Keep your friends close


     Recently while driving through a graveyard I wondered what happens if you die and your significant other falls in love with another?  Where do you bury a possible second love of your life? I’m sure most people are not morbid or self-centered enough to let this cross their mind.  So for a moment in time, walk down a morbid sidewalk decorated with self-centered flowers.  Where do you put that heifer that comes after you?  Sorry, I’m sure she is lovely.  Just not as lovely as us because it doesn’t get any better.  Amiright?

     All married couples have the talk.  The talk that your significant other dreads because they know it is a trap question.

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“What would you do if I died?”  They all say “I would be lost without you.  I would probably never remarry.”  What a wonderful answer!  Their fathers choreographed this line to avoid hairy legs and all of their white clothes turning pink or a dingy shade of gray.  Then the answer is turned to us. Become Annie Oakley and sing in your mind Anything you can do I can do better!   Repeat their actions, only better.  Do NOT say “I would cry for a couple of years then stalk David Beckham.  He probably could fill the void you have left.”

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Not a good answer on so many levels.  You will never be Posh Spice.

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Four gorgeous Beckham kids later, this is a one way lane to a dead-end street.  Nothing will lower your self-esteem faster.  Leaving you (once again) all alone.  Tell him “I feel lost right now thinking about a life without you.  I will NEVER remarry!!”  yes I can…no you can’t…yes I can…yes I can!!!

     In reality you will be lost without each other.  There is some truth to be told in on-the-spot, daddy trained answers.  However, do not pretend, for one second, either of you will spend the rest of your lives lonely. You will have some wind left in your sail, no matter your current age of passing, and vice-versa.  Men will scout senior citizen dances or a nursing home because, well, Picasso.  Not that Picasso was looking for women his age.  Only stating that horny young men become horny old men.  To be honest women aren’t much different.

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     Marriage is an almost certainty after your passing.  Who wants to think of their significant other turning into a total horny slim bag?

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You certainly thought enough about this person to marry them.  Do you really want your death to turn your bed into a taxi cab?  Picture anything with a thumb out, hitching a ride to your bed, and the one you left behind is driving.  Your bed, you know, the one that was your only taxi for countless devoted years.  Then imagine that his “on duty” light is always shining bright.  There is no telling how many clients he could service.  Please never lose your dignity my soul mate.  Make an honest woman out of the sequel of your true love story!!

     So back to the original question.  Where do you put them?  Most prepared couples have purchased a cemetery plot that is only meant for them.  What if you die in a car accident, in your fifties, and he goes on to find another?  They marry a year after your death (if he was a loyal and dedicated husband) and they stay married for another twenty years.  She put in her dues as well.  Doesn’t she deserve a spot next to the love of your life?  Simple answer, no.  I have established a rule in our marriage that is perfectly fair. Should I depart early the ole hussy can have a spot.  Only her spot will be next to me.  I get the spot next to him.  I am woman enough to allow her dead corpse to hang out with us.  She will, however, know her place.  She belongs next to the OG of true love.  

     If this is read,  years from now, by the sequel remember;  he loves skinny women, hates big boobs, loves it when you leave the cap off of the toothpaste, smack extra loud when you chew, his favorite television show is Teen Mom, and most importantly make bologna casserole for him every night.  He loves that shit.  You’re welcome dirt roommate.

Never forget, keep your friends close and the one that comes after you closer.  Have the talk tonight and let it be known who will always matter the most.

My husband, like Annie Oakley, wants to be cremated.  No clue why.


I’m Coming Over

We have all feared the words “I’m coming over.”  It doesn’t matter who speaks this sentence.  Everyone from family members to best friends have made us lie and say “That is great!!! Come on over!” before we hang up the phone and say “How long will it take me to shove all of this in my closet?”


I absolutely LOVE being around people so here is what I did to try to enjoy people without last minute cleaning.

