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Washing My Face

A reenactment of what it looks like when washing my face at the sink.

A reenactment of what it looks like when washing my face at the sink.

Step 1. Walk in the bathroom with dry clothes.

Step 2. Remove eye make up.

Step 3. Feel around for my skin cleanser since my eyes are stinging from the eye makeup remover and and I can’t fully open my eyes.

Step 4. Locate the cleanser. Wait a second. That’s the faucet handle.

Step 5. Finally find the cleanser.

Step 6. While still relatively dry, start washing my face.

Step 7. Rinse cleanser off my face.

Step 8. Have water run down over my elbows, dripping onto the floor and all over my shirt.

Step 9. Give my face a few more splashes.

Step 10. Get soaked.

Step 11. Feel around for the towel and have a moment of feeling nice because at least part of my body is clean since I haven’t had a chance to get a shower yet.

Step 12. Open my eyes and look around.

Step 13. See that my shirt is soaked and not just a little wet so I can’t give it a quick dry with the blow dryer.

Step 14. Notice that the counter is covered in water and splashed on the mirror.

Step 15. Go to the closet to get a dry shirt.

Step 16. On the way out of the bathroom, step into a puddle that was caused by my wild, flailing arms while washing my face.

Step 17. Take the hand towel and scootch it around on the floor with my feet to clean up the water.

Step 18. Change into a dry shirt.

Step 19. Dry off the counter with a towel while at the same time, giving me reason not to have to clean the bathroom for another week.

Step 20. Tell myself this is why I should only wash my face in the shower.

Step 21. When leaving the bathroom, step into another puddle of water.

Step 22. Accept that I’m a human hurricane when washing my face.

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Peenterest: The Poke

It’s once again time for Peenterest; where I take funny little things I find on Pinterest and post them here. The more inappropriate, the better.

Just a quick catch up. I finally got my ass back in college. Last year, I went back to school, but it was for a specific program I thought I wanted to do. I ended up hating the fuck out of it. I decided that I just need to finally take the leap and go back to college instead.

I forgot how difficult and time consuming it is and have been so tired, I actually went to bed at 8:30 last night. Since school started, I’ve been going back and forth between I FUCKING LOVE THIS! to WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?

And holy hell, I sure feel old amongst the 18 and 19 year-olds. Despite the stress and anxiety of going back to school, like Dory, I keep telling myself “Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.”


















*Rock Your Body

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I’m Sorry I Ate Your Chips And Dip. And Drank Your Pepsi. And Didn’t Give You Any Peace And Quiet Unless I Was Unconscious.


This past summer, we went camping at a cabin for four days. It may not seem like roughing it but I’m not outdoorsy so that was like being in an episode of Naked and Afraid. With the exception of the huge scare with the hummingbird’s hypoglycemia, the days prior were really nice, although being in close quarters with each other could test my patience.

I’m the type that gets drained by being around people frequently so I need to take time to recharge by myself. That’s hard to do when you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere in a small cabin.

After a few days of a lot of togetherness, I decided to stay at the cabin for the afternoon while the hummingbird and husband went swimming. When we were at the lodge picking up some overpriced items we really didn’t need, I grabbed some french onion dip and chips.

Yes, I actually have fond memories of my mom eating chips and dip. It represents me being about 10 years old during the summer, without a care in the world, playing outside for hours.

While looking back on my childhood, it seems rare that I saw my mom sitting down for long. The times I do were when she’d have some free time to just chill out with a magazine, a Pepsi (I’m a coke purist but had no control back then), and some dip with wavy Lays or ruuuuffles with riiidges. Am I the only one who remembers the ruffles with ridges commercials?

Just to be clear, I was a 10 year-old with a “my parent exists only to wait on me hand and foot” mentality. Kind of like when you realize your parent’s name is something else besides “mom” or “dad” and they actually have outside interests besides their kids wants and needs.

What kind of crazy talk is that?!

I would occasionally find her sitting in the dining room with an ice-cold Pepsi, chips and dip, and the latest gossip about Princess Diana or what kind of marriage crisis Elizabeth Taylor was in.

Because parents will forever be fucked when it comes to finding free time without their kids finding out, I felt it was my duty to sit with my mom and bug her. Not intentionally. Just because that’s what kids do best.

I would always ask her if I could have some of her chips and dip and she would never deny me. Then I’d be like “Mom? Can I please have just a tiny sip of your Pepsi? Please? Please? Please? What are you reading? Can I read it after you’re done? Which story are you on now? Elizabeth Taylor did what with who? Mom? Mom? Can I have a few more of your chips? And just another tiny sip of your Pepsi?”

Then, there was the camping trip over the summer and the several hours spent together with a lot of togetherness.

So, while I spent an hour alone that day, I enjoyed the hell out of it. And I noticed I was doing the same thing I remember my mom doing. The cabin was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and I sat at the dining room table enjoying my coke, chips and dip, and reading my gossip rag, US Weekly.

I was finally relaxing for the first time on our camping trip but at the same time I had no idea when the hubby and my 6 year-old would walk through the front door and that’s when it hit me.

Oh my god. My poor mom. In her quest to find some peace and quiet from her kids, not only did I never leave her alone unless I was sleeping, all the poor woman wanted was a cold drink with some chips and dip and some celeb gossip between loads of laundry and cleaning the house and I took it from her.


