things they would do.

Sure, I remember that stuff. I remember the phase he went through where he was scared of the wind and anytime we were going somewhere and it was windy he would freak out and make life as difficult as possible. I remember the time he pulled my pants down in front of a gas station...ugh.

What I really remember are the times when I was mean to him, I still hate to think about it. One time I slapped him in the face - he pretty much deserved it, but that doesn't matter. I would leave him out, I would lock him out, I would tease him - all of these things are normal big sister/little brother things and are what made us who we are today but I just want to say, "Sorry Morgie Porgie, sorry for being a jerk to you when you where little."

Don't get me wrong - we had fantastic times together also! You know, stuff. We washed a cat once, that was fun. We ran over a tricycle with a golf cart one time.

I'm not sure when it happened...but we became friends. We can hold an entire conversation using television/movie quotes, or just using grunts and yawns. And we do this sometimes 5 times per day. I am so blessed to have a friend/brother in my life with as much determination, drive, positivity, and just overall greatness as he has. He is my biggest inspiration and the bravest person that I know. I love him with my entire heart.

Ugh - that was so mushy gushy. Back to being regular.

Our favorite thing to do, of course, is make momma crazy. The easiest and most fun way to do that is when taking pictures. When we were kids and getting our pictures taken she would be constantly telling him to smile, and I - being concerned that he wasn't smiling - would look at him to make sure he was smiling and then she would yell at me to look at the camera. We do this to this day. We literally did this just a couple of days ago. It drivers her absolutely bonkers and we just have the best time with it.

Here's us...she had just yelled at him to smile and then immediately yelled at me to look at the camera - as you can see, we just can't seem to get our lives together.

Here we are as kids - though we still feel like kids now - you can bet money that not 10 seconds before this picture was taken I had my face over his shoulder to make sure he was smiling.

And here we are now...we look spooky here, but I like the picture. Deal with it.

Happy Birthday Morgie Porgie!


Shannon Post

My friend Shannon is hilarious - well, I think she is. We have more fun texting than anyone should legally have. I know I've posted here before one of our texting conversations - here it is.

I think I may end up making a page just for my conversations with Shannon...here's the one we had last night.

Pivoting is overrated.


Good morning...never.

If you know me personally you know how much I loathe the morning time...well, not the actual "morning", but the act and necessity of having to remove myself from the comforts of the bed. It's just the absolute worst.

I've never in my life been a morning person - with the one exception being Christmas morning, because Christmas is my favorite and I still go to sleep with butterflies in my stomach and wake up with a dumb grin on my face. Because I'm a human with a heart and soul.

Momma is the definition of morning person. She wakes up singing songs and twirling around sprinkling fairy dust on everything or whatever it is you morning people do. Momma had several ways of waking Morgan and I up in the mornings of our childhood, I will outline them here for you to cringe at.

  • Open bedroom door - yank open curtains - sing some ridiculous song about morning time and smiles.
  • All of the above PLUS tearing the blanket off of our sleeping warm bodies.
  • All of the above PLUS sitting on our bed, bouncing up and down and tickling us because she's the devil.
THEN. THEN, she gave up on all of that because Morgan and I are terrible, horrible people and would yell at her and make mean faces and kick her off of our beds. That's when she deployed the most terrible and awful way to be woken up. She would literally annoy us awake. (I know, the things above are pretty annoying - but just you fucking wait.)

Here it is. Here is what she would do. From the second floor - she would yell up to the third floor where our bedrooms resided. She would yell:

Amber. Amber. Amber. Morgan. Morgan. Amber. Morgan. Morgan. Morgan. Amber. Amber. Morgan. Morgan. Amber. Morgan. AmberMorganMorganAmberAmberMorganAmberMorgan. AmberMorgan.



Repeat forever in the most monotone voice you can think of.

During all of this we are yelling - STOP IT. PLEASE. GOD. STOP. OKAY. OKAY. STOP. WE'RE UP!


So, why? Why can't I just BE a morning person? I want to be. I wish I could be cheerful and happy in the morning, I don't want to be hateful and terrible - I just am. Morning are just so hard. They're usually cold. My face is all sleepy. My limbs are sleepy and don't want to work. My brain is all, "No. That dream was good - let's go back to that!". If I wake up to my alarm clock - which I will snooze for approximately an hour - I'm not horrible to anyone. BUT if a person wakes me up, UGH, just, don't.

I've tried several "tricks and tips" to becoming a morning person and they just make me more grumpy and tired. I've given up - I will just remain...whatever the opposite of morning person is. Fantastic? Yes, that must be it.

An ideal world...


Scary Movies

Up until about 8 years ago it was a weekly tradition for me to watch scary movies with my family. But, I have an overactive imagination and I was recently single so I was at home alone with a baby, at night, when it's dark, during prime murder/possession/torture/haunting time.

One night someone shook my door knob and I called everyone I knew until I found someone to come over and identify my body. When the person arrived they discovered a little door tag hanging menu on my door - so clearly, some psychopath was using the door knob hanging menu thing as a trick to check for unlocked doors.


