Carla Voo Doo DollNot unlike many Americans, I over-indulged this holiday season. It’s not hard to do. It seems everywhere you go someone is offering you something amazing to shove in your face. To refuse would be rude, right? Right. I should also mention that my holidays officially started in October when we took a family trip to Hawaii. I’ve been on the highway to hell ever since then. I’ve always been a taller-than-average girl and hated it during my growing-up years. It wasn’t until later in life that I began to appreciate my height for what it really was—a license to pack on a few more pounds before it’s noticed too much. Blessing or curse? Hmm. Before I knew it, here we are, January 1st and I’m no fool, I KNOW how time flies. Next it will be spring and I’ll look like a busted can of biscuits in my spring clothes Alright, alright, FINE! UGH! I’m never one to usually jump on the New Year’s resolution bandwagon and I didn’t officially make one this year but I did do something that I have never done before. I signed up for a fitness boot camp. What the hell was I thinking anyway? This is stepping so far out of my comfort zone that I can’t even see my comfort zone anymore. You feelin’ me? I don’t do this type of exercise because I just don’t enjoy it—not in the least. It’s a mental game with me. I know it. I admit it. I’m WEAK. My name is Heather. I’m mentally weak. There, I said it. This is also why I don’t run. There is a reason why I never joined the military people! Boot camp? *sigh*

Here’s the thing, I work at a computer 6 hours a day. The fact is that if I don’t get up and do something—move my body—I just don’t feel good. This goes far beyond what my clothes fit like or what the scale says. I just feel awful, I sleep poorly and I’m sluggish. Normally I prefer Zumba because it isn’t mental for me, it’s FUN! Partaaay—woop woop! The first time I walked into Kariny Sander’s class, I left a changed person. As corny as it sounds, I did. I got into my car after her class and screamed WOOHOO out loud and stuff. My hand to God, I did and I almost cried (bless my heart, right?). It was 60+ minutes of jammin’ to some fun music in a darkened, disco-lit room and feeling like I’m at a club minus the hassle. I just let everything go. Before I knew it, I’m a sweaty mess and I’ve burned 800+ calories away and released my stress—win, win! When all my fun morning Zumba classes switched to evening classes I was left to find some other way of getting my butt out of the office chair and into some sort of exercise routine. Enter Carla Milton. Carla is a friend of mine that I actually met through Zumba. I’ve watched her over the years transform her body into a chiseled machine. Behold, her story!:!about-carla/c219o It’s not hard to be inspired by her journey. There was also some personal, deep-seeded desire to stretch myself beyond what I’m used to. I’ve probably read too many ‘Yes you can’ motivational Pinterest quotes but for whatever reason, I found myself at fitness boot camp, getting my butt handed to me by one Mrs. Carla Milton. I thought it might be fun to document my first few times at boot camp for this blog. Ha ha ha ha. Fun, she said…

Day 1: The first day landed right smack in the middle of our subzero freezing temperatures and only 3 suckers—um students—showed up. Carla told me she wanted me to wear a pair of shorts for a “before” picture. Um, I don’t wear shorts. I don’t even own a pair of shorts and haven’t for years. Why? I hate my legs from the knee up, that’s why. They’re just an ugly mess of cellulite and well, ugly. But I’m trying people, I’m really trying here, so in essence, before I even got out of my house I was doing something out of my comfort zone when I borrowed a pair of my husband’s shorts and went on in. Because there were only 3 of us at boot camp, we did TRX. TRX was invented by a Navy Seal. FML. That’s really all I need to say about that. Straps + Resistance + Core = SORE is exactly what it is. It wasn’t the most horrible thing I’ve ever done but it wasn’t without muscle failure, shaking and feeling like I was a damn fool for stepping out of my warm house that morning. Can I just stop for a second and say that my upper body is SO weak it’s pa-thet-ic. I thought that with all the years of powerlifting multiple grocery bags, carrying 2 gallons of milk in 1 hand while holding a 25-pound toddler in the other that I had more strength in my upper body—HA! At the end of the day, a hot shower and ibuprofen were beckoning me, only I’ll just need to ask my 11-year-old son to open the bottle for me first, a proud, proud moment. Soon thereafter I did a soldier crawl up the stairs to the shower and lay there thinking about what had just happened to me. One day at boot camp and look at me doing a soldier crawl already. That’s precious. O_O What had just happened to me?