The things moms and dads are put through that you have no idea about until you have a child can blow my mind. I had a grilled cheese for lunch recently and guess who wasn’t hungry but changed her mind upon me taking my first bite of my sandwich.

It ended up being hers, except for the crust and I didn’t say one damn word. Oh, I had plenty to think. Like “Omg, you’re taking my delicious, cheesy food and I’m STARVING!”

But on the outside, I was all “would you like me to make one for you? No? Okay. Sure, you can have half. Oh, you went through that fast. The crust? Sure, I’ll take the crust because I’m fucking hungry and you’re eating my food and not eating yours and you will never understand this until you have kids of your own and damn, that was the last, delicious, cheesy bite of my grilled cheese sandwich that you just ate.”

*When We Were On Fire

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It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like…

This year, my husband found that several of our Christmas lights weren’t working. After a few nights of him fixing them with some clicky thingamajig, he wasn’t making much progress. Since I couldn’t stand to hear that clicking thing he would click continuously to replace the bulbs of the lights, I suggested he just get new lights.

But that was way too simple. He said he could fix them so for another week he would be downstairs with that click machine.




Oh my god, it drove me crazy. Clicky click. Motherfucking click. Still, no lights.

And then a miracle happened. After the designated man time that passed by so it wouldn’t seem like he was, GASP, actually listening to me, he finally got new lights.


The hummingbird mostly decorated the tree herself and had a blast since my guy was still determined to fix the damn lights but finally gave up and then spent a few more days putting up the new lights that actually worked and I’ve been in cleaning mode.

I still wasn’t in the Christmas spirit until my husband stopped fucking with the lights and found the most awesome and inappropriate Christmas decoration, Peeny.

Once Peeny went up on our mantle, my mood lifted. It’s impossible to not get a case of the giggles when I see him above the fireplace. Because I have the humor of a 12 year-old boy.

Here’s to happy holidays and lights that work!


*Natasha Bedingfield

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Sexy Real Estate


My husband is leaving the military next summer so we have a lot to figure out. What the hell is he going to do when he grows up… where are we going to make our permanent home, etc. A few weeks ago we decided to go to an open house to get an idea of what houses are available here.

What we weren’t expecting is that there’s a whole world of real estate that’s sexy. Very sexy. Rawr!

I’ve never been a fan of things like open houses since they seem so unnatural. Just like going to buy a new household appliance. Some places actually leave you alone but other places are ready to pounce on you in seconds. When we walked into the open house, we were greeted by a nice woman who laid it on thick from the get go.

She saw the hummingbird and told us we could give her whatever she wants from the assortment of goodies the agent brought. The bird decided on a bag of peanut m n m’s which once she opened, flew all over the nice brand spankin’ new kitchen floor with several loud ping, ping, pings.

I apologized and stuffed the ones from the floor into my purse, which I’m still finding, while the hummingbird munched on the few that didn’t fall on the floor. The real estate agent, still laying it on thick, kept telling my husband we’re more than welcome to have any refreshments that we want. The hubby and I later joked about what her reaction would have been if I just took my purse over to the counter, dumped the contents on the counter into my purse, and said “Okay, thanks! See ya!”

While our 6 year-old was seeing how many closets she could walk inside, the agent was talking more details about the house and the new neighborhood it was in. She told us this is the new Maine sexy real estate. The old sexy real estate just isn’t as sexy.

My husband and I turned to each other and shared a ‘what the fuck?’ look while suppressing giggles. After more sexy talk, she asked us what we think. I was trying not to pee my pants while wondering if I was being Punk’d. We told her it was a very nice house and she said “It’s so sexy though, isn’t it?” Umm, um, yeah.

Instead of running to the front door of this very sexy house, we decided to finish looking. Well, that and the hummingbird was still going throughout the house and stepping into the closets. I’m sorry. My bad. I mean the sexy closets of the new sexy house.

A few more people were coming in at that point so we made our escape. And that’s when my husband and I spent the drive home laughing our asses off about the sexy real estate agent.

My husband’s favorite part was that the older woman gave him a handful of cards. He can call her any time he wants to see something sexy.

Unfortunately, that house just wasn’t the new sexy we were looking for but there’s still time to find that oh so very sexy house.


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Peenterest: Good Vibrations

Life has been crazy and stressful lately and I believe laughter really is the best medicine. Case in point, we were at a neighbor’s house, talking about how our kids want us to play, play, play all the time when that’s just not possible. My husband responded with “When I was younger, I used to play with myself all the time.” *Awkward silence* *Laughter*






















*Just Give Me A Reason

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Kids Have No Filter


Kids love to tell the truth, the more brutal, the better. Kids will most certainly keep your ego in check… and possibly embarrass the hell out of you.

After putting my daughter to bed…

5 yo: Will you tell me if you’re going downstairs?

Me: I always do. You know, you don’t need to tell me that every night.

5 yo: I know. But you’re old and might forget.


When I made spinach and goat cheese quiche last week.

Her: Mom… this really doesn’t look good.

Her: And it smells like cat puke.


Standing in line at Target.

Her: Mom, that lady looks like a grandma (the next lane over).

Me: She does.

Her: Is she the grandma you called an asshole for driving so slow?

Me: Well, umm, she might be.

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