A professional writer

Here I go again with the long break from blogging. Eh what can I say, I'm a busy woman. On an excellent note, I sold an article! That's right, you are now reading the blog of a professional writer. It was just a parenting article under a thousand words, but it was exactly what someone wanted because they bought it!

It's funny how I have had the worst writer's block ever since my first article sold. It came to me so easily. The words flew from my fingers like lightning. Now, my brain is frozen. Hopefully I can get some inspiration and sell some more. Wouldn't it be wonderful to get paid for something that is enjoyable AND comes naturally? Of course it would!

Wish me luck!

Quoth the Donald, nevermoron

So Donald Trump was quoted saying he is "the least racist person".

This got me to thinking about our future president (Bahahaahaha!). Saying you are the least racist person, is basically saying you are racist, just not as much as other racist people. Who is he less racist than? Who are these other racist people that he has the privilege of being lower than on the prejudice totem pole?

Or is he claiming to be less racist than EVERYONE who is racist, not just an elite group.

Either way, I got a chuckle at this statement. After all, being the least dumbest person doesn't make you smart, now does it?

Thanks Mr. Trump, for being the least moronic today, but not intelligent by any means.

Edna and Morpheus

I don't know why, but every time I see a couple's names written somewhere, I always find myself imagining who they are and what they are like.

Facebook gets me the worst. Someone will mention a couple in their status and my mind just goes.

"thank you Mike and Lynn for all your help!" - aww Mike and Lynn are helpful! Oh I bet Mike is a cop. A young cop who just got promoted recently. He is average but handsome and clean shaven. Lynn is his wife. A brunette with a soft but quirky smile. They met through friends during college. She was an art major. Lynn is an art teacher, I'm sure (I mean come on...how else do artists make any money?).
The friend is thanking them for all their help arranging a fund raiser for a sick child in need of surgery that is the child of a friend of theirs.

Ok so it's not ALWAYS that in depth. Sometimes I don't have a story. When there are just names, I usually just imagine images.

"Caleb and Trisha" - hmmm. I bet Caleb is a redhead. He is very tall with a crooked posture. They are both in their early 30's. Trisha is a short blonde. Slightly heavyset but still loves denim cutoff shorts. They sound lovely.

I can't explain it. I don't intentionally focus on who these people might be. Am I the only person who imagines what people are attached to these mysterious names we come across? Just because my wandering, wild imagination takes it a step further, doesn't mean that other people don't have a milder form of this name-identifying habit.

In fact I know some people do this to an extent. You must have met someone and said "oh you don't look like a George" or "I pictured you looking different".

That was you guessing a person's looks by their name, or already having a stereotype for a certain name. It's cool, if we all do it, it can't be so bad, right? Like swearing, or watching reality television.

Roma and Jefferson

There's one to mull over.

Love ya!
Peace peoples.

Diaper Lottery

Lately, every time I change my baby's diaper, his big brother will accompany me with some interesting commentary. At first I thought it was just curiosity from my five year old.

"Is it pee? Let me see. It's peepee."
"Did he poop? Yea? Poopoo? Ok."

Then I thought he was trying to tease me. I mean, who wants to change a diaper anyway.

"Peepee? Ha!"
"You gotta change poopie? Yea!"

At first I was mad, but then I realized it's not that either. It was a game.

"Did he pee or poop, mama? Pee? Yes!"
"Pee or poo? Nice!"
"Poopie? Ha! I was right!"

Ok, this child is a little too excited about his brother's bodily functions. It's not like we are talking about farts. Farts are funny. What is going on?

He was "right"? Wait a minute. What do you mean you were right?
"I guess what is in his diaper and I'm always right."

Ew. It's a game. A gross diaper-content-guessing game. Well I've witnessed stranger things, so I can't say I'm completely surprised that's what he's been doing.

You have to love your kids' quirks. After all, in some way, I'm sure they got them from you.

Stay tuned! Coming soon!

Sorry folks. Been very busy, but I am cooking up a new comic for the next post. Stay tuned!
Xoxoxoxoxo

Chalk driveway drawings yay!

Ok maybe not a very informative post, but I couldn't resist. This is what I did all day, instead of writing.

Today's masterpieces brought to you by my awesome 5 year old (and me of course. Who can resist chalk drawing?)

Let's examine, see the colors? The strokes? Amazing stuff.

Can you guess which drawings are mine?

It's too bad, because these were done with 3-D chalk, that makes your pictures pop when you wear the glasses. Unfortunately that does not translate on camera.

This has been a thrilling presentation of chalk driveway drawings. Thanks for tuning in.

Peaces!

FAN-tastic

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Love!

Luck

As the weather warms up I am always reminded of my teen years. Enjoying every summer with my friends and current boyfriend (there was always one), going down to the Jersey shore (I was there first MTV), and enjoying the summer sun was what it was all about.

Along with these great adventures came awesome antics. I'm reminded of one today.

Just like most weekends, and some weekdays, my boyfriend, a couple friends, and I decided to head down to the jersey shore. Totally unprepared we headed down, sans a change of clothes, beach towels, sunblock, or very much money. A very typical day at the shore.

"You guys wanna head out onto the beach" asks friend one, pointing out from the boardwalk to the less than pristine sand leading to the rough waters.