First step was the Pinterest perfect weekly cleaning schedule. Do a little every day and you will not feel overwhelmed!  What a great idea! Below is my schedule that hangs in my kitchen to make me accountable for my actions. (Yes you can see me in the reflection, sorry)


Here is the reality after the Pinterest project.

monIt was a freaking Monday!  Work kicked my uterus so those bathrooms can wait.

tuesdayis bedroom day.  Survey all bedrooms and realize that kids are the worst.  Tell the kids to clean their own rooms and walk back to mine.

wed Clean the oven?  If I spend my night cleaning this kitchen when will I have time to cook?  I will do this Saturday.

thursdayClean the lint liner?  Now I know why it takes two hours to dry one load of laundry.  That thing was a mess!  Clean the lint liner should be added to the daily list I have been ignoring.

friAll I am ready to do is relax.  I will clean the floors tomorrow.

datThere is somewhere to go or something to do, ALWAYS.  Why do we lie to ourselves and pretend the weekend is when we will conquer?  I didn’t do the bathrooms on Monday!  The kids didn’t clean their rooms on Tuesday.  Dishes are sky-high because I decided to take my weekly shower on Wednesday.  (eff that oven) Okay clearly Sunday is going to be cleaning day.


If you are one of those women that can stick to this schedule let me say first, we admire you.  We are jealous of your stamina, drive, ambition, and ability to spend every day of your blessed life keeping your house in order.  Then let me say, hopefully without any offense, we hate your clean guts.  When you walk across a floor without stepping on a Lego, one of us steps on a Lego.  You take a sip from your clean coffee cup with a smile.  We are drinking iced coffee from a sippy cup because it is the only thing we could find in the cabinet that was clean. We see that you have a Roomba.  We think you are a cheater but you shouldn’t care.  We would have one as well if it could maneuver through a maze of shoes, toys, and possible dog poop.  Please take us into your closet.  Show us a dirty clothes hamper with one hidden dirty dish.  We would give you a hug and a Mr. Clean coupon. mr-cleanYou are the prom queen of clean.  We are the dirty outcasts, watching out the window, praying someone will take us to the dance.  We watch and wait for a cleaning van to arrive so we can have a chance to win the crown.  The cleaning van that never comes, and if it does it wants one hundred dollars to screw us after the dance.

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Which leads me to the second step.  You shamelessly make the call to the cleaning van.  You invite it over and pray, after looking at your house that looks like the inside of Oscar the Grouch’s trash can, they accept your offer.  You will never earn the prom queen cleaning award.  Your only step is to fill the ballot box.  They accept and you are ready to do a happy dance while wearing a sequin gown of cleanliness.  It is such a great feeling.

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Ignore the fact you hacked the election, spread some fake news stories about how you did it all yourself, and pay for your victory speech.  You look around your once filthy kingdom and it is now fit for you, the prom cleaning queen of your castle.


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Cheaters NEVER win.  Your house looks exactly like it did before you went to the dance.  Your sequin gown of cleanliness just sat in something sticky and unrecognizable.  dirty-clothesThe kids stole your crown and it now lies at the bottom of a mountain of dirty clothes, towels, and underwear.  Your crown is wedged somewhere between a poop stain and a grass stain.  Should you pay for the date only to become the lazy outcast once again?  In my opinion yes.  Not only yes but HELL YES.  Tis better to wear the crown and lost than to never wear the crown at all.   I’m not breaking up with this one anytime soon.

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What if you aren’t the Pinterest person?  You do not care about being the prom queen of your castle.  You refuse to pay someone to clean your castle and you certainly are not dropping three hundred dollars for a Roomba!  (Amazon has them on sale) roomba  Then what are YOU to do?  The Godfather would tell you to go to the mattresses.

I will tell you to go to the plastic hamper!  It is not as degrading as it sounds.  It will allow you to have a plan and keep your sanity

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Do not get a cloth or wicker hamper.  Make sure you have a plastic hamper.  They are easy to wipe down after your company leaves and you need to move the dirty dishes back to the sink.  Place the dishes in a trash bag before placing them in the hamper if you are worried about spills.  Clothes are an easy thing to hide.  You can shove dirty clothes anywhere.  Place them on top of the dirty dishes if you are afraid someone may walk into your closet!  Dirty dishes have always been my biggest time consumer of all things dirty in my house.img_1377-1  The clothes hamper trick will free up more time to dust, vacuum,  and spray your entire house with Febreze.  The last second life may be the only way to live after you have exhausted all other options.  We get it.  We understand you without judgement.  Some days you have to do whatever it takes while thinking…


All photographs of dirty stuff in this blog were taken at my house and not featured in the television show Cops.