Day 2: My second day was at the end of our deep freeze and the room was pretty full when I trudged in the door. This time I was 2 minutes late and 2 minutes behind everyone else. Today we had to work our way down a list Carla had prepared on a dry erase board full of an exercise shit storm. First on the list: Jump rope x100. Yes x100. I’m thinking ok. I used to do this all the time. So, I grab the jump rope and begin my cute little ‘skip jump’ just like we did in grade school. Aw, precious, right? I think I got to about 8 before Carla told me told that my legs had to remain together with no cute little hop in between the jumps either, “cause that’s harder!” Um duh? I gave her the stink eye as she walked away. Suddenly I realize I have no coordination at all. What in the hell? Have I forgotten how to jump a rope? Yes! Then I think, wait a minute…did I ever really do the “Rocky” style jump roping ever in my life? No, of course not. That wasn’t cute! Swing rope around, jump, swing rope around FAST jump again, then repeat x100. I got this…although mine kinda went: Swing rope around, jump, swing rope around, prematurely jump, rope stops dead in its tracks, swing it back around, jump ON the rope, lurch myself forward, dropping all my cool points, repeat. This went on and on. Each time I stumbled, little pieces of my dignity scattered on the floor along with my sweat. Really Heather? COME. ON. Luckily everyone else in the room was already 3 sets into their own bucket of suck and didn’t really pay attention to my ridiculous attempt at school yard exercise—at least that’s what I had to tell myself. I will spare you the horrific details of how it really went down but somehow I muscled through it and went on to the next thing. I made a mental note to go home and practice jump roping and then immediately erased it from memory until just now. Next was sit ups. Oh, yes! Laying down!! I SO got this one! So I begin: Hands behind the head, not lifting the head, just supporting it, right? Pulling myself up, but only halfway up, you know, the way we’d all been taught before. Oh, but here Carla comes again!! Do I even like her really? Hmpf! I’m cussing her in my head. “Heather, you need to come all the way up while holding these,” at which point she slaps some weights in my hand. “Come all the way up, then raise your arms straight up when you get to the top.” Just when I thought I was over the humiliation of my ill-attempted jump rope skills, enter the sit ups on steroids. So I demonstrate to see if I’m doing it right. “YES! That’s it. You’ve got 90 of those,” she says as she walks away. I may have stuck my tongue out at her at this point, I’m not sure. How are you gonna just say something like that to me and just walk away? I don’t get a reduced amount? This is, after all, only my 2nd day. Shouldn’t I be easing myself into this? No. No you shouldn’t. No is the answer. At this point I’m starting to regret every holiday slice of pie and Mai Tai I ever enjoyed on the warm sands of Oahu just 3 short months ago. It’s always easier to diet in retrospect, isn’t it? Self-discipline was never my strong suit. Why did I do this again? Oh, right, because “She turned her can’ts into cans and her dreams into plans”…or some shit like that. Anyway, I somehow managed to do them and without dropping the weights that dangled precariously over my head. I flop back down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. I managed to pull my head up long enough to read “90 squat lunges.” *gulp* In my attempt to still try to catch up with the rest of the class, I quickly ran over and grabbed my weights and begin the squat lunges. Oh, how I love to squat too! LIES. LIES. I hate them. I hate squats and lunges. They’re the devil. THE. DEVIL. I’m squatting and lunging, lunging and squatting, sweating and cussing, cussing and sweating, then I see Carla running over to me again! NOOOOO, I think. She has GOT to leave me alone already. I really DO NOT LIKE HER right now lol. Only this time she did me a favor. She traded me for 2 weights that were equal. Yes, you read that right. I am a total douche. I grabbed a 10-pound weight and an 8-pound weight. That’s me, Captain Dumbass! Don’t judge me. My eyes were crossed and sweat was pouring into one, how am I expected to pay attention to such things while blinded and disoriented? It’s come to this? I then got to see how weak my triceps were after that, 70 dips to be exact. I had to break mine down to sets of 10 so that the loud clap of my ass hitting the ground didn’t remind the entire gym of what a big loser I was. There were more squat-type thingies, 90 I think, but who’s counting? (Me) Oh they weren’t walking squats but who cares? I did it alright. I imagined—in detail—the Carla Voodoo Doll I’d make when I got home. At this point, the class is about to do abdominal work. Wait, didn’t I just do like 800 of those already? For the love! I decided I should just join in with the rest of the class at this point because I really just want to lie down again. Somewhere…anywhere! Here is fine. Only we aren’t lying down right away because we are going into Tabata. Tabata is high intensity interval training, which in layman’s terms means alternating one high intensity exercise with another one and a brief pause between. It really is just long enough for you to come to the self-realization that you are stupid and should’ve just gone shopping. You trackin? I’m already shaking. My muscles are fatigued and tired and I just really thought we were going to lie down! No, first we are alternating jumping jacks and jogging—high knee jogging to be exact. This is where I begin to pee on myself. Oh, yes, it is true. Peed. On. Myself. It was another proud moment, I tell ya. It wasn’t a full-on bladder emptying thing, just enough to make me hate myself and wonder if I shouldn’t have just signed up for AARP instead of boot camp. It’s no secret my bladder wall isn’t really a wall anymore it’s more like a squishy, unsupportive floor that just lies there, reflecting on what it used to be. Mine serves no purpose whatsoever. In fact, I’m doing Kegel’s as I type this. Squeeeeeeeze and hold! Ok, that’s enough. Could this get any worse? I should never ask that.

