Hump Day Bullets

  • I want more ink. Like, now. (That would be the tattoo type ink. Not, like, quill ink.)
  • I usually love my job, but I have hit a huge motivation pothole, and it popped my fucking tires.
  • Our house is a-getting built! Woooo hooo! The kitchen is going to have that cool half door where you can open just the top or just the bottom or both. I heart options!
  • My friend Not-So-Modest Mouse is a baaaad blog updater, but an awesome fucking YouTube treasure hunter. Unicorn Planet HEYYY! And damn if I will ever NOT drink Guinness without a straw. Ever again.
  • I'm itching to grow a garden and start canning. And making fresh salsa. And drinking margaritas.
  • Me and hubs are going to Mexico HEYYY!
  • My mom (guh, I can't believe I'm about to say this) asked me for advice about sex toys. shakes head violently to prevent mental images. FUCK. Didn't work. AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
For your viewing pleasure: Planet Unicorn HEYYY!


North Carolina Represent!

I voted! Did you?And, I'm wearing my favorite earrings today.

All in all, a good day.


Haiku Friday!

Friday, you rock me
hard between the ears and eyes
with the need to drink

I can save money
on PBR and cheese fries
at Rosetta's Kitchen

Thank god for late-night
and springtime in the mountains
and good college buds


Open Letter to Kelly Ripa

Dear Kelly,

You've gone too far. You are undermining everything that I hold dear to my heart--as a woman--and I will not take it anymore.

I am only going to ask this once.

Please stop. Please stop propagating the idea that the American woman must fill every single second with something productive to be considered an accomplished adult. The fact that you can create a gala for Martha Stewart's birthday on a shoestring budget, make a wholesome, homemade meal for 20 needy children, design a better vacuum, memorize crappy lines, not make a stinky face while sitting next to Regis "I've been embalmed ten times to look this good" Philbin, take an advanced pilates class, volunteer for the Ziploc Foundation for Fresher Curtains brigade, donate all your blood, serve bottles of your own wine from handpicked grapes from your backyard vineyard, and not eat a single thing ever--all before you send your kids to school in the morning with a packed lunch, complete with healthy fruits and veggies--does not make you a Super Woman.

It just makes you crazy.

So, really. Just stop.





You Slut. (I Love You.)

My best friend is leaving.

The woman that I routinely hung with during my "last year" of college ("last year" meaning taking a bare scattering of classes to say I was still in school, working a mindless cashiering job at a hippie co-op, and getting blasted pretty much every waking hour) is moving away.

We haven't lived in the same place in 4 years, but with only a 4 hour (3.5 when I drive; 3 with the hubs) car ride between us, we still see one another regularly. And now she is moving to L.A., and won't be a car ride away. She is leaving for this amazing opportunity, a dream, and I couldn't be happier for her, her talented husband, and their beautiful son.

This is the kind of friend that I can have months of silence with, but never skip a beat. This is the kind of woman that has seen a dark, dark side of me, and I her. This is a woman that I would do just about any-damn-thing for.

We have watched each other brave extreme heartaches; we have celebrated (oh, have we celebrated) the successes. We have fought each other; we have fought those around us together. We have laughed so much, that I think you could combine all the other laughs I've ever had in my life and they still wouldn't equal how much laughter we have shared.

She has taught me how to be strong, taught me how to be a better friend. She has taught me what "commitment" really means in a marriage. She has shown me what it is like to want something so badly only to be disappointed over and over again, all the time never giving up, and finally watching the miracle of hope and possibility happen.

She has taught me to be fearless.

I can't imagine right now--because it is hard to think about--how much, and in what ways, I am going to miss her. Sure, a plane ride from East Coast to West is nothing, and I know I will be a frequent, if not welcome, visitor to LaLa Land—not welcome to L.A. in general; welcomed by her, of course. But there is something about being close enough to get to someone in a relatively short time that makes it ok.

When my dad died, she came up that very day to see me, to take me away from the intense mourning of my family and friends, to release my heart from that vice-grip of agony, if only for a few hours. That is what I mean by a comfortable, easy distance.

When she went to the hospital, I was there the whole time, trying to keep a polite distance for her husband's benefit, ready to run the slightest little errand at a moment's notice.

I cried with her when her father passed, and celebrated with her when her son was born.

When my husband and I left her home last weekend, it was all I could do to not lose it. I didn't want to cry in front of her, because I could see she was treading the edge, and she hates crying in front of people. "Don't tell anyone I cried," she says.

And so I didn't. At least, I held it in until we drove out of sight.

I am really going to miss her.

Fuck This. I'm Ex-Pat-ing Myself.

I can't even talk about the crap-fest that was last night's "debate." So imagine my horror when I saw this little gem on Jezebel.


And just for the record, since when did "patriotism" come in the form of a cheap, plastic pin with a "Made in China" stamp on the back???


A Call to Arms

Sorry for my serious absence folks. I have been on my ass all week with a sickness, and today (Friday) is my first day back to work all week. So yeah.

But more importantly: a good friend has been diagnosed with acute leukemia. I have never met her in person, but have spent time over the last year getting to know her through the internet. I say this so that everyone reading it will, perhaps for one moment, turn their attention and energy to her. Please send your thoughts, meditations, and prayers to her and her family during this incredibly difficult time. And if you live in the Richmond, VA area, please get on the bone marrow donor registry. In fact, wherever you live, go out today and donate blood or sign up for the national bone marrow donor list. Consider it a gift to the world. But at the very least, send your good energy to my friend. She, her husband, and her 2 year old son will certainly appreciate it.

Thanks guys.


How to NOT Build a House

1. Hire a contractor.

2. Make sure said contractor is disguising a serious mental imbalance.

3. Make plans with contractor.

4. After he completes the foundation, make sure he waits at least 6 months before doing anything else to the house.

5. Try to call contractor repeatedly. Make sure he does not call you back.

6. Fire contractor.

7. Re-hire contractor after he has a breakdown, loses 40 pounds, tells you his wife has breast cancer, and that he has crews lined up and waiting to work on your house.

8. Hear nothing from contractor for another month.

9. Call contractor; leave him a message. Make sure he doesn't call you back. Ever.

10. Find out that contractor has a b12 imbalance, and was rushed to the hospital.

11. Hear from contractor's wife. Make sure she blames you for his health problems.

12. Discover the contractor has been committed to a mental institution and has no contact with his family.

13. Re-fire contractor.

14. Hire new contractor.