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Who do you think you are?


cropped-circle.jpgWhen I was younger I remember spending a weekend in Germantown, TN with friends of my parents.  We pulled up to the largest house I had ever seen.  The style of the home was perfectly constructed for any John Hughes movie.  The back of the home had a heart shaped swimming pool.  We walked into the foyer, which was a word I had never heard and certainly couldn’t pronounce without my white trash accent saying four-year.  I said wow so many times my mother grabbed my hand and whispered “stop saying wow.”  I understand now that she wanted me to maintain a composure that suggested I was on that level.  This memory has stayed with me many times while I was “faking it until I was making it.” Always remember do not say wow out loud, you are on this level.

The truth is I never feel on that level.  In life you will meet people that make you question your own image.  Do you really belong on a lifeboat or are you going down with the ship?  As an adult my wow has been replaced with

  • Is her hair that perfect everyday?  I bet she could get laid in a hurricane and her hair would still look perfect.
  • I bet her kitchen cabinets look like an Andy Warhol painting.
  • Is she really that happy or should I ask who supplies her vicodin?
  • She has her life together so perfectly I bet she pops in a tampon one minute before her period starts.
  • Should I even waste my time talking to her?  I’m not on her level.
  • She is educated in subjects that make me feel like I should be pushing buttons at a carnival all day.

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Time to step it up honey and remember what your daddy told ya “They put on their jeans one leg at a time just like everyone else.”  The problem with that advice is most of the people I have been intimidated by wore dresses.  I was the woman standing beside her wearing my best pair of jogging pants with a tiny hole in the crotch.

One time I remember reading a comment by an absolute gorgeous woman on Facebook.  She said


Try reading that with a messy bun you have had for three days in a row….unwashed.  How do you get on that level?  How can I become the perfect hair, just got laid in a hurricane lady?  Do I truly want to become that lady?  What if it isn’t that great?  Maybe you come out with perfect hair and an STD.   Messy three day dirty hair is better than a z-pack ridden messy vag.  Of course we all know in reality she has perfect hair and a pristine vag.

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Then there are times someone thinks the cans in your kitchen cabinet are perfectly aligned in alphabetical order.  Do you say “Thank You” or “No, I’m on your level!”  I had a lady once confuse me with someone who had all their crackers in the box.  She said, “We need you because you are such a go-getter.  You are great with people.  Your boldness and confidence is exactly what we need.”

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We were at a taco bar and I was spilling white cheese dip with every syllable she spoke.  As I cleaned up cheese dip off of stainless steel I saw the real me in my mind.  I saw the real me giving myself a pep talk in the morning to get out of bed.  I am the lady that needs wellbutrin because I cry uncontrollably anytime the seasons start to change. I saw myself walking out of my childs school function as fast as possible so I could avoid sticking my foot in my mouth. (again)

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I am the girl who has tons of boldness to compensate for the confidence I lack.

She didn’t see me.  At that moment I wondered if she can’t see me, then how many others have I not seen?

Is it possible that all together tampon lady walked around all day with a red stain on her perfect pretty white dress for all to see?  Maybe PhD lady has a thing for carnies.  Maybe the lady that I am afraid to talk to doesn’t have a true friend.  None of these thoughts are original.  We all know that no one is perfect, the grass is greener yadda yadda.  But everyone wants you to focus on the fact no one is perfect.  When was the last time you realized they… can’t…see… you.  I have decided to replace “they put on their pants one leg at a time” to “You never really see them and they can’t see you.”

In your mind slap ole tampon lady in her red spot.

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It is perfectly fine in your mind to tell PhD lady that her ride is over.

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Perfect hair smurfect hair go rock that unwashed hair!  Dry shampoo and a cute headband can do alot for us faking it until we are making it kind of gals!

Push the elevator button in your mind and reach the same level as everyone else.  In reality they never truly see you.

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The woman that owned the heart shaped pool in Germantown grew up with absolutely NOTHING.  She wanted the pool in a shape of a heart to remind her how she got to Germantown.  I saw the end result I didn’t see her beginning.  Now that you know that no one can really see you, who do you think you are?  The answer you give is perfect at all levels.

Click any image below to purchase an item under $40.00 that can give you any image you want.   Yes all items below are under $40.00.




Don’t Throw a Dog a Bone

circleRecently on a trip to Memphis, TN my husband and I decided to listen to the old fashioned FM radio.  I told him that I recently heard a song that I listened to in my youth and was shocked by the lyrics.  A song, that I sang many times around the house as a seventeen year old girl, was entirely about a… do I put this gently, a boner.  Not sure if that was gentle enough.