The next day I was so sore that I moaned every time I got up or sat down. The cat ran across my chest at one point and I let a war whoop out of my mouth that was not human. My son asked me what was wrong and I told him I was SO sore from boot camp, to which he replies, “Well then why do you do it?” God, I love him. He thinks just like me  “Evan, because—UGH—it’s good for me. Your mother—OW—is trying really hard—EESH—to push her limits and grow—#$!@! Ibuprofen, shower, bed and in that order. Good night.

Day 3: Before we get to day 3 can we just say that since the last day of boot camp, I have obsessed so much over the fact that I might have to repeat jump ropes that I completely forgot to be obsessing about the possibility of her making me run! Running is my nemesis, my Achilles heel, but there have been several times where it would have been wonderful to be told to get up and run—run my white ass right out the door. I could run off into a neighborhood and hide in the bushes! Yeahhhh that’s it!! Catch me if you can, Carla Milton! (You know she could). I’m determined to see this through to the end though. I have just about enough stubborn in me to be stupid, so I go. I was determined not to walk in late and repeat that mess that happened on the last day. Mission #1: Find the damn dry erase board! Scan, scan, scan the room aaaaaand it’s empty? Ohhhh my Lord, it’s empty! My eyes dart across the room. By this time, the rest of the students were coming in and I just sit down. I surrender and pray quietly to myself. Lord please help me get through this day with some dignity and without peeing, that’s all I ask. Amen. Random conversations begin around the room and I find that several of the ladies dread running as much as me, yet they showed up too. Hmm, maybe I’m not really as much of an outcast as I thought I was.

Somewhere after day 3 I stopped documenting my boot camp follies because changes started happening. I was jumping rope like a professional boxer. Ok, maybe more like a middle school wrestler, but bite me. The point is I was doing it and doing things I didn’t think I could ever do. Yesterday for the first time in my life I did pushups—honest to God REAL pushups, not the modified, get-on-your-knees-and-pray pushups, real ones! I don’t know what possessed me to even try but I did and I’ll be damned! Don’t get me wrong, there are times during every single class that I wish I would have stayed home, times that I still curse all those Christmas goodies and definitely times I dream of adding embellishments to the Carla Voodoo Doll but in the end, I’m growing and changing and this is the whole reason I signed up to begin with. I’ve only peed on myself a few more times. I have no shame at this point. I can tell you that, but that’s getting better too. I will always, always be a Zumba girl at heart. In fact, my favorite morning Zumba class began again on Wednesdays immediately after boot camp and even I stay for it! Yep, even after all the blood, sweat and piss, I stay because I love getting my “Jim Carrey in a tutu” on and now I can celebrate my hard-fought accomplishments of boot camp! Party on~!


The one about reflection.



Have you ever caught a reflection of yourself that startled you? You know, like when you open up the camera on your phone and it’s flipped around to show your face or walk past a mirror in your house and wonder when that old lady walked in. It seems this is happening more and more to me lately. Yes, the sands of time have found their way into my crow’s feet, laugh lines and brow creases and I don’t like it one bit.  This seems to be a commonality most women have. I’d love to blame the media for force feeding us endless images of youth and beauty, and though there may be a tiny bit of truth to that, I honestly just miss my younger face, the one I took for granted that would always be there, the one that went to bed after a night out in FULL make up without a second thought or the one that skipped the sunscreen more times than can be counted. Oh, if only I could go back in time and realize then what I know now. Even if it didn’t change my current appearance much, at least at this point I would feel like I did everything I could do.  But since I don’t have a DeLorean and a mad scientist, I cannot reverse the hands of time.  No, all I can do is what I should have done years ago and that’s take better care of my face.  I don’t want to look 18 because that would just be creepy. I just want to look how I feel…21! Ok, 25 😉 Plastic surgery and Botox are options I’m not even willing to entertain yet. Yet! Some of the drastic plastic results in Hollywood are all but flat out mortifying.  In an industry where facial expression is a vital part of their craft, it’s hard to tell if some actors are happy, sad or even awake because they can no longer close their eyes when they sleep!! Ca-REEPY!!!