That's when I decided I should take a break from scaring the absolute shit out of myself. I said, "No more scary movies for me." Now, it's many years later and I'm alone all the time and I still think there's someone in my house at least once per night so I figured, might as well watch the movies anyway - I'm already batshit. My showers take twice as long as normal people because I spend half of the time peering out of the curtain to check for...I don't even know. Up until a while ago I only used one of those clear shower curtain liners as my shower curtain because it saved me so much time. Obviously I'm ready to watch scary movies again.

I kicked off my movie watching with Cabin in the Woods.

Look at that shit.

It's about a group of college friends (duh) that go to spend the weekend in a cabin in the woods (see what they did there?). Because when I was in college that's exactly what I wanted to do - spend my weekend in a moldy cabin in the middle of nowhere. Also, let's drive an old RV to the cabin - because that makes sense.

These two people are in it, bonus for the girls. I don't remember if there are boobs for the guys - they usually throw boobs in for the guys...so I'm assuming they were there and I just didn't notice. Bewbs.

I will watch anything that has this face.

I don't even know his name - I call him "eyeballs".

Personally, I liked the movie. It wasn't terribly scary - but I was scared at the potential of being scared so I spent most of the movie curled up into a ball in anticipation. Most people I know don't even think scary movies are scary - they are though. That's why they are called scary movies, jerks.

It was weird. That's probably the main reason I liked it. It was funny, I like that too. It poked fun a little bit at typical scary movie situations - I like that. 

I understand that my "review" isn't helpful to anyone in any way whatsoever - but reviewing movies isn't my real job so you can't be mad.

If you are looking for a movie that will scare you - this isn't it. If you're looking for a movie that will leave you thinking, "Whaaaa...okay.", this is your cup of tea or scary demon blood, if that's what you're in to.

Next on my list: Silent House & House at the End of the Street, and then I'll find something that probably doesn't have the word 'house' in it and I'll watch it in my car because I'll be too scared to go into my house.


School Supplies

My favorite time of year - back to school. Only my favorite because I'm an adult and I don't have to go to school - school is awesome kids, stay in it. It's actually my favorite because I love to shop for school supplies and I know that even if I didn't have a school-aged child I would still be wandering the aisles smelling pencils and buying colors. Yes - I call them colors, not crayons. Deal with it.
I was reminded recently that some people just don't get the importance of school supplies - the importance of getting just the right folder, the perfect notebook, the correct pencils with that really pink eraser and above all else the correct brand of colors.
I was at the store, wandering, and I saw a mom walk out of the school supply aisle with an armful of colors. The brand: RoseArt.
WTF? Seriously? Did you miss that huge bin of Crayola? Did you not see that the Crayola - otherwise known as "correct" - colors are only 24 cents? Do you hate your children? You must. Lady, you're are going to go home with that bag full of RoseArt colors and your kids are going to burn your house down - and rightfully so. If I want to have a terrible day I start it off by thinking about RoseArt brand colors and I finish it with thinking about that one gray RoseArt colored pencil that squeaks when you write with it.
When I was a kid my favorite part of school supplies was writing my name all over my shit - mine, mine, mine, mine and mine. Everything had my name perfectly written on it - there was no mistaking my Elmer's glue for your whatever the hell that is. Well, don't bother doing that these days. Classrooms have "community supplies". What's that? Oh, it's where the teacher dumps all of the supplies into bins and then when it's time to use them she puts the bin in the center of your table that you share with 4 other people and that's when you find out who your friends are. There you are staring at this pile of colors, desperately trying to dig out the good ones and not accidentally scrape the bad ones with your fingernails and get that waxy RoseArt shit under them. The worst. Doesn't matter though, because RoseArt colors weep wax residue, it's how they cry about not being loved, so when you pull your hand out it's still all waxy and smells like sadness.
If I were a kid in a class of "community supplies" I would sneak in my own colors and use them instead of the community ones - that's how serious I am about my coloring. Serious. Please don't be "that" parent - if you love your children, buy Crayola. If you are going to tell me that "RoseArt colors are fine!", please don't waste your breath or energy - you're wrong. You're wrong so just sit there in your wrongess and be wrong.
I was explaining to Morgan "community supplies" and before I could finish my sentence he interrupts:
"NO. No. No no no no no no no. No."
"Free" would be paying too much for these.


You must get so much texting done at the gym...

Do you? Do you get a lot of texting done while you stand there next to your boyfriend while he "lifts weight". I put "lifts weight" in those sarcastic quotation marks because he's lifting just enough weight so he looks like he's working hard but he's only working hard because he's doing it wrong.

I bet that weight bench is super comfortable to sit in - here let me angle the TV so you can see it better from your location. I never thought of using a bench for texting, I'll have to give that a try sometime - is it comfortable? It's not super comfortable when I use it for tricep dips, I don't expect it to be...but that's just me. To each their own I guess.

Does your boyfriend love it when you stand right in front of him while he curls those dumbbells? I would imagine you are blocking the mirror from his view of checking his form but what you are really doing is blocking his view of just checking himself out. "Look at these guns...why does my elbow hurt so much...whatever, I'm going to look hot. Owwwwww."