The song was “Too Close” by the group Next.  Lyrics like

Baby when we’re grinding
I get so excited
Ooh, how I like it
I try but I can’t fight it
Oh, you’re dancing real close
Cuz it’s real, real slow
You’re making it hard for me

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Before you say I have a dirty mind, and I clearly didn’t twenty years ago, let me continue.  Here is a little sample of the girls part in this song.

Step back you’re dancing kinda close
I feel a little poke coming through
On you

Yes an entire song revolving around the male anatomy.  Circa 1997 I played this song loudly in my bedroom.  I danced from my bedroom to the laundry room belting out these nasty lyrics.  My parents, that grew up during the time of heavy drugs and free love, were certainly mature enough to understand the lyrics I blindly sang.  Did they hear me and wonder if I was one step away from a pole and a dollar?  Did they block me out? Probably, thank God.  Thank you God and I’m truly sorry God.

As my husband and I discussed how I could be absolutely clueless, I pressed the search button. We were on our way to a Garth Brooks concert so I found a country station.  The lyrics rang out

I’m a thourough-bred
That’s what she said
In the back of my truck bed
As I was gettin’ buzzed on suds
Out on some back country road.
We were flying high
Fine as wine, having ourselves a big and rich time
And I was going, just about as far as she’d let me go.
But her evaluation
Of my cowboy reputation
Had me begging for slavation
All night long

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Turns out country music also loves to focus on things that we really shouldn’t speak or blog about.  I’m sure there is a horse out there that needs a break.  I saw several horses in Costa Rica on a horseback riding excursion that needed to be saved.  I wondered did Big and Rich also visit Costa Rica?  Maybe they found out a way to help a poor overworked and underfed animal.  As payment from good karma they get sex in return.  Okay, let me dial it back a bit.  Sorry about that.  I have brought you into the depths of the gutter and I will do my best to pull you out by the end.

I looked at my husband and said “Another boner song!! My goodness how many are out there!!?? ”  Once again, pressing scan I set out to find a nice little song without any hidden meanings.  The next station was classic rock.  Classic rock should be a safe station.  Sure rock and roll is known for sex and drugs but this is classic rock.  Classic, as in the FCC was very strict about what songs radio stations could play.  Safe.

Stroke me, stroke me
Stroke me, stroke me
Say you’re a winner but man you’re just a sinner now

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Billy Squires swears up and down that song is about making it in the music business but come on.

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“Closer” by Nine Inch Nails…I will spare you the lyrics.

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Ooh baby, I’m hot just like an oven

I need some lovin’
And baby, I can’t hold it much longer
It’s getting stronger and stronger

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I don’t know what I’m saying
As my trembling fingers touch forbidden places
I only know that I’ve waited
For so long for the chance that we are taking


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Closer to Memphis we could pickup an old school rap station.  Now we can hear about gin and juice, some gats that are strapped, maybe we can pour a forty to someone’s memory.

The song is ending but it is a good one

Swing down, sweet chariot stop and, let me ride
hell yeah
Swing down, sweet chariot stop and, let me ride


If you’re horny lets do it, ride it, my pony
My saddle’s waiting, come and jump on it
Lets do it, jump on it

That was when I turned to Amazon Music and decided maybe we should listen to some Garth before we listen to Garth.

The next time you turn on the radio, pay attention.  A boner song is bound to pop up.

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Click the Amazon Music link below if you would like the freedom to listen to appropriate music.



Addict, a person who is addicted to a particular substance, typically an illegal drug.

When we think of addicts we always turn to drugs, food, alcohol or sex.  The new addiction, particularly for people over the age of thirty, is without a doubt Facebook.  This realization came to me after I decided to quit Facebook and find a hobby.  The only thing I really love to do is talk and tell stories.  So here I go, a blog.

A blog that will need Facebook.



Lost Blogger Send Help

After one to many political Facebook posts, I realized the world really does need a place to go.  A place to go when you need to remember you are just as good and bad as everyone else…while possibly laughing.  This is my attempt to create that blog “they said” I should start.  “They said” is not any of my family members.  “They” think I should keep my opinions off of social media.  So I will do my best to keep everything as fucking clean as possible.