Got Turkey? And pho? And ring?

What a packed Thanksgiving.

I must say I love that my family has everything. I’m not stuck with some boring Thanksgiving dinner. No ma’am Pam! Of course we have the typical Thanksgiving grub. Turkey, stuffing, potatoes and gravy…woohoo. BUT. Then we get tamales and red chili and PHO. When’s the last time you had pho for Thanksgiving? Yeah.

But aside from having a massive food baby (gotta fuel up for Black Friday!), I got another surprise!



Yup. It went and happened. The night before Thanksgiving, actually. He put it in my bowl of pie and ice cream and brought it to me. Caught me off guard. Couldn’t even talk. Rare phenomenon right there, folks. So that’s the first ring. Then we went a got me another ring! Because the first one is his mom’s. Pretty kickass of her to let him use it, right?


I cannot seem to get a good picture of this thing. However, it is way cute. It has stuff engraved on the inside and there’s three little hearts underneath the diamonds. One day I’ll post up better pictures of it. Just not today.


And now for less serious business…the mister is having his first REAL bowl of pho. I say REAL because the first time he had it, he ordered it with chicken. …really? Whatever. He made it, he ate it, and it was great! He was trying to wait for the turkey and all the other normal food, but with enough peer pressure and the fact that he was otherwise starving, he got the pho appetizer. Win.


THEN he wanted pictures together. I tried to satisfy this request with a couple selfies, but he was not pleased. So I had to fluff my hair and sit down and look nice. For whatever reason, though, no one told me to go dab the shinyness off my face! Rude. And since I am not the biggest fan of OTHERS taking pictures of me, this is how my face turned out. With my awesome bandaid accessory (I got a flu shot at my appointment this week). And speaking of said bandaid…I got a lot of criticism from my MOM for having it show. Just can’t win, man. Well with all the bandaid backlash going on I decided to take it off. Which led to THIS masterpiece, enlarged for your viewing pleasure:


Mister had managed to keep the same face the ENTIRE TIME. But taking that bandaid off was damn painful. The adhesive had to be the very close cousin of super glue. And while the last two shots of the sequence look as though I am trying to pose for a glamour shot, I was really just trying to see what the hell was going on between the bandaid and my skin. I suppose the dialogue would go something like this:
1. Okay, I’ll take the bandaid off.
2. Noooo!
3. It hurts baaaaaad!
4. Agh! Is it almost off?
5. Okay. Just one more pull. I got this.

Whomp whomp. I can be such a weenie. Certified!

Hope everyone else had a super stuffed food coma day.



I hate bugs.


Hate is a strong word and it is the most accurate for this.
We live next to a field so pests are kind of expected. And it’s summer so mother nature thinks it’s cute be out in FULL FORCE with all the flowers and grass and such. But I guess living on the top floor on a condominium is just prime real estate for spiders. I’m pissed.

Some of these spiders –JUMPING spiders, to make matters worse– have found their way into my home. I don’t want to fume the crap out of my house because that is too much hassle. I DID, however, get this spray stuff from Home Depot and it has helped, but there’s always the ones that manage to get away. And these little bites are driving me nuts. The itching…is brutal. The anti-itch cream does absolutely nothing for me. And it’s extra strength! I tried the Windex home remedy and that was working pretty great for a while. Nothing like spraying ammonia on your itchy skin, right? But it was helping! However, I had to let it air dry for it to be most effective and that is just flat out…just no. I’m tired of walking around with my arm held up at an awkward angle and Windex running down my leg. Just NO.

So one day I was wasting my life away on Pinterest and I found another home remedy for bug bites. And I think it’s supposed to work for a majority of bug bites (so mosquitoes, spiders, maybe bees, ants). Of course I didn’t click like so I could go back to it. All I did was think, ‘Oh man, I’m gonna have to remember that one.’

That was a week or two ago…or so. I got another bite today and it’s on my HAND. The annoyance. I sprayed Windex and was reminded of the air drying fiasco and that led me to jump on Google. Got my butt in gear.

Are you ready for this awesome trick?