I really love that you picked up that 5lb dumbbell and are now curling it with one limp wrist while you text with the other hand. You are just super cute, what kind of lip gloss is that you're putting on? I bet it's fantastic. Here, could you hold my 25lb dumbbell while I readjust the bench from your TV watching adjustment? It doesn't really work well for what I need to use it for...sorry.

I see that you like to lean against that piece of equipment there, it's called a Horizontal Leg Press in case you were wondering and I need to use it. Oh, you must be confused - You. Are. At. The. Gym. I'm sure you arrived here by just following your boyfriends feet - since that's probably all you can see while you're head is down staring at your phone while texting or Facebooking or whatever it is you're doing that's so important.

Whoah, where are you going? The locker room? What do you need to go there for, wipe the sweat from your brow? Doubtful. Oh, reapply your makeup - proceed. Let me just get out of your way...sorry.


Kids Say A Lot Of Things...

Kids talk. A lot. Like, so very much. Sometimes I just stare at their little mouthes moving and wonder, "What the hell are you talking about?". I often think that they won't ever stop making noises, that's when I demand QUIET NO MAKING NOISE TIME OR MOMMA MIGHT DRIVE INTO A LIGHT POLE.

It is important to listen to them - always. They are telling you things that they think are super important and serious. If you don't listen to them now, they won't talk to you when they are older about things that you think are important. Plus, they say some pretty hilarious shit.

Here are a couple of my favorites from this week:
  • Coop: "Hit me in the face." (he wanted me to throw a nerf ball...at his face - I didn't, in case you were wondering)
  • Madison: "You can be honest with me - are you really just holding the quarter the whole time?" (in regards to pulling a quarter from her ear)
I have something important to tell you...puppy.


Medicated Traveling

I'm not a good flyer. I have to medicate - Xanax is my preferred method. Morgan is the same way. We had to fly quite a bit when our parents divorced and momma decided Alaska was a great transition...from Louisiana. Morgan and I would fly back and forth during the summer to visit Daddy, family and friends.

We did great on our flight to Alaska - Morgan had a fresh set of stitches on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt from a gash he received while playing baseball with a pipe. Of course this happened right around the beginning popularity of Harry Potter movies. Oh yeah, and he wore glasses. It was perfect. Two kids traveling alone across the country being stopped by strangers constantly. Piece of cake. We weren't traumatized at all.

Right before (the night before) we would be flying home for the summer that year Momma decided to take us to the cinema. "Oh, a film! Fantastic, what did you see?" Final Destination.


We saw Final Destination. Why? Hell if I know! I felt fine after seeing it - it's just a movie for goodness sake.
Just. A. Movie. Yeah, it was "just a movie" until Morgan and I were headed to board the plane and I blacked out. Of course, I thought I blacked out. Actually I misplaced all of my shit and pushed everyone out of the way as I drug my poor brother through the crowd back to momma while screaming "We're all going to die probably!" Needless to say, no amount of coaxing could get me on that flight. I would like to take this moment to apologize to my step-dad Jack who at this point hadn't really seen anything like this and really acted honorably by sitting out of the way and pretending like he didn't know us. So, sorry.

We were put on the next flight - momma gave us some anti-anxiety medication. We woke up mid-flight and had the best meatloaf sandwich we had ever tasted. We still talk about it. So very good.

And that's why when we fly now we take a bit of anti-anxiety medication, we're adults so sometimes it is accompanied by whiskey. Don't judge, it's rude. (Note: this medication is prescribed to us - we do not advocate drug abuse or taking medication that does not belong to you or isn't prescribed. Drugs are bad. Also, drinking while taking medication is probably also bad. Consult your physician.)

Morgan is traveling right now for some fancy meeting for his job. He called me at 8:30 am. Here is a basic transcript of our conversations.

A: Bueno (don't ask)
M: What time do the bars open at the airport?
A: I don't know...now?
M: Hmm...I'm going to check. They open at 10.
A: Wow. I feel like they should be open all the time.

M: Okay, so I took half a xanax about an hour ago...when do I take the next half?
A: When do you board?
M: In like, 30 minutes.
A: Well, I usually just take a whole one an hour before then I sit at the gate, then when we board I stand up and can't feel my legs. That's how I know I'm okay.
M: Yeah, I like that but I need the half before I get to the airport.
A: I understand. You need to take the other half now.
M: Moment of truth - half or whole?
A: Half
M: Too late.

Then he boards - he calls me when he gets to his layover a few hours later.

A: How's that xanax treating you?
M: Well. I sat next to two old people on the flight - the wife wouldn't let me go pee because her husband was asleep.
A: Seriously? It was 10 am, did he not sleep at nighttime like he was supposed to?
M: Also, I thought I saw Stanley Tucci in the bathroom...but it wasn't him. Upon further inspection the only similarities between this guy and Tucci was the bald head.

15 minutes later...