A few nods and mumbles became translated to a general yes from the group, so we head off down to the sand. We walk some, near the boardwalk. The beach-goers have become few as the sun is starting to set.

Out of thin air, friend two seems to have pulled out a football. We toss it around. There is your typical laughter, pushing, flirting, and swearing, as you would find in any teenage, coed, beach football game.

"Babe, where's my keys" boyfriend looks to me. Suddenly a wave of nausea comes over me as the possibilities run through my head.

He locked them in the car.
They're in the ocean.
Someone stole them from his pocket.
I somehow was made responsible for them and I lost them.
Shit.
We are stranded at the jersey shore with no money.

"When did you last have them?" I inquire helpfully, looking around at everyone's panicked faces.
"I think I felt them in my pocket when we came down from the boardwalk."

Everyone immediately begins scanning the sand, walking heel to toe through our football field. One voice chimes in, "dude they could be anywhere. I think we drifted like 20 feet."

Great. Very helpful.

"What kind of keychain were they on?" friend one asks.

"Just a little Mustang symbol. We're f**ked." boyfriend gravely answers.

The search continues. I'm gently kicking around sand, friend one is bent over, combing the surface with his fingers, friend two is about five feet away in the same position, and boyfriend is about ten feet away, trying to retrace our steps.

What felt like hours have gone by. It was really minutes, but the threat of being stranded here makes this search party seem to drag on forever.

We all come together again, near the entrance to the beach.

"This sucks."

"What are we gonna do?"

"I can call someone maybe."

"I'm not leaving my car here."

Everyone looks close to tears.

"This sucks! I wish I could just reach down and..." in a sweeping motion, boyfriend swings his hand down into the sand out of frustration, flinging sand into the air, "...find them."

The last rays of the setting sun manage to catch the beautiful glistening object dangling from my boyfriend's hand. He holds it up closer to his face as we all stare, mouths agape, at the sparkling treasure just unearthed.

There, from his finger, hung a silver ring with two glimmering keys swaying in unison, and the most attractive Mustang keyring I have ever laid my eyes on.

"Holy shit, dude."
"That was awesome."
"No f**king way."

It was his keys. We were saved.

So we lingered on the boardwalk a while longer. Laughing and joking about how lucky we all were, how especially lucky boyfriend was. When we got to the car, it felt like we had again found treasure. Like we were lucky all over again.

The two hour ride home was a breeze. After all that, I never wanted to leave that car again.

This is a 100% true story. I know, I was there. Hope you enjoyed it.

Peace people!
Xoxoxo

Nothing to see here folks

I was looking for some inspiration on what to blog about, however, I have been completely at a loss for ideas. I think a great way to get ideas for writing is to write, you know, get those wheels turning. Not today my friends. Nothing interesting here.

I bet the most interesting man in the world would have something to write about.

"So why bother posting?" you might ask. Because f*** you, that's why.

Ok seriously, I'm posting my directionless mind's wanderings for two reasons.
One: that's what all my posts are anyway
Two: the discipline
If I don't post one day, then another day I'm too busy. Then the next day I don't know what to write. It goes on and on and before you know it, I abandon my blog for another two years.

Well on that note (did I even end on a note?) it is time for me to stop tapping and hit post. Go do something awesome today. Boobs.

Ex smoker

So it's pretty clear that I could not and did not want to smoke for the rest of my life. I got hooked as a teen and smoking has been my stress and boredom salvation ever since. I quit once before. It lasted almost a year, but I let a stressful event get the best of me.

Now I'm back and newly motivated. I have two beautiful boys who love their mommy and need her around. I dread the thought of my babies growing up and becoming smokers like mom. A little extra motivation has been my charming 5 year old's sincere concern for my health. It breaks my heart to hear my tiny man say "ma please don't smoke! What if you only have one lung hole left and you ruined all your lungs?!" How can I let that continue. I can't.

It is only day two and I already have considered breaking something to alleviate some stress. My poor kids have been victims of mommy on edge, too. Although I did explain to my 5 year old that quitting smoking makes people crabby sometimes, they still don't need to witness the smokeless-monster I have become.

I have been using nicotine replacement products, and stress relieving techniques along with exercise. It all helps, but no matter what I do, quitting smoking sucks.

In the long run, it will be worth it. I will feel better, age better, smell better, be setting a better example for my kids, and hopefully live better. I have to continuously remind myself all this as I consciously "miss" all of my regular cigarette breaks and explode at innocent bystanders.

There are NO benefits from smoking. Any enjoyment or relief attained from smoking can be achieved by other, healthier means. It's never too late to quit. Start quitting today.

I'm a quitter! A proud quitter.

Quit smoking.

Nothing's On - House MD Edition

I LOVE the show House, but the story lines get a little repetitive. I apologize for the terrible drawing, but I like to think it adds to the effect. Enjoy!

Omg I'm dying. I only want you to help me dr. House!

No f#@$% you! Because you want me to help you I won't! Hah!

...your case is so interesting. Ok I'll do it!

Look at these symptoms. I don't understand. What about you, team? Of course not your all f$#%*ing idiots

What, your here to bother me I'm busy. Important doctor stuff.

So anyway, I was with this hooker. I cheat on my wife but it's ok cuz I know it's wrong and I'm a sweet guy.

Hooker.

...........

You have syphilis.

Slut.