Real Love Is...

Do you remember the old Love Is... comics? With the little black & white images of a naked little boy and girl telling us what love is about? 
To this day, there's always someone with their favorite ones stuck on the fridge. Personally, they always creeped me out. I mean, why are they always naked? And who decided that it would be better if the images looked like toddlers? It's just weird. Not to mention the complete and utter lack of reality in them. They were the comic equivalent of a cheesy romance novel. 
So today, I've decided to share my own version of what I think love is. I shall call it Real Love Is... 

Real Love Is.... Not smothering them in their sleep after 8 hours of listening to them snore. 

Real Love Is... Putting up with their terrible dishwasher loading skills. 

Real Love Is... Bringing them a towel after sex. 

Real Love Is... Not having to cover up the sound of a fart. 

Real Love Is... Peeing with the door open. 

Real Love Is... Buying her tampons. 

Real Love Is... Morning breath kisses.

Real Love Is... Sex with your socks on.

Real Love Is... Letting her be the big spoon.

Real Love Is... Talking about your poop.

Real Love Is... Popping each other's pimples. 

Real Love Is... Surprise NERF attacks.

Real Love Is... Giving them your last pink Starburst. 

Real Love Is... A high five after good sex.

Real Love Is... Random ass smacks & boob grabs.

Real Love Is... Messy, imperfect, and a constant work in progress.
But Real Love Is... Worth it. 

Being a Grown Up is Hard (a poem)

Being a grown up is hard.

It's not like I thought it would be.

There's no recess, snack time, or naps,

and you only get breaks to go pee.

Being a grown up is hard.

There's too many bills to be paid.

The perks are pretty much limited,

to drinking alcohol and getting laid.

Being a grown up is hard.

So many decisions to make.

And why do I have to eat healthy?

I just want another cupcake.

Being a grown up is hard.

There's always work to be done.

Cleaning the toilets and laundry

are NOT my idea of fun.

Being a grown up is hard.

So much is expected of you.

If I ever actually got a vacation,

I wouldn't even know what to do.

Being a grown up is hard.

Some days you just want to scream.

And then you win the lottery!
Oh wait... no. That was a dream.

Being a grown up is hard.

It can be quite taxing and trying.

And if someone tells you it's not,

I'll lay odds they're probably lying.

Being a grown up is hard.

Or maybe I'm just in a funk.

Either way, if anyone needs me,

I'll be in my fort getting drunk.

*Written by Teena M. Hauxwell-Finn

September 18, 2014

The Toilet Paper Review

In the last two weeks, I have had more than a few conversations about toilet paper. With strangers in the super market and also with friends. This is a topic that I feel quite strongly about, and as it turns out, so do many others. With that in mind, I'd like to bring you my personal review of the most popular brands of TP.


1. Kirkland brand

Why this even exists in a civilized society is beyond me. Clearly made with recycled razor blades and glass shards, I am absolutely certain that this is the only TP available in Hell. There is a reason this stuff is practically free. It's the equivalent of exfoliating your nether bits with sand paper. I would rather drag my ass along the ground like an animal than use this shit.

2. Scott brand

This stuff is practically tied with Kirkland's for the world's worst toilet paper. Scott's apparently decided to just make their paper towel thinner and on a smaller roll and call it TP. This stuff is awful. It's nearly transparent it's so thin, and unless you like having a wet hand, you end up using half a roll. If you have to use this because you have a septic system... you should move. I promise your ass will thank you.

3. Charmin

Where to even begin? For starters, can I just ask what the hell is with the bears? So they live in houses, and are toilet trained, but they can't wear pants?? I find this weird, and even if I didn't hate your toilet paper, I would refuse to use it based solely off of your terrible marketing strategy. But your TP is gross. I never thought I would say this, but it is TOO soft. Seriously, it should come with a lint roller for your junk for post wipe. I like a soft wiping as much as the next gal, but this is just out of hand. So unless you like having TP dandruff in your under britches... don't buy this.

4. Cottonelle by Kleenex

While I don't loathe this brand, I do have some issues with it. For starters... is it made out of unicorn fur? Why on earth is it so damn expensive? This is the guest towel of the toilet paper brands. It's really just for show, you don't actually use it. And also, what's with the aloe and lotion? I mean that's great for blowing your nose, but unless you've got a serious case of booty burn, I think it might be overkill for TP. Would I buy this? Maybe. If it were on sale and I had guests coming over.

5. Quilted Northern

Based on my bathroom investigations, this seems to be the general public's go to brand. And I can see why. It's quality toilet paper. Soft, but not too soft. Plenty absorbent, yet not so thick as to require a plunger after every use. It's a bit on the more expensive side, but it tends to go on sale fairly often. I have been known to purchase this from time to time, though it isn't my first choice. Though I do wish they'd bring back the quilting old ladies in the commercials. I found them amusing.

6. Angel Soft

This is my favorite brand. While I stray from time to time, I always come back to it. Maybe it's the adorably smooshie baby on the package. I am a sucker for juicy cheeked infants. But this stuff is just good. It's the not too soft, not too hard, just right TP. I feel plenty clean after using it, but not greasy or linty. And while it's not the cheapest brand, it is definitely reasonable. And when it's on sale, it's practically a give away. I love it. And so does my southern hemisphere.



So there you have it. My fresh booty review.

Wipe in peace, my friends.



What Do You Mean You DON'T Think About Zombies?!