M: I've just learned, Adbbhell Jameson is really tall
A: Who?
M: A double Jameson. It's tall. And big.

Tall and big.



I'm assuming all of the people reading this aren't from the same general location. Just an assumption. Perhaps you are from the North...South...East...West...

I am from the South. I live in the God forsaken North, but I will always be Southern. I've been away from home for about 12 years - so long. My accent has definitely decreased but there are a few words that I still pronounce in Southern fashion (or wrong, as some people put it). Also, if I'm mad or have been imbibing, my accent comes back. If I speak to someone from home for even a few minutes it comes back full force. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I find that a lot of the time I will pronounce words the way I think people want to hear them... Since some people (one person) in my life insists on correcting the way I speak sometimes. If you have an accent and live somewhere besides your hometown do people correct you? When they do, do you punch them in the throat? Just curious.

Here's a little list of words and how I pronounce them or the word I use instead of the original. I guess I could've done a video for it...but, meh.
  • Aunt - Aint (I know that this makes no sense to anyone where I live now but that's just how I grew up saying it - Aint Pam)
  • Oil - Ol
  • Yellow - Yellah
  • Window - Windah
  • Pillow - Pillah...okay, anything with an "oh" sound at the end automatically turns into "ah"
  • Tip/Dump - Tump, I combine those two words to make one word and it's adorable. (Be careful or you gonna tump it over.)
  • Anything with 1 syllable can be made into 2 syllables, anything with 2 syllables can be made into 8 syllables. Simple math.
  • Theatre - Cinema, because that's more fun to say.
  • Route - Root
  • Fire - Faaar, because reasons.
  • Ruin - I used to pronounce this "Rern"...but now I just pronounce it how it looks.
  • Going to/About to - Fixin to (this is one of the ones that people used to call me on ALL the time, so annoying)
There are more, but that at least shows you a little glimpse into my weird ways. Which aren't weird at all, just different than some.

Oh, one more. What do you call saran wrap? I call it "film". I didn't even realize anyone called it different until I moved here and momma sent my stepdad to the store for film and he came back with Kodak.

Where I'm from every "soda" is called "coke".
You wanna coke?
What kind?


This Group of People That I Love

Remember that time I told you about that fantastic band that was going on tour and I told you to help out with their kickstarter? And you probably did, because you are awesome.

Well, they did that tour and they rocked the faces off of all the people.

Then they traveled south and recorded and have now released a new EP. One that you should have...or at the very least purchase on iTunes.

You can check out their site here: We Are Thera

See them on the Facebook: Thera on Facebook

If you are local, you should see a live show. Bring an extra face.


I Simply Don't Care What You Believe...

If you've been outside of your cave lately you probably know about Chick-Fil-A standing up against marriage equality. Taking a stand against humans having equal rights. You would also know that today is..what's it called? Chick-Fil-A Appreciation Day! Are you going?

Here's where I briefly share with you something about me - I don't give a shit what you believe. I could tell you what I believe but you didn't ask me and you probably don't care either - you shouldn't. I'm sure you can figure out my beliefs by simply reading a few of my posts...I am not one to push my beliefs on to people and I don't like it when others do it to me. You don't think gay people should be able to get married? Okay. That's your deal. You think you should be able to marry your dog? Alright - what the hell ever dude. You think we should all be split up according to face shape and wear cream colored unitards? That's your thing and it doesn't affect me. Now, if you show up to my door with a face chart and a unitard in my exact size - we may have a problem. I hate unitards.

I would love it if we all believed the same thing and we lived in harmony and everyone smiled all day and got along and were happy. I would also hate it. Can you imagine? No one having a thought of their own. No one deviating from the pack. No one being their own person. Gross.

What I would really love, and I mean - love more than anything in the world - is if we could all just leave each other to believe what we want without having to make "public statements", "press conferences", without having to use words like, "boycott", "defend", and "intolerance".

Once you admit that you support equal rights and marriage equality, my God, you are berated with all of the dumbest questions. "Oh, you support marriage equality? Well, what if a woman wanted to marry a child? Or, a man wanted to marry a boy or young girl? Or a horse wanted to marry a cow!?"

Don't be a fucking idiot.

If you can't differentiate "equal rights" and "illegal sick shit" then you have more problems than any of us can help you with.

You know what - now that I'm already into this rant I'm going to go ahead and share with you my "beliefs". I believe in God. I believe we were all created by him. I believe that if you are gay, it's because he made you that way, not because you chose to be that way. I think that a man and a man have a right to be married or a woman and woman. Why not? Does it cause you physical pain when a same sex marriage occurs? Does it make a scar on your forehead burn? Do you think you will go to hell if you see two elderly ladies holding hands at the park? Are you afraid that if your son sees two men shopping for groceries that it will turn a switch in his brain that says 'I wanna marry a dude, boobs are the worst.'? Do you honestly believe that by allowing same-sex couples to wed that it ruins the sanctity of marriage? You know what I think ruins the sanctity of marriage - everyone.