I recently read that women in medieval times would ingest arsenic and dab on bats’ blood to improve their complexions. (Seems reasonable). Americans in the 18th-century coveted the warm urine of young boys to erase their freckles. (Sounds perfectly logical). And lastly, Victorian ladies would have their ribs removed to give themselves a tiny waist (Sign me up).  All sarcasm aside, the desire to be beautiful is as old as civilization, as is the pain that it can cause.  In current times, many celebs are getting bird poop facials (Victoria Beckham), detoxifying their blood with leech therapy (Demi Moore) and ingesting their own placenta (January Jones) all for the promise of the fountain of youth?! HOLD THE PHONE! Oh hell naw, girlfriend! I’m not eating that—I don’t give a damn!  Fact: When desperation arises there seems to be no limit to where we will go to achieve desired results.  The question is what defines desperation for you? For me, it’s eating placenta, for you it might be leech therapy.  If tomorrow, they discover that ear wax from a goat fed only by grass grown from the north side of a sunny hill erased wrinkles, don’t think for a minute that I wouldn’t be calling around town to buy a goat and preparing his new beautiful home on the north side of my back yard because I might. I just might.

It is a fact that a healthy diet and physical fitness will change your body for the better. OK, well MOST of your body. Yes my breasts used to be a 34C and now they’re a 34 Long but I can just roll them up into a bra and be on my way to the gym and you none the wiser (until now), but once time begins to march across your face there is nothing you physically can do on your own. NOTHING! You now have to buy STUFF, lots of stuff. Serums, lotions and gels, oh my! The choices are dizzying, the reviews, conflicting. The results? Well, they are minimal at best. Even knowing this, the market for health and beauty products is a billion dollar a year industry, and by 2017, that number is projected to skyrocket to the trillions…TRILLIONS. So my question to you is would you like to purchase some goat ear wax? I heard the results are AMAZING!!

The one about Jesus…and cake.


So there I was one day, a long, long time ago, pushing my then 2-year old little girl in a cart out of one of those mega shopping stores we all love to hate. I was feeling quite proud of myself as I managed to make it out of there with only ONE bag and some red velvet cupcakes MMMM.  I’m certain the cupcakes distracted me from all the impulse items and helped me overlook the fact that I was sure to be RIGHT back in there within the next few days for something I’d forgotten, which always seems to be the case.  As I made my way through the parking lot, I heard someone say, “Excuse me, sir, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”  DOH! It was a parking lot Jesus pusher! I could see the young man with his crisp white shirt and his black tie carrying a backpack loaded with what was sure to be the Word of the Lord. Doing my best dodge-and-weave I went into full-on squat-walk mode. I’m 5’10”, imagine the visual for a second.  I must have been a sight because my baby girl even started to laugh at me. “Haha! Mommy silly!”  Wait! Where did I park the car? Oh, this was NO time to be lost in a parking lot. Should I run back in? Hide behind someone else’s car? I was going to be cornered—no, trapped! There was sure to be more than one also. Don’t they come in a pair?! For a split second I thought to myself, “God is trying to fix me. I’m a heathen. It’s a SIGN!”  Aha!! The car! Sign schmign, I’m out!! Hallelujah! In one fell swoop, I grabbed my baby girl, my purse, bag and cupcakes and slid safely into my car. “WHEW! That was close!” I said. “WHEW! Yeahhhhh, close!” I hear echo from the backseat.  Yeah we did it, baby girl! On the ride home I was in complete schizophrenic, self-examination mode and the voices in my head played out a little something like this:

What are you afraid of? Uh, getting stuck in the parking lot, forced into a conversation I didn’t want to have, duh!

Don’t you love Jesus?  Of course I do! I’m offended by the question!

What kind of example are you setting for your daughter?  Oh shut up, she’s still in diapers!