Maybe it's too many episodes of 'The Walking Dead' or maybe it's my overly vivid imagination, but for whatever reason, I often find myself contemplating zombie apocalypse situations. You may call this crazy, but I like to think of it as preparing for the future. Because the zombies ARE coming.
No, I am not one of those end of days preppers or anything. Those guys make me look normal. Though I do wish I had a bad ass, fully stocked bunker in the mountains. But I wouldn't tell you about it even if I did. I can't have all you ill prepared, possibly infected, last minute Sally's beating down my door. Nope, not gonna happen. Get your own bunker.
Anywho... so yes, this is something I've given some thought to. And here are some situations and circumstances that I've pondered.
Ok, so when it finally happens, and all of you start panicking and searching for guns and ammo, I will be pilfering all the toilet paper I can scavenge. Trust me on this.... TP WILL be the new money. And I will have it all. Because you can kill a zombie with a stick if you have to, but you are NOT going to want to wipe your ass with leaves for very long. So I can barter with you for as many weapons as I need. I will also be stocking up on feminine hygiene products and condoms, because smart people don't bring babies into a zombie infested nightmare. (Yeah, I'm talking to you, Lori Grimes!)
I will also be stock piling a few other necessities, like chapstick, toothbrushes, deodorant and soap. Why? Because when we eventually stumble upon a safe haven or group of survivors, I will smell fresh as a daisy, and they will willingly take me in, while the rest of you stanky breathed, foul smelling hippies will be left to fend for yourselves.
Another situation that I have given much thought to, is where to go. If television and movies have taught us anything, it's that the cities will be overrun first. And while I'll be sad to leave behind all the best looting options (we had a good run, Taco Bell) I feel it will be safer in the country.
Now, 'Walking Dead' brought up the idea of a prison, and that is tempting. I mean nothing says home sweet home like a cold, dark cell, amiright?  I think I'd make that a last resort. I do like the idea of a nice farm, since ideally it could be self sustaining. But that might have to come later. My first choice would be a school. For starters, I have to assume that when this shit goes down, it will be either a weekend or a holiday. You know... Murphy's Law and all. So I figure a school has a good chance of already being empty. Also, most schools have a cafeteria, plenty of bathrooms, a locker room with showers, a library, decent first aid kits, and much more. All of which puts you ahead of the game. Plus, if it's a high school, you KNOW there will be some good shit in those lockers. (wink, wink)
Ok, so now that I've established a base, I need to think about staying safe.
First of all, there is safety in groups. We learned that in kindergarten. So I will be using the buddy system for everything. Yes. Everything. You know why they call it going #2? Because there will be TWO of you in there. Yup. There is no scenario worse to encounter a stray brain eater than one where your pants are around your ankles. So get comfortable with awkward eye contact, because that shit is inevitable. (No pun intended. Ok, maybe pun intended.)
Now I like to think that killing zombies will be easy peasy lemon squeezy. But let's be real here. Skulls aren't Jello soft, so while popular entertainment makes it look easy, bashing in a zombie head could prove difficult and time consuming. Not to mention incredibly messy. But we know that the brain is our target, so what other options do we have? Of course a bullet to the head, but let's just pretend that you are in a small space and have no desire to go deaf from the blast. What do you do? Knives are good, and easy to carry on your person. I plan on making sharp objects my new favorite fashion accessory no doubt. But I think my weapon of choice will be a samurai sword. Aside from the fact that it will automatically make me look like a bad ass ninja, it also provides good distance from your victim. You know... splash back and all. But since I doubt that there will be a plethora of martial arts weapons lying around, I might have to purchase one of those ahead of time. (Wonder if Amazon stocks those?)
So anywho... these are just a few of the things I think about. And while I'm preparing for zombies, I'm really hoping that when the apocalypse does come, it's more of a blackout situation. I think I'm much better equipped to resort to pioneer type living than I am for battling cannibalistic corpses. I mean... I make one hell of a s'more...

In case you were wondering, I WILL be channeling my inner Jade from Mortal Kombat and wearing this exact outfit. Side boob is a must during post apocalyptic times. 

Real Talk: The Joys of Living Together

When you are in a committed relationship, and eventually move in together, there is a flood of excitement and nervousness. You are taking a huge step, and you can't wait to settle in to this new role. Only magic and wonder lie ahead.  
Yeah, yeah. Fast forward a bit...
You've lived together a few years, maybe more. Your lives are utterly intertwined. There is no longer a mine or yours, only ours. And while this is the original intention, and not at all a bad thing, there are several aspects of joint living that we don't really consider, or even notice right away. The hidden truths of living together that no one talks about. Until now.
So for those of you about to take the leap, or for those still in the honeymoon phase... be prepared. Soon enough, your moment of awakening will come.
And for those of you who've been on the ride awhile... hopefully you'll find comfort knowing you're not alone.

1. The Battle of the Bed.
Growing up, you lived in this naïve world, where you believed you would always be able to throw yourself into bed any way you wished, and sleep like Rip Van Winkle. Those days are gone. Now, you've been relegated to one half (if you're lucky) of a bed. And not just any half. Nay. You were forced to choose a side, and sleep on that side for the remainder of your days. I mean sure... you could switch it up, but then what if you woke up in the middle of the night and needed your chapstick? Well, that is in YOUR nightstand, on what feels like the other side of the planet. Or what if you forget that you're no longer on the side nearest the bathroom, and in your sleepy state, accidentally pee in the closet? It's just not worth it. Accept your fate, and stay on your side.

2. Silence is Golden.
Just because you love someone and share a home with them, does not mean that you are always on the same page. Sometimes, one or the other of you will want nothing more than peace and quiet, whilst the other randomly decided that RIGHT THEN is the perfect time to practice their Mariah Carey karaoke jam session. So even though the little crazy voice in your head is screaming "DEAR LORD, SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY!" you must suffer in silence. Yes silence, that word that your darling roomie clearly does not know the meaning of.

3. Umm, excuse me. I'm in here.
Don't waste your breath with those words. They know you are in there. They just don't care. Privacy is a thing of the past. You will now always have company when you bleach your mustache, shower, and empty your bladder. Because obviously, that is the perfect time to discuss everything. Oh, and scoot over, they also need to clip their toenails or trim their nose hair right this very second. It doesn't matter that there is another, perfectly functional bathroom they could use. Nope, you're a team now. You do all things together. Yay.

4. Closet Space.
Here's the deal. I don't care what any real estate agent or fancy home listing says. Unless your home has been featured on an episode of MTV Cribs, you will NOT have enough closet space in your master bedroom. No bedroom closet was ever properly designed for two adults to share. I don't care how big it looks, it will not be big enough. Someone is going to have to keep their shit in another room, or accept 30% of their allotted space. And yes, I DO need all of those shoes.

5. The Great Debate.
Ok, so you love each other. For better or for worse. Fine. But you are never, ever, ever going to agree on everything. Whether it is how to properly put on a roll of toilet paper (It's always over, by the way. Always.) how to squeeze the toothpaste, fold a hand towel, or load the dishwasher.... there will be at least one thing that you eternally disagree on. You may compromise, but you will never get over it. Your way is the right way, and that's all there is to it.