I don't agree with abortion, so I won't ever get one. I would super hate it if someone that I loved got one, but they aren't me. If you are fine with getting one then go ahead. I won't knowingly donate money to support places that give/advocate abortion - it's my money, I'd rather it go to something that I support, like cupcakes or bacon...or those cute puppies that Sarah McLachlan is ruining everyone's day about.

Guns? I like guns. Sure, not every psychopath should be able to walk in and grab one off of a shelf - that would suck for so many people. I have to take a test to drive a car - I sure don't mind filling out a little bit of paperwork to own a weapon that I will shoot to kill if someone threatens me or my family.

What else? Anything else I could share with you that will totally piss you off? Oh, here's one: I believe in the death penalty. I also believe that it's not used nearly enough. People that sell drugs and pirate movies get a firmer sentencing than someone who assaults a child.

Okay. "Honest Amber" is done. Like I said very clearly - I don't care what you believe or what you think about what I believe. If you do enjoy reading my blog then I hope you continue to do so - if not, whatever.

If this is wrong...well, that's not possible.


Another One...

Another post where I have nothing to share, nothing to write about...but I felt like I should write something. Y'know?

I could share a story that belongs to someone else...you want me to do that? I will if you really want me to. Okay, you twisted my arm. This story belongs to Morgan. He says "hi" by the way.

A few years ago I was living in LA pursuing my dream of becoming the most fantastic person that ever was - I succeeded by the way. I was headed to work and had to take the bus - either my car was inoperable or it was that time that all of my parking tickets caught up with me and my car was impounded. 

After a few minutes on the bus we are all informed that the driver has to go 500 miles out of the way because a million roads are closed - Obama is in town - of course. This being the day I had to open the store, it made sense that the President of the United States of America would make me late. Taking me 20 blocks away from my desired destination, I finally got off the bus - the driver tried to tell me that he would be circling back around but I don't trust bus drivers that drive buses. It's a thing.

There I am walking in the sweltering heat, dressed in all black, wearing sandals and being mad. Mad. I'm headed down this narrow strip of sidewalk bordered by street and offices. Scowling. I look up and see Dominic Monaghan walking towards me - but like a thousand miles away. So it begins - the awkward "hallway" walk, where it's only two people walking towards each other for miles and you have nowhere else to look, nothing else to do. You don't want to say 'Hi' too soon, you don't want to wait too late...It's maddening and I hate it. Finally we were close enough and we both said "Hi" and I mumbled, "Thank God that's fucking over with.".

I walk into work and am greeted by a coworker, my only response: "Well, I saw that LOST guy today."

The cherry on the fucking cake of life? Obama wasn't even IN TOWN! IT WAS A DECOY!

And that's the story of how President Obama introduced me to Dominic Monaghan.

Apparently so...apparently so.

And there you have it. Now I will get busy making things happen so that I have more to tell you...if you want.



Do you use Pinterest? Of course you do. Hey, me too! TWINSIES!

Well, I've started trying things that I see on Pinterest - not just pinning shit willy-nilly. I decided to try something today. A face scrub to help rid blackheads. Blech.

I have enormous pores. Pores that you can probably see from where you are sitting. I've tried a million things to clean them out and nothing has worked...yet.

Tonight - nutmeg and buttermilk scrub.

I took no pictures. You're welcome.

The instructions said to mix milk and nutmeg - or to mix buttermilk and nutmeg. Buttermilk has more lactic acid and would do an even better job of dissolving dead skin. The nutmeg acts as the...scrubber? Okay.

I poured too much buttermilk into my little bowl and instead of dumping some out I just dumped a ton of nutmeg in there so it would be "pastey". Well, don't do what I did. You don't need very much of the mixture so you'll just end up wasting all of your nutmeg supply for something that you do once per week.

Oh, yeah. Only do this once per week or you will scrub all of your skin off and then you will look like a monster and you will smell like sour milk and church. Also, I think churches smell like nutmeg.

Wash your face. Dry your face. Splash your face with water....or, just don't dry your face when you wash it the first time. Now scrub your face with the nutmeg mixture that you made. Scrub for 3-5 minutes - don't do this around your eyes, focus on where your blackheads or oily skin is. 

Your skin will turn red.

After the scrubbing rinse all of the stuff off of your face. Voila! Blackheads.

Well, at least mine are still there. Now - I'm not nixing this all together. My skin is super smooth! I can definitely tell that it has rid me of excess skin. I can see that a few of them are gone and my skin seems to be a bit tighter. 

I found this little do-it-yourself skin scraper over at Crunchy Betty. I think next week I will try the honey pat down.

Check out the Crunchy Betty site for tons of great natural and money-saving tips.



Have you ever disarmed a bomb? No? Have you ever put a toddler to bed?

It's the same thing...except more dangerous. 

Since being moved to a big boy bed my little perfect sleeper Coop has been an absolute hellion at bedtime and it is slowly murdering my soul. 

We have a bedtime ritual - it involves hugs and kisses to everyone, potty (attempt - almost always fails), change the pull-up, and brush teeth.