Hot water. I want to say searing, but it’s not. We’re not trying to cause 3rd degree burns on top of a bug bite, here. But think of when you’re running water for a nice hot bubble bath and you think it’s going to be like a hot tub and you can suds yourself up while the knots in your muscles are softened out…and then you stick your foot into the water and it feels like you just stepped into a human sized soup pot. (How’s that for a run-on?) So think of that and then take it down a notch or two to where it’s still kind of uncomfortably hot but not scalding. WE DON’T WANT BURNS HERE, PEOPLE. Stick the offending bug bitten area under (or in, depending on where that bite is) the hot water for…ohhh I don’t know. Maybe 30 seconds to a minute. Supposedly, the heat helps to destroy the enzyme in the bite that causes the itching. You might only need to do this once or you may need to do it periodically. For me, as long as I’m not walking around smelling like Eau de Ammonia, I’m stoked. And it was pretty instant for me, compared to the other remedies.

I feel though, that in this day and age, I have to add a disclaimer. I am NOT in ANY WAY responsible for any injuries you may incur by doing this. Use some common sense, folks.

Man. Come ONNNNN, winter! I’m ready whenever you are!!

Wine Cubes – The best thing since the wine bottle

I need you to observe something. And observe it good.


This is a Wine Cube. They come in assorted deliciousness. This one happens to be pink Moscato. I love Moscato. It’s like apple juice for grown ups. Grown up that have boobs.

Now then. Each little magical box holds not one but TWO 750mL bottle inside of its compact packaging. And it matches my pink glitter sippy cup! Please note it’s not really a sippy cup. It’s an amazing cup covered in pink glitter with a lid and straw. And the straw has a lip on the bottom of it so it does not get detached from the cup!

Geniuses still exist in the world. Whoever thought of this cup design, CHEERS TO YOU.

Tampons. Not just for blood.

These magical little inventions. These brilliant spirit concealing contraptions.

Now, from just the photo, I really think you would need to have all of them in order for this to be worth it.

I give you…tampon flasks.


You get five of them. The tubes are supposed to be reusable but the wrappers are specified as ‘single use.’ I think that’s the part I find annoying. But that’s a small flaw for such awesome ingenuity. One shot per tube.
So you fill up your tampon tubes with your desired poison, put on the cap, and seal it in the wrapper. The cool thing about alcohol, is it doesn’t need to be refrigerated! Just throw in your purse and forget about it until that really shitty day at work and 5 o’clock is just taking its sweet ass time coming around.

I’m fairly tempted to buy a box because this is just a novelty item I need to have. Can’t buy it for about a week, though. So says the Lords of Amazon. Kind of reminds me of the rainbow test tube shots. I have those. I like those. Not portable though.

But this tampon thing also reminds me of a crazy story I heard about earlier this year. Are you ready for it?
Alcohol soaked tampons inserted into the anus. And then left to sit there and intoxicate the user.

Now whether it’s a real thing or not (I honestly don’t doubt it because I’ve heard of far stranger things), what is up with kids these days? What happened to finding that one cool cousin that had just turned 21 and talking them into buying you a bottle? For a while there was that hand sanitizer craze. I mean really kids? Really?

Alcohol is great fun and all, but I have zero intention of downing some Germ X or walking around with a vagina plug in my butt.


Children…Meet the Internet

So I have two kids, two boys. They are two and one years old.
Boys, meet the internet. Internet, meet the boys.


This is Leo and Luke. And they actually have full names. Leonard Alexander and Lukas James. Leo is my chihuahua and Luke is my chunky chiweenie.


Leo is my sweetie sweetums. Sweetest little thing on earth. He couldn’t be mean if he tried, and he’s tried. He’s such an oddly put together little guy. His dad is a little long haired chihuahua and his mom was a skinny short haired thing with these long deer legs. He came out pigeon-toed on his back legs, one of his front legs is about an inch longer than the rest, he’s double jointed (you should see him army crawl across the house), and only one of his testicles dropped (it’s gotta come out through surgery).


And then we’ve got Luke. He’s basically a toddler. A lazy…lazy, lazy, lazy…toddler. And check out those ears. I don’t have to pay for satellite TV because he gets great reception as it is. He’s double jointed like Leo, but only uses that to stretch reeeeeeally good in the mornings. And after naps. He sleeps like a child at night and takes up half the bed, and snores like a grown man.


You know I was talking with a friend about considering dogs as children. They are furbabies. And then some guy decided to say that girls that own little dogs should not call themselves ‘moms’ and celebrate Mother’s Day.