6. But that was mine!
There will come a time when you find yourself huffing like a pissed off toddler who refuses to share and saying "Stop taking/using my shit!" Regardless of how well you think you hid that box of your favorite cookies, or how many times you point out which razor is yours. I know, I know.... there is no MINE or YOURS. But really... that was MY donut. I was saving it. And that shampoo you used... that was mine too.

7. You'll Never Be Lonely Again.
Living with someone is not always easy. You will bicker over trivial things, you will wonder how someone so adorable can make a room stink so bad, and you will probably day dream about what it would be like to live alone every so often. But you will NEVER be lonely again. Even when you think all you want is alone time, when they aren't there, you will find yourself listening intently for the sound of their key in the door. You will lie next to them at night and know that the bed would just feel so big and empty without them. (something you'll have to remind yourself of when the snoring starts) You will form habits together, and become a real team. You will share things you never expected to share, and you will be all the better for it. THAT is the real truth.

Is That A Spy Drone In Your Pants, or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Yesterday, I saw at least 20 posts on Facebook about the new messenger app. People were frothing at the mouth in fear of installing it, because they were afraid of being spied on, and other privacy based issues. Really? I have the new messenger app, and so far, I can honestly say that no men in black suits have stormed my home, no drones have appeared in my shower, and I haven't noticed a single difference in the way my phone works. 
Now, to be fair, I don't read all the terms and conditions when I download an app. Maybe somewhere in the fine print, it mentions that the Men in Black will now be listening in on all of my conversations, or randomly activating my camera, but I'm too lazy to read it all. So if that's the case, I hope they like hearing about boobs and rally, and watching me read. Because that's about as exciting as my life gets. 
And unless some of you are super spies, or secret terrorists, I somehow doubt the NSA, CIA, FBI, or WNBA gives a hairy rat's ass what you are doing, who you are talking to, how many cat videos you watch, and the GPS coordinates of your favorite Chinese restaurant. 
Now don't get me wrong, I like my privacy as much as the next gal. But I also have accepted that we live in a technological age, and unfortunately, that comes with some drawbacks. If you use a computer, cell phone, have cable or Netflix, spend any time on social media, use a credit card, GPS, or any other form of modern life, you WILL be subject to risks. That's a fact. Your information will get out, and sometimes it will end up in the wrong hands. There is no 100% surefire way to avoid it. Unless you feel like moving into a cave, growing your own food, and essentially living off the grid. And while some days, that sounds like the best idea ever, it's not truly realistic. Plus, I like my internet porn and car videos. 
So here's the reality... 
NO ONE CARES WHAT YOU ARE DOING. I know, shocking, right? While I'm sure YOU think that you are the next James Bond or Batman... in the real world, you are just another average schmo. You aren't a threat to the government, and you aren't even registering on anyone's radar. Contrary to popular belief, the NSA has a lot more concerns on its plate than monitoring what level bridge troll status you've reached in World of Virgincraft. 
I mean... how big does your ego have to be to think that YOU, out of the billions of people on the planet, warrant that kind of attention? 
And IF, for some reason, you ARE a secret spy, terrorist, or have something to hide... GET THE HELL OFF OF FACEBOOK! I'm pretty sure that's like #1 in the "How to be a bad guy" handbook for cripe's sake. 
We need to start being more realistic, and we need to quit giving in to the fear mongering, conspiracy theorists. We need to use our common sense, and not rely on the opinions of others. 
Nearly every website you visit, app you download, and business you utilize is collecting some data from you. Whether that information is being used to help better serve you, or to try and sell you something is up for debate. We all say we want more personalized service, yet we cringe when someone asks us for any personal information. We say we want "smarter" phones, yet we freak out if that means agreeing to give up some of our privacy. Well we can't have it all. Social media is free, which means that they NEED to make money somewhere, and that money is in advertising. That means they are going to try and collect any data they can to use on that behalf. Don't like it? Don't use it. It's that simple. 
Now.... if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to building my glitter bombs, and plotting my sparkly world takeover.

10 Things I Just Don't Understand

You know those moments when you find yourself with a weird look on your face, thinking "What. The. Fuck?" Yeah, me too. Several times a day actually.
So I've decided to compile a list of things that I just do not understand. Maybe y'all can help me to sort out the whats and whys of these 10 mysteries of the universe.

1. Photos of your coffee. I mean... why? We get it, you drink coffee. But do you really think that YOUR cup looks better or more appealing than the next guys? Unless the barista drew a penis on your Styrofoam cup, or your latte foam resembles Jesus.... we don't care.

2. Dog clothes. Here's the thing, your dog is covered with this amazing thing called fur. It keeps them warm. That means, that little Fluffy really doesn't need a sweater, boots, and hat. And while I'm on the subject, unless your dog or cat is missing legs, it CAN walk on its own. Save your purses for your handguns, wallets and lipstick, and strollers are for babies. Human babies. Got it? Good.

3. Crocs. I just... I can't... No. Just no. You can make all the "good reasons" excuses you want, but the fact is, Crocs are the STD of the shoe world. So stop it. And don't just throw them away, either. Burn them, and bury the ashes on sacred ground, just in case. Better safe than Croc-ed.

4. Shared social media. Why? Are you a child? Do you need to be monitored? You know the accounts are free, right? And you can tell me that it has nothing to do with a lack of trust until you're blue in the face, and I simply won't believe you. Also... it's annoying as hell for your friends. Who are we talking to? Who's posting? We don't know! Why? BECAUSE YOU SHARE AN ACCOUNT! So if you insist on sharing, could you, at the very least, be courteous enough to end each post/comment with a "Sincerely yours, (name here)" or something?

5. Off road vehicles that have never been off road. Oh, so you own a jacked up Jeep, with giant tires and a winch? Cool, where do you rock climb? Yeah, that's right, YOU DON'T! The closest thing to off road your vehicle has ever seen is the gravel in your driveway. *eye roll*

6. The selfie over doer. You know who you are. You are probably duck faced and bent over with your finger on the camera button as I type this. But why? Do you really think you look THAT much different/better than you did 35 seconds ago? Enough is enough. Stop it already, your stench of desperation is clogging my nostrils. And for God's sake, clean your room. Because we CAN see your disgusting mess of a bedroom/bathroom behind you.