Then he has to make sure he has his favorite blanket and any animal he is currently obsessed with. Finally it's storytime. Typically it's two stories but sometimes he can coax a third story out of me - especially if I can get him to chime in on some of the words in the book. It's so damn adorable.

Once he finally lays down he like to have his back patted. Now, my typical rule of thumb is to pat his back for a few minutes and then leave him to fall asleep on his own..HA HA HA right. That involves hours of me putting him back in bed and I just can't do that every night - I have a life and a delicate psyche.

Many nights I will pat his back until he falls asleep - because it's quicker that way. Do you know what this involves? Let me paint you a picture.

I pat/rub his back. He rolls around like a dog in mud for awhile. I continue to pat/rub his back. The sleepier he gets the slower I pat/rub. After his eyes close I stop patting/rubbing all together but leave my hand on his back. After a few moments I slowly lift my fingers off of his back, then my wrist, then my forearm. I keep my arm hovering for a second - just in case the red wire touches the blue wire. Then I slowly - SLOWLY - get up from my seated position next to his bed. It is important that I check my knee proximity to the bed so that I don't hit the bed while I'm getting up. I stand slowly and then proceed to leave the room.

There is a squeaky floor board between the door and bed, I know exactly where this floor board is. I can elegantly step over it avoiding any noise and then leave the room. 

Have you seen the movies where a bomb squad dismantles the bomb and they think all is good and they're walking away all slow-motion and bad ass-like, but then something goes wrong and BOOM! Fiery death ensues!

That's what it's like when Joe goes in and steps directly on that fucking squeaky floor board.

Every. Goddamn. Time.



You already know that I'm easily scared...as shown here, here...and here. There's not much I can do about it - I guess conditioning might work. I could go live in a haunted house for a year and I'll come out with nerves of steel. I will also be a psychopath.

Recently Coop decided to throw a fit all night long (turns out he was sick) and keep me up fetching him water and blocks of gold. After being up most of the night laying next to a toddler that is apparently made of elbows and spastic tendencies I finally drifted off. I was hanging on for dear life to the edge of the bed since a King size bed is just big enough for a 2-year-old.

Someone whispers in my ear. I shot up and out of bed so fast that all of the bedding came with me, there I stood in attack mode (read: defense mode) glaring around the room for the offender (read: witch). I say witch, because this happened recently:

It's true.

There's no one around. I re-make the bed and try to sleep with my eyes open - I'm not great at it. I went on about my day as normal, scared of everything. The next morning...it happens again. The voice didn't wake me up entirely I just knew it was there and it scared me but my sleepiness out weighed my need to evacuate the room. I also knew that it was the creepiest voice I had ever heard but I couldn't figure out WHAT she was saying. It was just scary.

I thought perhaps it was my new alarm clock app on my phone. I checked all of the settings, nope - no "ghost witch" capability. I set my alarm for a few minutes later so I could listen to it, I thought maybe if a certain amount of time passed without turning it off a voice would come on and say "wake the fuck up". Nope, that wasn't it either.

The next morning I actually woke up a few seconds before it happened. I lay there groggy and I hear "There is a secret." hissed into my earhole. HISSED. I jumped out of bed and stared at my phone, that's where it was coming from. I wondered if the warranty covered demon possession...hmm. I drank my coffee while staring at the clearly possessed cell phone when it dawned on me - I recently installed The Secret app. 

You know, The Secret - book, movie, inspiration, life changing, yada yada. Well, I have it set up to remind me to read my daily "secret". Apparently they decided the best way to remind their customers to read a secret is to have a demon ghost whisper it to them. It disturbed me so much that I had to leave a glowing review:

(click the picture to see the entire image)
Please go to the app store from your phone and mark my review as helpful...the world needs it.



Welp, it's time for a blog update - as in, an update to my overall look right here on this blog. It's been a few years since I've updated.

So, stay tuned for that shit to kick in.

In other news, my stepsister is back up and blogging - Sarah!


Do you tweet? If so, do you also follow me on Twitter?

If you answered yes, well then - Thanks! If you answered no, well then - What the fuck? Why the hell don't you follow me? Do you not like my tweets? Do you not like to read hilarious things that I saw about stuff you don't even care about?

Fine then.

If you do follow me and are looking for more super sexy and funny people to follow here are a few of my favorites as of late.

I favorite pretty much everything Kasey Anderson tweets...
he's probably the funniest person that I don't know.


Momma Said

This will be going over on the "Momma" page, but I love it so much that I'm putting it here first.

Momma: Yeah, she spent a few years in Antarctica. There's a ton of people there working all living together in this one huge place. There are penguins.

Me: What do they do there?

Momma: Mill around, I guess.

Me: *blink* Not the penguins. The people.

These penguins are milling around.
In case you didn't know what that looks like.


Momma Confessions - Volume 1

It is my belief that at any given time we are doing the best we can. Sometimes (always) I come home from work and I have laundry piled up fucking everywhere, dinner isn't even in my near future, the floor is covered in dog hair and my sink is full of dishes. It's just life. If you are like me, you beat yourself up about it constantly...but sometimes you just say, "Fuck this shit. It's Friday."