Let me explain something to you.
The only difference between my two year old and yours, is that you can claim yours on your taxes.
My boys depend on me. They wouldn’t last a day on their own. I provide shelter, food and water, warmth, love, interaction, clothing (mostly just for Leo because he gets cold easily – typical chihuahua); I clean up after their messes; I discipline them; I encourage them; I teach them; I bathe them. They need doctor visits just like kids. The expenses that go into having them are definitely not equal to the expenses of raising a human child, but since when did money make someone’s life more important? They are DEPENDENT on ME. I am the mom. I am a proud MOM. And even though it’s damn sad to say, my dogs behave better than most people’s children. And you can take that to the bank.

<3 S


This is more of a quick rant. Fairly short.

So have you noticed that lately asking a person’s sexual orientation is becoming a thing that people feel the need to ask? I’ve been seeing it in celebrity interviews quite a bit. Since there’s been quite an uproar over equal marriage rights and such, everyone wants to know what everyone is now.

I mean I guess it could eventually become one of those ‘fun facts’ like knowing someone’s favorite color or whether they prefer Chipotle or Qdoba. But just like those little fun facts…who the hell cares? What is it to you.

And since the world is still having some idiotic homophobic issues, why are you going to  ask a question like that right now? Kids get bullied for coming out of the closet, but you want to ask someone on the spot, on national television, what their sexual orientation is.  I don’t know. Maybe it could be a good thing, having high profile folk express their sexual orientation and still continue with life. Maybe it could show the rest of the world that they need to get over it.

I think I’ve been asked only a handful of times as to which side of the fence I was hanging out on. I don’t think I ever told anyone I was straight. I told my mom I thought I was a lesbian when I was 13. I was comfortable with the bisexual label for a few years. But you know what. It’s that word: label.

Humans have that god awful need to label and categorize every damn thing.

We’ve got all these labels so we can put someone in a judgmental category based on their sexual orientation, because that’s just oh-so fucking important, right?

Gay, lesbian, bi, straight, asexual, pansexual…

So I have decided that it is nobody’s goddamn business.


I turn myself on, kthx.


And really, how could I not?

Fuck Feelings

Not all feelings, mind you. I’m down for anger. And indifference. And happiness.

What I’m not down for is the L word. Love. It’s worse than meth, I tell you. It takes over peoples’ minds, their lives, their emotions go on a rollercoaster, they experience withdrawals when that certain someone isn’t around for the tiniest period of time…just say no!

Let me clarify, though. Family love is fine. Friend love is fine. Head-over-heels, this person completes me, can’t live without you kind of love…not fine. Been there, done that, don’t want it again.

I like worrying only about myself and my dogs. I like essentially being in a multi-way relationship with my friends. That’s all I need to fulfill my relationship and social needs.
There’s a whole affectionate level that comes with full blown relationships and commitment that really scares the shit out of me.

Those that fall in love, get married, and stay married for decades…a million kudos to you.

Once upon a time, back in the day, I had a relationship. A hardcore relationship that lasted about five years. It was such a hassle. I honestly cannot picture how it would be if I was still in it. The constant communication even when I just needed to be alone, the overly constant affection, the routine sex that happened too often because HE believed that a “healthy sex life” was just such a huge component to a good relationship…

I’m definitely on guard. I’ll admit that. Even bringing new friends into my life is a long process if anyone actually gets to that point. I had a once close friend go on a huge spiel about what it takes to get past my personal security. There’s mazes, vaults, and fake dollars. It was a intricate piece. But even with all of that, I’m happy with the people that I have let into my life. And that’s all that matters.

I’ve had a couple short and random flings (can’t even call them relationships right now) since the big boyfriend. But something was just off about them. I don’t think you are supposed to feel the L word within the first month or two of being with someone. That’s just not normal. Note that it wasn’t me that was bringing up such strong statements.
Scientists have even said…if you meet someone and fireworks go off…run. Run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

Out of the eight billion odd people that are in the world, there’s going to be some people that find their lifelong companion early on. Good for them. But that is such a small percentage that those happy endings have turned into nothing but fairytales.
For me, and a lot of others, anything before 27 (and even that’s iffy) is too young for lifelong commitments and marriage.

Why can’t people just be happy with friends? Take the time to better yourself and do all the things you want to do before someone tries to chain you down.
My dogs are my kids. I have a close friend that is considered ‘the hubby.’ And I have given the nickname ‘Husband #3’ to another good friend.