7. Touchy subject pushers. I don't care what religion or politics you practice. I don't care what your thoughts on abortion, breast feeding, GMOs, gay rights, etc. are. If you feel compelled to post about it a thousand times a day.... I hate you. If it's something you feel very strongly about, and want to make the occasional post, fine. But do you really think that your rants are going to change someone's mind? You are just looking for an excuse to stir the shit pot, so knock it off. Oh, and do your research before you hit the share button, please. Not everything you see on the interwebs is true.

8. Smokers. I truly don't understand this. We KNOW the dangers of smoking. We can no longer pretend to be ignorant of this. Even second hand smoke is incredibly dangerous, so why, WHY are people still intentionally harming themselves? Not to mention the cost. If you quit smoking, imagine all the much more enjoyable things you could do with the money you saved. Like hookers and booze. Seriously... please just quit.

9. Reality TV. The Bachelor/Bachelorette, Honey Boo Boo, Real Housewives, etc. Whose reality is this? Do you truly think this stuff isn't scripted? Is there NOTHING better we can put on television? I just don't get it... I'd rather watch grass grow or paint dry.

10. This thing.

WTF is that? Are we repurposing hair scrunchies from the 90s into men's swimwear? Does the strap rotate side to side for when your nuggets need to be rearranged? Can you even wear this if you HAVE nuggets? What is holding this thing on? What if the water is cold, and you get shrinkage? Will it fall off? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!! The biggest one being.... Why?

*Disclaimer: These are just things that I personally do not understand. While I may very well BE judging you for some of them, that is not the intention of this post, so go drink your Haterade somewhere else.

Yoga: A First Timer's Perspective

Last night, I tried yoga.
A couple friends of mine invited me to try out a class with them, and since they had a $5 coupon for me to use, I could hardly say no. I mean, I spend more than that at Taco Bell, so I figured what the hell.
I asked what attire I should wear, and since you all know how I feel about yoga pants, I was hoping to avoid that descent into the wardrobe from hell. I was told "Something tight. Shorts are good too."
Here's the thing... I'm almost 35. I gave up shorts and most tight fitting garments like 7 years ago. I literally had nothing to wear. So I made a quick trip to the store, and after trying on nearly every other possible option, I left with a pair of dreaded yoga pants. I kid you not, I died a little inside as I was ringing them up. I didn't get the lifting, sucking, tucking, look at my ass kind either. I'm cheap. I bought the least expensive ones they had. After trying them on, I realized there was also no way to wear them without having a super obvious panty line. Since I'm not a yoga pants expert, I texted my friend, Vanessa, who is, and asked what the underskivvy situation was with them. She said most people go commando, but she proudly rocks the panty line. Since V is the most fashionable person I know, I opted to follow in her panty line footsteps. I also assumed an extra layer would help me avoid the evil camel toe.
Once the wardrobe situation was handled, I moved on to my other concern, which was my undeniable lack of flexibility. Yoga is all about stretching and bending, both of which I max out just getting out of bed. But I was again told not to worry. That you don't have to be flexible to benefit. Ok, if you say so...
Class time arrives.
I'm decked out in yoga pants, sports bra, and tank top. At this point, I'm also wishing I had invested in those fake glasses with the mustache attached, because I can barely believe I left the house in that.
We go in, sign up, and I rent a mat. We proceed into a darkened room, with what I assume they think is relaxing, peaceful music playing, but all I hear is a hippie drum circle, and I'm half expecting someone to pass a pipe or a tray of brownies. No one did. That was a letdown...
We get situated, and quietly giggle amongst ourselves. Other people are stretching, and looking like they know what to do. I address my final, last minute concerns with my friends, who once again convince me all will be well.
Class begins...
Nary 3.5 seconds into class, she starts using some weird foreign language/speaking in tongues. Apparently they are names for poses and whatnot, but damned if I knew. So I did the 'peek around and see what everyone else is doing' move. Note to self: get a yoga translator before you go again.
But I figured it out, and managed to follow along pretty well. (There were no mirrors, so I could convince myself that I looked as fluent and graceful as everyone else.)
I stretched as far as my candy and goldfish cracker filled body would stretch. I didn't reach my toes. I've NEVER been able to reach my toes. As far as I'm concerned, my toes are on another planet. But reach for them I did. And I breathed. I bent my body into positions that I wouldn't even attempt naked and with my hubs.
I spent a great deal of time with my ass high in the air, silently begging my body not to relax too much and rip one directly into my buddy's face. (It was brought to my attention prior to class that this is something that happens to some people. I very badly did NOT want to be one of those people.)
I also spent a great deal of time with my face buried into my own cleavage. And while that sounds delightful, it makes deep breathing a tad challenging. But I managed to deal. So I bent, and I stretched, and I breathed. And I sweat. A lot. I'd like to say it was from the yoga, but it was more than likely because we were doing yoga in a sauna. Seriously... are fans and A/C against the yoga religion?? Your hippie music and soft lighting are great, but the fact that I had to repeatedly pull my yoga pants out of my sweaty ass and do camel toe checks made relaxing nearly impossible. It also turned my yoga mat into a sweaty slip and slide, which made balancing on one foot, whilst turned at a 90 degree angle a bit tricky at times.
But... I did it. I finished the class. I didn't fall on my ass, and I didn't feel like a complete and total fool. That alone made it feel like quite the achievement.
Would I go again? Yes. But probably not there. It was a good class, and the instructor was great, but I'm gonna look for a place with air conditioning, or at the very least, an open window.
Besides, I own yoga pants now... I'm obligated to use them.
So if you're interested in trying out yoga, I strongly suggest you do it. Based on how my body feels today, I can tell you that it REALLY works. And if my old, non flexible ass can do it, truly ANYONE can. Go with an open mind, and a sense of humor, and you'll do great. Also... skipping the burrito beforehand might be a good idea as well. ;) Namaste.

True story.

Single? Read This.

