Can I get in there?


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Excuse me, may I snuggle up next to you and share that warmed up blanket??? 

Oh, there’s only 3 inches left for me over here by your butt??  That’s ok…I’ll squeeze in. 

My reflection


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Don’t you just love that hanging lip/cheek/jowel/face? And how her eye is obviously annoyed that I am taking, yet again, another photo?

It’s just like looking in a mirror.

I mean, they’re cupcakes in bread form…


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I blame Starbucks and these dang loaves of chocolate and vanilla cake…

I blame them for warming them up and making them taste like fresh, warm, cupcakes…

I blame the rain…

I really thought I wanted to try to end my sugar binge today.  I thought I wanted to stop eating my feelings.

Turns out I don’t.  Not unless it’s sunny, I guess.

I blame leaving too early to drop the kids off at school…

I blame the short drive through line…

Hell, I even blame them for having a stupid drive through…

I blame my brain…

I blame those sweet, white, sparkly granules…

You win again, sugar.  Until next time (and I’m most certain you will probably win again next time because I have lost all my will power and all the muscle tone I thought I had).

You can be a winner


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Life.

The game of life. 

There are immense discrepancies between real life and the game of life.  For instance, teachers do not make 100K a year for their salary…and the chance of having twins 3 times is pretty slim. 

Also, you have to get married in the game…but you don’t have to go to college???  What kind of awful message is this to the moldable minds of our youth?? 

What a curmudgeon I am. 

I decided there should be an adult version of the game of life. 

In this game, student loan payments and rent follow right behind payday and leave only enough for a 6 pack of beer flavored water.  A game in which credit cards get stolen and someone else enjoys that European vacation on your dime. 

Where home insurance helps rebuild your home that burned down.  A game where husbands impregnate their mistresses and wives gold dig old, rich men so they can get boob jobs.  A game in which divorce can make or break the bank and where you don’t get to cash your kids in for 50K when you retire, if you make it to retirement…or if you’re lucid enough to know you’re retiring.

Retirement in the real game of life might mean hiring a bitter live in nurse to feed you applesauce and change your squishy bedpan…especially if your children turned into teen moms.

Of course there’s real fun in real life.  I know.  There’s ice cream and sunshine and best friends.  All the great things in the real game of life seem to cost next to nothing.  🙂

As far as the real board game…when we play, we always name our kids.  The lovelies always choose perfectly delightful names for their future children.  Jenny and Jonathan…Jack and Hannah.  I prefer unique names.

My triplets Cheeto, Dorito, and Frito appreciate it…as well as the twins Cocoa Puff and Butter.

5 alarm


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Five alarm chili.  It’s intense. 

I like it. I like the way it makes me cough a little and the way it makes my eyes water and my nose run.  I like that it’s an intense experience.  I like how after 6 bites everything goes numb and tingly.

The trick is to save a little sour cream until the very end to cool everything back down.  A sour cream chaser. 

The question is…if it’s 5 alarm in, is it also 5 alarm out???

I’m not sure yet but I do know I won’t be working on any yoga moves until I find out…might be like hot lava down my legs!!

Burning em, if they ain’t quick and nimble


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I knew there was a reason I kept the Christmas tree on the porch until Easter. 

I knew it wasn’t because I wanted to be able to describe where I live to newcomers…’Oh, it’s the ugly beige one with bikes all over the place and the brown Christmas tree on the porch.’

Seeing those brown needles go up in flames was so exciting, like the fourth of July.  I might just buy two trees for next Christmas…..or three. 

Polenta


I was a home birth…in the country..to a couple of hippies.  There was a midwife there.  They tell me the weather was foggy. 

But what on earth do you do with the placenta?? 

Did they burn it?  Or bury it??  Or cure it with salt and make placenta bacon?  Placenta breakfast hash??  Or perhaps they turned it into a sausage patty and served it on polenta? 

Polenta placenta?