There are some things that as momma's we know better than to do, but we do them any way because it will give us just a few minutes of, OH MY GOD COULD YOU CHILDREN JUST SIT STILL FOR ONE....peace and quiet. I will confess one of these things that I do right now.

Sometimes (1-2 nights per week) I will let the toddler fall asleep in my bed so that I can stay up and have an hour of life to myself.

Let me explain. Until he was moved to a toddler bed that little turd would sleep like a champ, and I don't mean just sleep all night. I mean, he would put himself to sleep and stay asleep beginning at 7:30pm. That gave me HOURS of peace y'all. HOURS. Then he was put into a toddler bed because he was able to leap from the crib like a freaking flying squirrel. Dangerous.

We have been battling bedtime ever since. Trying everything and sometimes we, as parents, just need a damn break. The kids need a break too. What has been working lately is the whole "I'm going to stand here and ignore you child, and if you get out of bed I will continue to ignore you but will put you back in the bed...and ignore you."

It's been working, as far as keeping tempers calm. No fits are thrown, no raising of voices - but it still takes at least an hour. AN HOUR OF MY LIFE. By Friday I just can't take it sometimes. He wants to lay in our bed so I let him, he will usually stay there and fall asleep while we get to watch TV and drink wine and just enjoy the quiet and then we move him to his bed.

You may  not agree with us on this one, frankly I don't care. I'm not writing this story in order to collect opinions. I just wanted a space to share a confession. So, do you have a momma confession?

Tell me. 

This is what bedtime looks like in our house.


Tweeting the Night Away

I recently went out to a local dive with my sister-in-law to enjoy some cocktails and people watch. I tweeted everything. Enjoy.


Check it out, it's the tweets with the hashtag: #thisfuckingplace. Follow me on Twitter, since following me in real life would be weird and illegal.

Wine and Whine

As you may know I manage a wine store. Wine shop. Wine shoppe. Whatever you like to say. That wine shoppe also has a blog, which I also write for, while I'm also doing a million other things. If you enjoy this blog, feel free to hop over and read that one also. Myself and the owners write for the blog...but let's face it, I do more of the writing and I'm pretty hilarious and awesome. So. Yep.

UnWINEd Blog

Check it out homies.



I'm trying to post from my iPad...currently I am just using Safari to use Blogger. I'm not sure about it yet. Is there an app that makes this easier? Tell me in the comments. Please.


I Have Hilarious Friends...Friend.

I may have mentioned before that my good friend Shannon is a stand up comedian. To me she is hilarious.

Here is a video of her act at the Fairbanks Funny Festival, just so you know it's super hard to be funny in Fairbanks because it's so fucking horrible there. Just kidding! (No, seriously. Terrible.)

FYI, she is crude and fantastic. You will hear many curse words and the word 'fart'.

Happy New Year...Finale. Finally! AMIRIGHT?

I will put this final installment in list form since I'm tired of creating sentences into paragraphs and whatnot. It's Monday. I just don't wanna.

  1. No running water.
  2. Bathroom: toilet filled with everyone's waste.
  3. Bathroom: no door, only curtain that is easily opened by the dogs and toddlers, revealing yourself to the world.
  4. Walls: Wood supports with insulation between, covered in plastic.
  5. Stairs: NOT TO CODE. No railing, no consistent distance from one to the other.
  6. Upstairs: NOT TO CODE. No guard rail to keep precious babies from plunging to the floor below.
  7. In general: Nightmare fuel.

Conversation between myself and my brother-in-law (it's his cabin) before leaving the next day (-23 degrees by the way).

Me: "I bet this place is going to be really nice when it's done."
Him: "Thanks, yeah it will be."
Me: "Too bad I won't see it."
Him: "Why not?"
Me: "Because there is no fucking way I am coming back out here."

The end.

                          This                            +                          This
                                                No fucking thanks.


Happy New Year...cont'd.

I stand there looking up at this cabin. On a mountain. Mouth agape. I think that certainly there is a simple way to get up there than just straight up that trail I see...straight up.
I go ahead and start gathering my things, bags, diaper bag, iPad, blanket, baby Coop. Before I can even blink my baby, my sweet precious baby Coop who is just a little two-year-old sweetie is taken from my arms and put in the lap of my brother-in-law on a snowmachine and is whisked up the mountain to the cabin.
All while I stand there mouth hanging open.

All while that child of mine screamed and shit his pants.

I look at my other brother-in-law who stands about 8-foot-tall, sitting on his snowmachine. I quickly realize that I'm not going to fit on that machine, he's obviously been drinking and that incline is about a 90 degree angle up to the house.

He says, "What?"

"No. I am not riding on the back of that, up the mountain, with you."
He says that's fine, I just need to walk up there.

"Walk where? Straight up there?"