I have a lot of single friends. And I often see and hear them complain about how hard it is to be single, especially the females. Then I look around at my single male friends and I'm utterly confused. Without even trying, I can think of at least 8-10 guys that I know right now who are incredible catches.
Good looking, hard working, independent, funny, smart, etc. To be honest, if I was single, I'd date them, and I'd date them hard. So why are they still single? Mostly because women are a pain in the ass. Yeah, yeah... bring on the hate. But it's true, and we all know it. Most females (no, not all) are nearly impossible to please. They say they want certain things in a partner, yet they consistently turn away men with those exact things. Why? Because women want what they can't have. If a guy has a good job, hobbies, and a decent social life, a girl will complain he's "too busy" and "doesn't have enough time for her". So they choose to date some unemployed shlub who lives in his parent's house, and then proceed to complain about what a broke ass bum he is. Yeah. Makes perfect sense. (Insert major eye roll here.)
I hear single women all the time reciting these lists of demands that they expect from a man, and I want to laugh. Are you making this man in a laboratory? If not, you better get a clue. You don't get to hand pick the perfect, flawless individual. Odds are, even if that person did exist, you'd hate them for being too perfect anyway. Finding someone to share your life with isn't about checking off a list of demands. It's about being open to a connection. It's about getting to know someone on a deeper level. If you are constantly looking for Channing Tatum to walk through the door, you are missing out on a plethora of pretty great guys. Yes, attraction IS important, but attraction can be found in many ways. You know that guy at the office, who seems kinda dorky, until you get to know him, then you find yourself suddenly attracted to him? Yeah, that happens. But not if you never bother to get to know someone.
And ladies... knock it off with this "he better treat me like a queen" bullshit. You know who gets treated like a queen? The fucking queen. That's it. The rest of us are responsible for cleaning our own toilets, going to work, and being responsible for ourselves. If a man holds doors for you, treats you to dinner, or buys you gifts.... be grateful. That is not an obligation, that is him being incredibly kind, and you better freaking return the favor.
Women need to stop living in fairytale land. You are not Cinderella, and he is not Prince Charming. If you want a good, healthy, happy relationship that will stand the test of time, start being realistic. Stop putting every decent guy in "the friend zone" as though they aren't good enough to date you. Stop blaming every guy for some loser's bad behavior. Get over it, and move on. He isn't your ex, so he shouldn't be punished for the last guy's mistakes. And if you keep repeatedly dating assholes... maybe the problem is you, drama queen.
Good men are out there. And odds are, you know several. But you've dismissed them because they don't fit some romantic comedy, Disney princess world you think you live in. So if you're sick of being single... then stop being stupid. Open your eyes, and pay attention. That super nice guy who always makes you laugh, listens to you bitch about men, and knows all your favorite things.... maybe he should be more than just your Plan B.

*Disclaimer: Before you insist on telling me how wrong I am... Save yourself the mental anguish. I'm sure you are a perfectly lovely young woman, and the only reason you are single is because A) all men are jerks B) you choose to be C) you are focusing on your career/children/self or D) all of the above.

Boobs vs. Balls

Women are generally considered the weaker sex. But whatever man decided that, was obviously an idiot.
As I sit here, I am currently being repeatedly punched in my ovaries by Mother Nature. Yup. Once a month, that bitch decides that women need a week to ten days to really hate themselves. I'll spare you the gory details, but let's just say The Red Curse is no one's friend. We get bloated, so nothing we own fits right. Add to that the fact that our hormones are currently waging a war with our brains & bodies, so we can't decide if we are sad, happy, horny, hungry, or angry. Oh, and did I mention the body aches, cramps, migraines, back pain, fatigue, and general unpleasantness of it all?
But a man gets the sniffles and you'd think it's the plague. We suffer all of this once a month, and don't even take a sick day. Weaker sex, my ass...
And while I personally have not carried a child and pushed it out of my nether bits, I think it's safe to say that it isn't 9 months of vacation followed by a vaginal massage.
Tell me again how annoying it is to have your balls stick to your leg when it's hot.
And while I am a big fan of the boobies, they aren't exactly easy to live with either. First of all, there's no winning when it comes to size. Too small, too big.... they both have their pros and cons. To be fair, I'm sure these same issues come into play when it comes to penises as well. But at least that is hidden in your pants, so you aren't being judged on it every single time you meet someone. There are only so many ways to hide breasts, and even in a turtleneck you can tell if she's rocking an A cup, or some DDs.
And if you do have some biggems, I hope you like sleeping on your back. Because unless you have holes in your mattress, sleeping on your stomach hasn't been an option since 9th grade. And if you think your back hurts after a long day, try hanging ten pound weights off your shoulders and see how it feels. Wanna go for a jog? Sure! Just let me zip tie these bad boys down and I'll be right with ya!
So maybe your average female can't bench press a Buick, and the occasional jar of pickles gives us a run for our money, but I certainly don't think we are weak.
You fellas may have balls of steel, but we have boobs of steel too, and don't you forget it.