Diapers!! GAH! I knew I was forgetting something! There was no way in HELL I was getting back out of this car. JEEEESUS!! I mean….DAMN?! Ugh!  Oops.

The weeks that lie ahead kept drudging up the same type of conversation in my head. Round and round we’d go.  ‘Heather A’ and ‘Heather B’ in an intellectual debate of Biblical proportions…literally.  Then Catholic guilt set in. Since I was raised around the Catholic church, this came naturally to me—I got this. But I had shed that a long time ago when I found a wonderful Christian church in my hometown, one that welcomed me with loving arms when I was spiritually broken. In fact, I felt so filled with joy and inspiration that despite my Catholic baptism as an infant, I jumped into the baptismal pool, took a spiritual ‘dip’ and professed my love and dedication to the Lord in front of the whole congregation. Wow! I never ever could have seen that one coming, but I felt renewed and lifted. It was a bright light in an otherwise dark moment of my life.  Ahh, peace at last.  

Fast forward a few years, a marriage, a stepson, an out-of-state move into military life, 2 miscarriages and 2 babies later, I found myself in a whole new world.  For a long while, I was too busy, too overwhelmed and too over-protective of my kids to mess with church (I thought).  I’m not leaving my babies in the care of people I don’t know, even if it is church! HMPF! I was a self-proclaimed heathen, after all.  Meh~!

Off and on throughout the years though, I’d hear a quiet whisper trying to pull me back to the comfort of a nice church, so when I received an invitation for my son to attend Vacation Bible School one summer, the inner-monologue began again:

Well, he is getting older so you don’t feel as over-protective as you once did, right?  That’s true but maybe you’re just worn out you’re jumping at the first “break” that comes your way. Motherhood FAIL!!

He might like it? He might hate it and cry the WHOLE entire time he’s there and no one will be able to soothe him. You are abandoning your child. “Mother of the Year.”

There will be kids there is own age that he can play with. That will be good! Oh yeah? What if there’s a little shitass there and he’s mean to him? How can you choke that little shitass if you’re not there?  

Oh for God’s sake Heather, seriously! 

Well, for God’s sake or my own, I decided to override the voices in my head and send him. Just this one time I decided I would throw caution to the wind and I was going to just send him and pray it would all work out.  So I did and he didn’t like it…he LOVED it! He was so excited to go every day and I was excited to let him. As the service at the end of the week approached, I was all but ready for the “recruiting church service.” Heck, I might like it so much I could rise up and join! I had visions of a women’s group and fellowship with other grown people…GROWN  PEOPLE!?!  My husband deployed so often that I only ever saw grown people at the grocery store and we all know how that went. Oh, it could be fun. I nearly wept at the thought of adult interaction. There will be fun things for the kids to do and…and…potlucks…oh, and CAKE!  Everyone knows southern ladies love to bake. Yesss, yess, yesss!!!!

I was starving not just physically but spiritually. 

As I got to the church, I could hear the music as soon as I got out of my car.  It sounded pretty good! It wasn’t the old organy-type church music, this was church MUSIC; drums, guitars, keyboards. They were jammin! Haaaay…wazzup!??  I was excited already. 

When I walked in I was greeted with smiles and handshakes. Everyone was very, very nice. They weren’t hounding me with a million questions, just good people. The youth group was standing up clapping and singing to church music. I wondered what planet I had landed on really.  There were teenagers that were enjoying church? Whaaaa? The entire service was really very nice and I enjoyed all of it….then the pastor got up to speak and ruined everything for me. 

First he showed a video, a symbolic tale of a man stuck in the bottom of a well and several different gentlemen offering to help the poor fella out of the well. Each one would offer a possible resolution to help him but to no avail, except the last one.  You see, the pastor explained that each of those men represented a different religion and then he proceeded to call them out, one by one; Judaism, Buddhism, Muslim, etc., and the only one able to rescue the man from the well was the man of the Christian faith.  The pastor proceeded to go on stating that the Christian faith was superior to all others, that if you weren’t Christian you were going to hell and that it was our job as faithful Christians to save everyone from eternal damnation.  WELL! I looked around thinking, HOLY CRAP, this guy is going to cause an uproar…but no, he didn’t. In fact, all I saw were smiles, nods and even an ‘amen’ or two.  No. Way. I was SO shocked.  I have Jewish family members! I don’t want my child to be taught part of his family is going to hell!? And Buddhism?  But…but I love Goldie Hawn!  What in the epic fuck did I just walk into?

