WTF’S, Beards, BJ’s, and Anniversaries. Related, but not.

I feel very restricted by the internet today. What I really want to do is jump out from behind a door and yell, “HEY! I HAVE ALL KINDS OF SHIT TO TELL YOU!” I’d have a giant creepy grin on my face and it would scare you so bad you’d pee a little, and we’d laugh….and laugh….

But I can’t do that. Mostly cuz I don’t know where you live, and there’s that whole trespassing thing. Just picture it okay? Envision me jumping out from behind a door like a lunatic. Ready? OKAY NOW


(I’m picturing you like this and laughing my ass off)

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The hubs and I have always identified our cars based on the words (or noises) we could make out of the license plates. For instance, our 4 Runner was the Sex Beast because of the combination of letters/numbers 69 BJ. Imagine my jubilee when I received plates for my Sequoia and the actual letters were WTF.

How fucking epic is that? Me. Getting WTF plates….that was no accident. That was the Universe smiling down on me in all its poetic glory.

*cue sad music*

Last week new plates arrived in the mail. WHAT? The WTF-Mobile is no more? I opened the envelope and gazed upon my car’s new identity. If the Universe smiled down on me before, it just took a giant crap on my head and neutered my car. The letters are: DMY


I’ve totally lost all my street cred. *sulks*

BUT THEN, I got this tweet from my blog wife, Lizzi. Nothing does more for a poopy mood than an hour on Pinterest searching hotties. Because….beards. (that link goes to my *special* board. If you haven’t visited it yet….uh….you need to) And thank you Lovely Lizzi for turning my frown upside-down.


In other news, I bought a Fitbit, so now I have another electronic device that I’m married to. I’m obsessed with it, and I think I’ve become a Calorie-Nazi. Speaking of that, have you ever heard of PB2? It’s a game-changer. Dry, ground peanuts you mix with water to make peanut butter with 85% fewer calories and fat. And it comes in chocolate, too. I know! (Gawd, did I really just write about low-cal food? *shakes head* What has become of me??)

Wanna know what else I’m excited about?


I feel like doing this with all my bloggy buddies
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one year, 94 posts

and people actually read my shiz

*Mind Blown*

So to you, readers and fellow bloggers, THANK YOU, from the bottom of my little writer’s soul. You’ve made this year an absolute gift. The solidarity I’ve found on difficult subjects such a mental illness, abuse, self-esteem, and depression has been utterly overwhelming. You laughed at all my silliness. The writing support has been inspiring and validating in ways I can hardly put into words. The pride I feel about being involved with the Sisterwives Speak blog is abyssal. And the friends I’ve made are unexpected treasures that I’ll value forever. xoxoxo

*drops mic and struts away*


How much I love you

This blog-hurkey-orgy-thingy is an ode to our friend Mandi because


A group of us are singing You Are My Sunshine, each taking one line from the song in our titles. At the end of this I’ll leave a link for the next in blog in line. Now onto the business at hand…


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An Orphan’s Life


I know it doesn’t look like it, but I AM writing! Today I shared a story very close to my heart over on the sisterwives blog. I’d be honored if you read it.

Originally posted on The SisterWives:

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He was found by his aunt in his home at the age of two, abandoned by his alcoholic mother. Just a baby. Scared. Hungry. Crying.

She took him in and cared for him for a while, but eventually she had to hand him off to another family member. Over the years, he was passed around to just about everyone. Some were incredibly kind; some merely tolerated him. For one short stint he stayed with a California aunt and uncle. The alchoholic uncle got drunk one night and attempted sexual abuse – a common occurrence – with the now seven year old. The orphan tried to protect himself and a shoved the man; he fell and smashed his head on the corner of a metal coffee table.

The head injury was fatal.

The orphan was then sent back to the East Coast to live with his grandparents, Ma and Pop, whom…

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I’m a Whore!

A word whore that is…I’ve been sharing them all over the place this week! Or does that make me a pimp? Not sure….

Last week I was at Laura’s talking about a negative thing that changed the trajectory of my life for the better. You can read The Dog Bite here.

TODAY I’m over at Michelle’s talking about another moment – this time good one – that completely turned my world on its head and shaped my life in more ways than I can count. Take a gander over there and read Mountain Mama.

Also debuting today over at the Sisterwives blog is a brave and candid post by Samara about domestic abuse. You do NOT want to miss this. Read it here.

*puts pimp hat on and struts away*





The Dog Bite

When Laura A. Lord asked me to guest post for her Women’s Issues series, I said yes without hesitation. But as my date crept up, I struggled with what to write.

Last night I sat in front of a blank computer screen for hours.

I knew exactly what story my soul wanted to tell. But I was fighting it.

Finally at midnight, I undammed the words.

I wrote about a single incident.

One that changed the trajectory of my life.

Read about it here.


Introducing The Sisterwives


If I were able to get to a computer, I’d have written this myself. Lizzi knocks this intro out of the park, so I couldn’t resist using her words to help me introduce something I’m incredibly proud of and excited about….

Originally posted on Considerings:

The Blogosphere moves in mysterious ways, and there was something about the meeting of this particular collection of individuals which screamed ‘destiny’. Allow me to introduce The SisterWives:

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No Rhyme Or Reason

When I was a baby blog (let’s face it, I’m still a baby blog) with a measly four or five posts under my belt, two women took notice, scooped me up, and showed me what this blogging thing was all about. They gave me confidence and sisterhood. The dynamic duo I speak of is none other than the incredible mother/daughter writing team, Inion N. Mathair.

Inion N. Mathair is Irish Gaelic for daughter and mother, and is their pseudonym. Together they’ve written two fiction novels, a short story compilation, and now a poetry book is available for purchase, No Rhyme Or Reason.