My Unsolicited Advice Part 1: Fashion

Hi, my name is Teena, and I like to share my opinions with others. Some people require buckets of alcohol to be filter-less, but not me. I'm just naturally outspoken. It's a gift, really. On my resume, brutal honesty should be listed as a skill. It's not, but I'm considering adding it. But I digress....
Surprisingly enough, for as often as I don't keep my trap shut, I really do bite my tongue A LOT. It's true. Why do I do this? Well for starters, there really is a time and place, and though I may not be known for it, I do actually have tact. So sometimes, I just smile and grit my teeth. All the while secretly hoping that someone else is less tactful. Or drunk. But then it dawned on me.... I HAVE A BLOG. So while I may be expected to occasionally zip my lips, I can always write whatever the hell I want. So today, my friends, I am going to get some things off my chest that I would normally keep to myself. Because, well... I can.
Today, I'd like to start with fashion. Now, let it be known, that I am no expert in this field. I wear what I like, and what is comfortable. That being said, there are some basic dos and don'ts. Here are a few:
1. Don't wear Crocs. I mean seriously... are you avidly avoiding sex? Did you just come from cleaning up a crime scene? Do you have flippers where you should have feet? Crocs are the herpes of footwear, and they should be avoided at all costs. Personally, I'd walk bare foot over broken glass and fire before I put them on my feet.
2. Tights are for UNDER something. A long sweater dress, a pretty skirt, etc. They are not pants. And while I'm on the subject, let's go easy on the leggings, gals. I don't want to see your camel toe. NO ONE wants to see your camel toe. There is a proper way to wear leggings, and I hate to say this, but 85% of you ladies are doing it wrong.
3. Skinny jeans are for ladies. Period. There is no exception. If you fellas like to wear your denim a bit more snug, more power to ya, but if you require Crisco and an extra set of hands to get into it... No. Just no. And also... just like the name suggests, skinny jeans really are for the skinny. There is nothing wrong with curves, but wrapping them in something much too tight is not flattering.
4. Why, hipsters, why? We get it, you're artsy, edgy, non mainstream, and you were all those things BEFORE it was cool. But do you have to look so douchey? Wool caps & scarves are for winter. And stop giving glasses a bad name. I wear glasses because without them, I can't see. You asshats wear them for no reason, and now suddenly all of us visually challenged folks are being lumped in with you, and it's pissing me off. Now go drink your PBR in a dark corner somewhere, and bitch about society.
5. Can we all just agree to stop wearing Ed Hardy, Tap Out, and Affliction shirts? It just makes you look like a tool.
6. Yoga pants are for yoga. Shocking, I know. Apparently putting the name in the title wasn't informative enough. So let me just make sure this is clear. YOGA PANTS ARE FOR YOGA. Did you get it that time? Unless you are on your way to, currently practicing, or immediately coming from yoga... change your damn pants. I don't care how good they make your ass look. If you are actually doing yoga that much, your ass should look that great in anything.
7. Pajamas and sweats are not acceptable in public. It takes no more effort to put on real clothes. You want to know why you're single, no one will hire you, and people treat you like shit? Because you look like a mess. If you want to be taken seriously, start with how you present yourself to the world. You want people to respect you? Respect yourself enough to not look like a lazy piece of trash. Brush your teeth, comb your hair, and put on real pants.
8. Hey gangsta... pull your pants up. First of all, it's hardly practical to run from the police while holding up your drawers. Second, the only place it's ok to bust a sag that big, is in the bathroom. You don't have swagger, you just look like an idiot.
9. If you can't walk in heels that high, don't wear heels that high. Or practice first, so you don't look like you have a broomstick up your ass. They're shoes, it's not a tightrope act. If you struggle that much to keep your balance, you're doing it wrong. And don't feel too bad if you can't walk in the stilettos, because, let's be honest... they were made to wear whilst lying down anywho.
10. If you think it's too tight, short, low cut, or inappropriate, it probably is. Now don't get me wrong, I like a deep V as much as the next gal, but maybe wearing it to volunteer (bent over) with children all day isn't the best idea. And while that micro mini and stripper shoes are perfect for a night at the club, they probably aren't suitable for a job interview. Ya get me?

Well... that is my unsolicited advice for today. You're welcome.

All Kinds of Crazy...

Confession time: I am crazy. Yup, you read that right. Now I don't mean certifiable or straight jacket worthy. I'm talking, more along the lines of eccentric and a little silly at times. I like to think of myself as colorful, if you will. Let me explain...

If you ever come to our home, you will get a first hand view of some of my craziness. For starters, you will notice there are stuffed animals (very select ones, I might add) as throw pillows on our sofa. A giant Curious George and Hello Kitty make great snuggle buddies. There is also an entire bookcase dedicated to Legos. The bright and colorful little building blocks of happiness. There is a Lego pirate ship, complete with an ocean scene, a house I built over 15 years ago, on my hubs and I's first date, TONS of Lego miniature figurines (mini figs, as they are known to collectors) and a very detailed Lego Volkswagen camper bus. Just to name a few. 

I have a large collection of gnomes, also. And if that isn't "crazy" enough, they each have a name and a back story. Yes, a back story. I mean, how boring is a gnome collection if they don't have some fantastic and hilarious story? Exactly. So you see my point. 

I also have a Pillsbury dough boy as a kitchen mascot, artwork that ranges from nudes to a RAD movie poster, a bright orange living/dining room and a lime green bedroom. Are you getting the idea, here? My home reflects my crazy. Keep in mind, I am happily married, so my home reflects my hubs crazy, also. Plus, he IS with me, so his sanity has always been in question. 

Now, there are all kinds of crazy. There's harmful crazy and harmless crazy. There's funny crazy and "RUN! That bitch is CRAZY!" I fully accept and own my level of crazy. I am capable of functioning in the world, and most people would assume I am relatively normal. 

But people who know me well, know that I am different than others. For starters, I am brutally honest. If you ask me for my opinion, you had better be fully capable of dealing with it. I don't sugar coat, and I rarely hold back. I have been known to bite my tongue on occasion, but I loathe doing so. But some situations call for tact, and I do know how to be a lady. I am also incredibly open minded. I try not to judge people that I don't know, and I expect the same in return. This is not to say that I am not guilty of making assumptions from time to time, but I will admit when I'm wrong (though not readily, and not always out loud) and try to make corrections. I am FAR from perfect. My loved ones will be the first to tell you that. But neither are they, which is why I love them. I prefer my friends to be a little on the crazy side, as well. Though not too crazy, of course. I require my friends to have a healthy sense of humor and a reasonable level of intelligence. Open minded and honest are MAJOR bonuses. I have fantastic friends. I truly do. They have been there for me through A LOT, and still have my back. That's how I know they are crazy, too. And that's why I love them. They accept me for me. 

Everyone is crazy. Some more than others. Some hide theirs and some own it. Some good and some bad. There is truly no such thing as normal. Normal varies based on each person's individual crazy scale. So... how crazy are you???