I think it’s when people start saying that they’re looking for someone to ‘complete them.’ I’m sorry, what? You can’t be a complete person by yourself? You have to rely on someone else for that? What if it doesn’t work out? You just crumble back down to half a person? Quarter of a person? Third? Fifth? Fraction? That’s not healthy. The way it’s supposed to be, is two whole persons together. Why would you want only half a person anyways?

And this is why I must say that my friends and I make the best multi-way couple/group/cult as could possibly be. Everyone is completely their own person.

I don’t know. Maybe the L word is just far too heavy for me. There’s so much baggage that comes with it. I’m not one to pack lightly to begin with, but I sure as hell don’t want anyone else adding on.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Traveling to the Enemy Land

I have always hated California. Aside from Prop 8, they have the WORST drivers. I didn’t have to visit California to know that because they all come to Colorado!

They are just damn crazy people.

But a very dear friend moved out there and I promised I would visit. And I must say, that it’s a good thing he didn’t move to  Utah. Because I would NOT visit. No matter how dear. Even the crappy states get rated. And California rates above Utah. Not by much, but enough for me to visit for a couple of days.

I booked my trip at the beginning of December for the third weekend of January. Kind of short notice, but it was fine.

Now…I flew. Because it’s faster. The last time I flew, I had pretty much sworn off it for a while. I think it was the fall of 2009 or 2010, probably 2010. I spur of the moment booked a flight to Alaska because I REALLY love Alaska and have been wanting to go to school out there. I had booked just a smidge past the tourist season so flights were janky. And I mean JANE-KEE. I think it was two connections, and I would basically be traveling for twelve or so hours. Start in Denver, layover in Kansas or something, layover in Seattle. And the whole trip started off bad because my ride to the airport decided to fall asleep and I had to catch an $80 cab ride to the airport at 5 in the morning. It was more of $60 ride, but I tipped $20 because that cabbie floored it. Talk about stress. Thank the martini gods you can drink at 7 in the morning in-flight.
The flight back was worse. Coming back is always worse. You just want to get the hell home. Amazing, my ride FROM the airport was on time. I still ripped him out for the huge flub, though.

Back to California.

I flew. It’s a two and a half hour flight, I think. So not too bad. But before you can get on the flight, you have to go through TSA. Oh TSA. I was freaking out just a bit. I was reading horror stories on the internet about all the recent mess people were going through with them. Nice way to make yourself stressed out, right? I was wearing clip-in extensions constantly and had read the stories of women being publicly embarrassed because of all said beauty secrets. There was a woman that was asked to take out her extensions and plenty others that were having their hair patted down. And another story of someone being asked to take out her nipple rings because of an agent’s BLATANT STUPIDITY. Don’t even get me started on that one.

Now, I’m sure there are those out there that are all gung-ho for TSA and security and safety. Shut up. Just shut up. I, along with countless other women, are not going to sit there and spend an hour styling our hair so that we can put the world’s smallest bomb on our clip-ins. And what? Blow up the plane? No. I understand there was some lady in China or whatever that tried to hide a bomb in her hair. Whatever. One idiot. Do not make me feel like I’m a goddamn criminal. Some of this crap TSA does is just down right stupid and I will voice my opinion to them.
So naturally, I still did my hair and had prepared to verbally abuse any TSA agent that tried to make a fuss over my hair. I walked through the body scanner and beeped. Of course. I’ve never walked through even an everyday metal detector without beeping. So they had me ‘assume the position.’ Something went off on my back, chest, and head area. A very nice lady agent came up to me and started the pat down and I told her I had clip-ins. She touched my hair in a way that a mom would do to her daughter when she’s bringing it away from her face. It was almost like she was fixing it. The only comment she made was that it was probably the big metal buttons on my shirt that set it off. Nice lady. Set a good tone for my trip. MOVING ON.

I landed late and got to my hotel even later. But it was fine. I had a huge king size bed to roll around in.

Now note that this is January. But not January in Colorado, but January in California. IT WAS SO NICE!!

I wore shorts.In January. I wore a dress. In January. I think it was about 80 degrees the entire time. Oh it was beautiful. Very strange not having three layers on.


I hit up a nearby mall and had some AMAZING food. Ohmygod. Islands Fine Burgers and Drinks…you will forever be in my heart. Typically, I HATE mixing sweet and savory. But they had these tacos with this pineapple and teriyaki salsa…my life began that very first bite. Five minutes, gone.