"Yes. Straight up that way." He points straight up the fucking mountain.
I notice that there a little windy trail halfway up and I asked if I go on that or do I really, seriously in fact just go straight up. He says that, yes, I need to go straight up. I gather all of my things. Duffel bag (a beautiful felted wool bag that Joe received for Christmas, lovely), diaper bag, blanket, and my iPad.
It's at this point that I would like to remind and point out to you that I just parked my car on a lake. ON THE ICE OF A LAKE MY CAR IS PARKED. Okay, that is all.

I start walking up this mountain (I can't stress this fact enough.) and realize about ten strides up that I am going to die right here on the face of this killing machine. I was near tears and sitting in the snow when I hear the snowmachine start up at the bottom. I know right then that I either make it up or I'm about to be run over. I stand up. Then fall down and proceed to crawl and lunge using all of my limbs and I make it. Only to be greeted by my sister-in-law who says, "You made it!". I grunted a few choice words and flung myself into the house.

I just speed crawled up a mountain in -22 degree weather. My lungs are full of ice and blood and my heart is in my brain. I wasn't able to breathe until yesterday.

I collapse into a camping chair (I'm inside, btw.) and after I'm able to form words that are semi-coherent I mutter, "Man, what a bitch climbing straight up that god forsaken mountain."
"Yeah..that's a...wait, you climbed STRAIGHT up?" replies everyone...except for huge brother in law. "Why didn't you take the switch-back?" asks everyone...except for brother in law that plainly told me not to do that exact thing, so I didn't because I'm a rule follower, especially when my life is on the line and I could've plunged into icy waters below for all I fucking know.

I was air born. I landed on the back of said brother-in-law and attacked with my tiny, inefficient fists.

There's more. I can't talk about it right now, all this reminiscing is making me tired and a little bit psychotic.

Stay tuned!



Happy New Year...it's nearly February.

I know that I've covered this before but I absolutely cannot wake up on time any day of the week. I could go to bed at 7pm and set my alarm clock for 7am giving me twelve hours of sweet delicious sleep and still hit snooze until the next day at 10am. 

And still be tired.

Meh. Whatevs.

Since it's been so long since my last post, mainly because I've been busy sleeping like a big ol' bear. I have tons of stories for you! Are you ready? Ready to be BLOWN AWAY? I'll give you a few minutes to prepare....

Alright, ready or not. Here is the story of my New Year's Eve.

Historically I have bad New Year's Eve experiences. (I struggled with that sentence just now, "New Year's Eve's?" "New Year Eve's?" "New's Year's Eve's?" "Year of the New's and Eve"?) They just never turn out well for me, it's cold here in January, I don't care about fireworks, I don't care that it's a new year, I am sad that Christmas is over, etc. This year my dear husband was off at work so I had to take the kids on the New Year excitement. Since Madison received a snowmachine for Christmas she was headed off with my sister-in-law and her husband to their lake house so she could enjoy the snowmachine. They left a day early because I had to work on New Year's Eve. Around 7:00pm I had all of our stuff packed up and Coop and I headed out to the Valley. Yuck.

The further North I drove the colder it got. By the time I arrived near the lake it was -22. That's BELOW ZERO for anyone not familiar with how temperature works. See, you put this fancy minus sign in front of the number and that means it's colder than it ever should be in a world.

I had never been to this lake house so I had to call and get them to kind of walk me through the back roads. I was told that I would turn right at the South Lake sign. I did that and ended up God knows where. I was then asked (by a man, I might add) "Did you turn at the sign or after the sign?" Um, I turned at the sign because that's what you fucking said to do. "Oh, no. You need to turn AFTER the sign. Bernadette did that last night too." Oh, really so this has happened before? Maybe you should re-think your direction giving, huh?

Then I'm told, "You're going to get on the lake...blah blah blah." I don't know what else was said because all I could think was, "on the lake?". Surely he just means "adjacent to" the lake because no one drives ON a lake, that's just dumb. It's only then that I see a drop down and I see life jacket signs, and "NO WAKE ZONE" SIGNS WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!?!? (I would also like to note that this is the time when my until now silent child has decided to start screaming bloody hell, of which he should because WE ARE DRIVING ON A SHEET OF ICE THAT IS ON TOP OF A LAKE OF WATER, by the way.)

I'm then told (by a man) that I will continue to drive and the "road" will curve to the right but I need to stay to the left....okay. I then hang up with him because it's hard for me to completely misplace my shit while talking on the phone. I spent the next 10 minutes screaming that I'm not an ice road trucker and am not trained in this and wondering if I've missed that whole road curving to the right thing because what I miss it and go the wrong way and plunge into the icy waters below!?!? 
This is my life.

I call my sister-in-law because someone with ovaries is better with directions. She tells me to ignore what the man said and to just stay on the wide road and it will bring me right to the cabin. SEE? HOW FUCKING HARD WAS THAT??? THANK YOU FEMALES EVERYWHERE FOR KNOWING WHEN TO USE JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF WORDS AND IN THE CORRECT ORDER.

I find the cabin and notice that it is way up in the air. Like. Not at ground level.

Stay tuned for the remainder of this story and how we reached the cabin and I almost died. I'm going to go crawl into a corner and maintain the fetal position because this story is my Vietnam.

So, should I just park here then?