The Laundry Enigma

If you've ever lived on your own and done your own laundry, you know that it is a never ending job. Just as soon as you empty every hamper, fold the last sock, and put away the final pair of pants, you turn around, and there is more. It's like towels and underwear reproduce in the hamper. I swear, I do not wear four pairs of panties a day, yet somehow within what seems like mere days of washing, drying and folding everything I own, the drawer is empty. Well... not empty. There is always those random skivvies in the very back of the drawer that never, ever get worn. I'm honestly not even sure where they came from in the first place. Are those even mine?? 
Anyway... you get the point. Laundry is an enigma. The number of items worn/used never match the enormous piles in the hampers, on the floor and in a trail, like breadcrumbs, to the laundry room. How does this happen?? Are there little laundry elves that sneak in at night whilst we sleep and wear all of our clothes? Are my towels and linens getting it on in the closet and expecting me to clean up after their linty orgy? And seriously... when did we get so damn many washcloths?! I just don't get it...
I don't mind household chores, I rather enjoy cleaning and organizing for the most part. But laundry is my nemesis. It's my kryptonite. It is the household chore I struggle with the most. There are just so many steps! Gather, separate/sort, pre-treat, wash, dry, fold, put away and repeat. I didn't include ironing, because, well, I'll be honest, I only iron for weddings and funerals. If an extra 15 minutes in the dryer with three fabric softener sheets can't get the wrinkles out, I just wear something else. 
I am the queen of the dryer restart. Not ready to fold just yet? No problem! Yup, that's me. I have no issues getting the clothes from the hamper to the washer, and the washer to the dryer, but after that... well, I start to lose interest. Besides, I kinda like pulling my socks out of a warm dryer and putting them on. And what's better than a fresh, warm towel? Never mind that I had to run dripping and naked to the laundry room to get it. It's WARM! And the dryer is no harder to dig through than a dresser drawer. Am I right? Ok, Ok... I know. It's pathetic. Just fold the crap and put it away. It's a reasonable request, and shouldn't be that hard. BUT IT IS!! It's like the moment I hear the dryer stop, I instantly think of hundreds of things I need to do RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT! Those shoes weren't going to relace themselves, people. 
So what's the solution to this? I think nudists have the right idea. No clothes to wash, and free as the day you were born. But then there would be naked asses on all my furniture. So I'd have to scrub that more often. DAMMIT, there's no winning. And I think I just heard the dryer stop...

Why I Don't Wear White

It is hot outside today. But since I refuse to turn on the air yet, I am staying cool by wearing as little as possible. Inside the comfort (and privacy) of my own home, of course. So whilst looking for something cool and comfy to wear, I spotted this adorable sundress in my closet. It is soft thin cotton and 100% white. Seriously, who makes this shit? Yes, it's cute. Very cute, in fact. But I have never worn it outside my home. Why, you ask? Did you NOT see where I said it was white? AND thin cotton. Also, it isn't bra friendly. And by that I mean, the top half was made for a flat chested 8 year old. How this qualifies as a women's dress is a mystery. But, I got it for like $1 at a thrift store a million years ago and I refuse to part with it. So.. let's rehash: It's thin WHITE cotton and I cannot wear a bra with it. So clearly this falls into the category of pajamas and cannot be worn in public. But it is freakishly comfortable, and very cool. 
I did all my chores this morning. Cleaned the house, did the laundry, defrosted dinner... all of it. So my plan for the remainder of the afternoon was to relax and do some reading. Nothing that should make wearing white an issue, right? WRONG! I swear I don't know how it happens, but somehow stains have found me. I don't even know what this spot is! It just appeared out of nowhere and landed on my white dress. I'm clearly not leaving the house, so this isn't a serious problem or anything, but it is why I don't buy or wear a lot (or any) white things. Wearing white is just asking to fall into a pile of dog shit or be sneezed on by a llama. If I were to wear white pants, I would surely start my period immediately. Wearing a white top means I will stumble into a pool or giant puddle. In front of a preschool. And end up on the sex offenders list for public indecency. That's just the way it goes with white. 
So why did I buy this white dress that I clearly knew was a mistake and could never wear in public?? Because it's CUTE! I LOVE the look of white. It sucks you in with it's cleanness. It screams "Look at me! I'm so clean and pretty! You know you want to wear me!" and I DO! Until I wear it. Then I remember why it's the devil. It's only clean while it's on the hanger. The second you put it on, it becomes a magnet for every piece of dirt, snot, body fluid and filth the universe can throw at it. I firmly believe that wearing white is just cocky. It's like taunting karma. Whomever decided that wedding gowns should be white, clearly had a sick sense of humor. Oh, the most important day of a woman's life and the most stressful, let's put her in something ridiculously expensive and white! That'll teach her! You ever own a pair of pretty white tennis shoes? Yeah, for 35 seconds!! Until I realized I needed to walk! {insert pile of dog crap here} 
White is evil. I know we equate goodness and light with white and fear and darkness with black, but I think we have it all wrong. Black is slimming, and hides most stains. Unless you have a white cat or dog, then you're screwed. But clearly another example of why white is bad. 
So I guess my point here (yes, I DO have a point) is that no matter how cute it is, and no matter how good the commercials and magazine photos make it look, white is not my color. Well... it IS my color. In a sense. I mean my skin is glaring white and all. And not the good, porcelain, classy white, either. More like a glow in the dark, lots of freckles, blotchy mess white. So I am making a vow right now, for all of you to witness. NO MORE WHITE!! No matter how cute, and how cheap, I shall not buy it. 
Even though I love this dress, and if I could wear a bra with it, I *might* just wear it outside. 
Shit! Is that another spot??! 

The Joys of Crafting...

I've talked about my craft addiction before. I've told you how much I enjoy having a constant outlet for my creative juices. (They tend to get out of hand if you don't direct them at something.) But I don't think I've ever talked about the true joys of crafting. Let me elaborate...
When you get a brilliant idea for a craft at 3:30 in the morning, and cannot fall asleep because your mind won't stop running through all the supplies, etc. Craft joy.
When you think you have everything you need to complete an awesome project, only to realize half way through that you are missing one thing. Craft joy.
When you run the vacuum three times, but still can't get the glitter out of your carpet. Craft joy.
When you burn yourself 18 times with your glue gun, on one thing. Craft joy.
When you see an awesome craft on Pinterest and grab your purse and keys to run to Hobby Lobby to get everything you'll need. Then realize it's Sunday. Craft joy.
When you have paint on every item of clothing you own. Craft joy.
When every single person you know thinks you are their personal crafter for every random project they can think of, or have seen on TV or pinterest. Craft joy.
When people tell you "better ways" to do a project that you have been making for years. Craft joy.
When you find glitter, paint, glue, etc. in strange places, and have no logical explanation for how it got there. Like your underwear, or inside the freezer. Craft joy.
When you're selling your crafts at a show and people talk about how "they could make that" right in front of you. And then proceed to ask you exactly how you made it. Craft joy.
When all available space in closets, cabinets, etc. in your home is taken up with supplies or finished projects, but you're still crafting. Craft joy.
But the biggest one of all. When you go through all of the above, but you still get excited to make crafts. That is real, genuine CRAFT JOY. That is when you know you've got it bad...