Oh no, this would never do. Never once did any church I went to at home ever call out another religion as being a gateway to hell.  Look, I understand what the Bible says about non-believers as well what the Christian faith says about accepting Jesus as the Lord and Savior but are scare tactics the best way gain followers?  Does a congregation grow by condemning other religions, Biblical finger pointing and judgment? Shouldn’t we lead by example? Love our neighbors? Judge not and whatnot? Demonstrate a way of life that makes others want to emulate it?  To ‘get a little taste of that,’ so to speak?  Church bullying, for real? That may work for some people I guess, but certainly not me!  I just walked in the door and already I have a job to save all non-Christians from eternal hellfire?! This was too much pressure. I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS!!! No, no, no. All of a sudden I felt hot, claustrophobic, and sick at my stomach. I didn’t want to be a veritable Jesus salesperson, “Step right up, get your salvation right here, folks on SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY!” I don’t want to be like the parking lot panderer I avoided a few days before.  I just wanted some adult conversation with good people that didn’t judge others and maybe, no definitely, some cake.  Just LET ME EAT CAKE!

Needless to say, I left that church at the end of the service and haven’t been back—to that one. I was saddened by the fact that many people never return to church after an experience like that one or will never know at all how wonderful it can be, but I’m proud to say that since then I have had some great experiences with different churches and I have met some amazing people with beautiful souls, friends that I will have for the rest of my life. They’re not perfect, cookie-cutter Christians, none of us are. They’re just good people that carry themselves in such a way that I gravitated to them. I wanted to mirror their happy spirits and the love they had for all people of every faith. I missed it and wanted that for myself again. Oh, and cake! I definitely wanted some cake. 



Once upon a time, there was this girl….

Just kidding.  (I do that a lot. No, seriously–A LOT!!).  So I tossed around several different names for this blog before settling on “Excuse me while I scream,” as it seemed to best suit my life the majority of the time. Don’t let the name fool you. By first glance, you might think I need to scream out of sheer frustration. To that I’d say you might be right, but only some of the time.  You could also possibly hear me screaming when I decided to scare the crap out of my children by making them think I’m about to jump some railroad tracks a split second before a train decides it wants to win…or to simply snap them out of their state of ‘cartoon coma.’  (Yes, I have thought about saving NOW for their future therapy. It’s on my to-do list). I’ve been known to howl in laughter too. In fact, that’s probably my favorite expression of all–laughter. Even in the most difficult times, if I can find the funny in something it just makes life’s jagged little “pill” a little bit easier to swallow. (Are you singing Alanis Morissette now? You totally are, I know it).

The second title for my blog I threw around was “Lost and Found,”  cause it seems I’m losing some things and finding others. Some profound, some mundane; I have lost my mind, lost weight, lost my identity, lost my cat, lost hope, and lost kitchen utensils (it’s the damnedest thing).  Likewise, I’ve also discovered/found a new and improved, sometimes sick and twisted version of my mind–a 2.0 if you will. I’ve found the weight back again, found a new cat (R.I.P. Lacey), found myself being hopeful again and found out that it is okay to lose your identity momentarily as long as you’re willing to search for it again. Are you starting to see where I’m going with this?  Now I think I picked the wrong blog name…seriously, did I pick the WRONG blog name? OMG!? Moving on–I never did find those missing kitchen utensils. I’m still seriously befuddled by that one.  Not like a fork or a spoon, NO, like a spatula, a paring knife, a big slotted spoon, things like that.  One day I will stumble upon the black hole they’ve made their way into and maybe I’ll also find a missing sock, the lid to that one storage bowl and/or the meaning of life.

Anyhoo, you get the point. I could go on and on but I figured you’ll understand it all a little bit more as you read through the cobwebs of my mind in the time to come. You will find my blogs to run the gamut of emotions and topics. There are several topics that have caused me to put pen to paper over the  years and eventually (don’t rush me) I’ll get around to transcribing those for you to lay eyes upon, gasp at, laugh at, cry or judge. Yeah, you read right–go ahead and judge if that makes you feel better. You probably won’t agree with everything you read here. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t. It really isn’t necessary. Think for yourself!  It’s an actual legit thing. It’s allowed and encouraged in fact! *gasp* Maybe you’ll think about some things in a way  you’ve never thought about before or maybe you’ll just escape your crazy life and laugh at mine for a while.  🙂

Welcome to my blog!