And then there comes the beach. I hate the ocean. I can swim fine, that’s not the problem. There’s just so much crap in there. And things that EAT YOU. No thank you. I’m fine without those parasites, sting rays, Portuguese man-of-wars, sharks, gross seaweed…URINE. I’m good from the sidelines, thanks. So I went to the beach, but did not go in the water. I looked at it though! And it was nice. I took this one from the Manhattan Beach pier. I could see the barnacles on the pier. Grossed me out pretty bad. Barnacles just…blegh.
I took the picture in a way that would not show the water treatment plant. Also gross. Smell of sewage if the wind blew the wrong way. I guess you eventually get used to it because it mixes with the ocean smell, but still.


Later went to the gay district with my dear friend and I am presenting to you: Hipster Realness.
We got these delicious but VERY strong drinks. One sip and I think we were both hammered. Two points to California for strong drinks. They cost enough anyways, better be something in them. And then we got these cute little burgers! Mine was some kobe beef burger with bacon. I stole his pickle. I love pickles.
Unfortunately, I can’t remember the name of the little pub we went to, but I’d know it if I saw it.


I really wish I had gotten a few more pictures of my trip. But I was more living in the moment. Still a little shocked at the fact that I willing traveled to California.

I took one selfie. Believe it or not, I don’t like taking pictures of myself. I will probably get out of that soon. I won’t post it here. I’m not particularly fond of it. But here’s a low quality picture of a beach sunset!


HAHA. Forgot one more thing. Saw this at the Islands restaurant and a few other places, too. California is just way to paranoid, I think. Don’t they know…everything causes cancer, nowadays.


Oh and get this. On the way back, I didn’t set anything off going through LAX. Did the body scanner, nothing. Maybe California is a little more accustomed to beauty secrets. Brownie points, LAX. Brownie points.

Kids Having Kids

Kids Having Kids

It’s a goddamn epidemic. We are not in a third-world country. We do not lack access to information. So why are so many young girls having kids? Getting pregnant isn’t even the issue anymore. The fact that these young girls are going through with the pregnancies, is. You HAVE a choice and that choice affects more than just you. Sure you blow up and get morning sickness and weird cravings and eventually have to push a watermelon out your peehole. But then who is going to pay for that $9,000 hospital bill? And who is going to buy all those baby supplies? And what about insurance and doctor visits? You really want to throw that hardship on your family? Oh no wait, you’ll get by with foodstamps, WIC, and basically the taxpayers’ money.

Do not misunderstand me. I support those government programs that help out those that need it. Everyone needs some help sometimes. Foodstamps can be a godsend for families and individuals struggling or just barely making it by. And WIC is an amazing resource. However…when you are 16 and 17 and 18 (and even younger, I’ve seen) and you are calling on those resources because YOU decided it would be a good idea to have a kid when you are a kid yourself…shame. When you think about it, it’s a little rude to be using someone else’s tax money for your poor decision. You wouldn’t need them if you had put more thought into your life.

Just take a step back for a second and really think if you really want to bring a new life into your current situation. JUST THINK FOR ONCE!

And not just the girls. These little boys running around sticking their pecker in anything that has a pulse and telling them it’s because of ‘love.’ Shame on you, too. Guaranteed, there is nothing wrong with your hand. Instead of spending money on that fake gold chain, those useless shoes that will be out of style by next month, or that cap to go with the rest of your collection, go buy a box of condoms. Take some damn responsibility. If you think you’re grown enough to have sex, be grown enough to buy condoms.

Talk about goddamn tunnel vision.

There are so many options out there but for one reason or another, they are not utilized.

I guess religion has played a role into this problem. There are religions that don’t allow birth control to begin with. Good for them. But you know what? Your god isn’t going to pay your bills or put food on the table. You can’t tell the hospital to bill your god for the delivery costs. Your landlord sure as hell isn’t going to accept that.
“Yeah, just fax an invoice to him. He’ll take care of me.”
No. That’s not how it works.
Why would you bring a new being into this world without knowing that you can provide for them without significant struggle?
“Because if it’s supposed to happen, god will make it happen.”
No. Use your brain. It’s simple biology. The sperm is supposed to find the egg.

After a while, it’s almost like these kids are doing it on purpose. How hard is it to use a condom? How hard is it to get on the pill? Or, and this is just the wildest idea of all, how hard is it to just not have sex?

99% of the time I honestly feel as though sex is overrated. It’s a process, it’s a hassle, it’s messy. I would rather sleep. Or go eat some delicious food.