The End is Near???

According to the Mayan calendar, we are just a little less than two months away from the end of time. December 21, 2012. 
For some, this is nothing but hogwash, but for others, they have been preparing and planning for this for years. Shelters, food stashes, weapons, etc. 
Me, I'm not sure what I believe...
I've done a bit of research into it and found some interesting information. According to some believers, the end will be brought on by an onslaught from Mother Nature. Earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, fires and more will wreak havoc on the land until there is nothing left. This makes me a tad nervous...
Natural disasters are at a record high. Even as I type this, a hurricane of unknown proportions is headed toward the east coast. California is on alert for wildfires and there are earthquakes in Canada, just to name a few. I'd love to just shake my head and say "Bah! Those crazies are always yelling apocalypse!" But the last thing I want to hear whilst being attacked by zombies is "I told ya so." So maybe, just maybe, we should consider the possibility. I mean, is it so insane to have a well stocked first aid kit and a full tank of gas?? And maybe some granola bars and bottled water, too? Don't be silly, that's just common sense. But let's say I wanted to be even more prepared... you know, hypothetically speaking, of course. What would a gal do? I'm not even sure of the best things to have in an apocalyptic situation. Lots of toilet paper would be a good thing, I imagine. Just for kicks, I Googled 'emergency preparedness'. I found kits for hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, wilderness and on the go. But nothing for zombie attacks or end of times. You would think this would give me some comfort. If there are no kits, then no one must really be taking this seriously, right? Or maybe I'm not the only one who doesn't know what to pack. I find this upsetting. Normally, I am a great packer. Prepared for anything. But this is different. Will the end be cold or hot? I certainly won't need formal wear, but what shoes do I bring? Lipgloss is a must, but I suppose the hair dryer is overkill. Extra socks and undies of course, boy shorts, not thongs. And what about food? Canned goods and peanut butter of course, but how do I choose what snacks I want? I mean, zombie killing is quite the workout, so high energy foods are important. But after a long day of building shelters and hunting dinner, don't I deserve a nice treat? Skittles don't take up that much space. And what about creature comforts? Is there room for my iPod? A few books? How will I sleep with only one pillow?? 
Toothbrush, feminine hygiene and a razor are musts. And let's not forget tools. Tools for cooking, building, repairs and more. 
This is too stressful. I suppose if you forget something, you can always raid abandoned homes or stores, right? It's not stealing, it's survival, don't judge. And is it better to work in groups, or go solo? More people means more brain power and problem solving, but it also means more supplies used, and I am NOT sharing my Skittles. Probably selective teams is best. At least until things get more stabilized. Maybe I am over thinking this. But better safe than sorry. At least if it happens, we won't have to celebrate Christmas...

Pinterest Addict

For those of you who are not on Pinterest, I am so sorry. For those of you who are. Hello, my name is Teena, and I have a Pinterest addiction. (insert chorus of "Hi Teena's" here)
Pinterest is a place where you create boards for everything you could ever fathom and 'pin' things to them. Sounds simple and almost silly, right? WRONG! It's pure genius! Have you ever wanted a giant cork board where you can pin every recipe you would like to try? Or maybe a place to store pics that make you laugh, or inspire you to work out? Planning a wedding or a party & need a spot to not only find great ideas, but save them too? PINTEREST IS IT!
Whatever brilliant mind (It had to be a woman.) created this magical, wonderful world... I bow to your superb wisdom. If Pinterest was a religion, I would be baptized in its glory. It is a slice of birthday cake, wrapped in a hot caramel sundae, dipped in sprinkles with a side of bacon and cookies. It is pure, unadulterated joy. I login and in seconds I am laughing, crying, starving and ready to run a marathon. No other website has the ability to not only suck me in so deeply, but to do it for such incredible lengths of time. There is a phenomenon that occurs the moment you log in to Pinterest. Time no longer makes sense. I call it the Pinterest wormhole. A wrinkle in time, if you will. I start pinning, and before I know it hours have passed. Hours that felt like mere moments. But what joyus, blessed hours they are. It's like a peaceful cocoon of pleasure that wraps around your brain and makes you feel creative, beautiful, smart, funny and a little out of shape but inspired to change.
Then something happens...
You log off and realize that your clothes are hideous, your house is in desperate need of redecorating, you do not have any of the ingredients to be a master chef, your abs look more like a gallon jug than a 6 pack and your children have been waiting for lunch for several hours. The pinning high is gone... It's like a switch has been flipped and suddenly this amazing life you have created on imaginary boards isn't really real. (Although the craving for dessert somehow manages to linger much longer than the inspiration to work out does...) So what do you do? How do you get that feeling back?
You log back in and start pinning. This is the vicious Pinterest cycle. Sadly, there is not yet a 12 step program for this, though I imagine many of us could use it.
If I find one, I'll be sure to repin it...

Crazy for Crafts

Hello. My name is Teena and I am a craftaholic. I love to craft. I don't just enjoy it or like it. I LOVE it. I live and breath crafting.
I cannot throw things away without first deciding if I can make something awesome out of it. I love the smell of spray paint and sharpies. I look at fabrics, stickers and ribbon the way a teenage boy looks at porn. I will attempt any craft. Jewelry making, sewing, upcycling... I've done them all.
Thrift shops, garage sales and dollar stores are places of worship. Treasure troves of colorful do-dads and whatnots that have an endless number of uses.
Some people have craft kits or even craft closets. I have a craft room. (Some may call it a laundry room, but I know better.) Baskets, bags and boxes overflowing with supplies just waiting to become something fabulous and useful.
I am a crafter. Crafters look at the world through creative eyes. We don't see twigs and yard debris. We see a nature themed wreath or centerpiece. Everyday household items become new and magnificent things. We thrive on colors and textures. We are artists who's masterpieces are displayed on tables, walls and porches all over the world.
The burn from a high temp glue gun makes us feel alive. We find glitter in our bras and can't explain how it got there. We have at least one glob of paint on every pair of pants we own, but we wear them out to dinner anyway.
We are crafters and we make the world a more colorful, organized place, one Pinterest project at a time.
So yes, I am a Craftaholic. Now give me my glue gun and get out of my way, I have work to do.