WTFW: Pasta-palooza Pity Party

Ya’ll.

Ugh.

OK. I started my “food plan” (I was going to put “dick diet” in parentheses to emphasize my utter disgrace for this food plan I’m on, but, well, “dick diet” could send the wrong message. Phew. Glad I caught that before publishing.)

So, I feel like any time I start a food plan, I ought to send out a mass message. You know, like, a PSA.


This message would serve a dual purpose: to warn and to implore.

A warning, because ain’t no one seen hangry like this kind of hangry.

It starts around 8 AM, when I realize I don’t have a glazed pastry for second breakfast.

It continues when I’m rabidly hungry before my feeding time while monitoring the lunchroom as 100 students stuff their faces with food, and I can’t ask anymore if they’re going to finish their obviously-unloved-food.

I get really effing hangry when I all have to get me through the after-lunch-slump is water instead of 15 Hershey Kisses.

When I get home, and I’m positively famished, don’t even try to look at me unless you’re sprawled out in front of the refrigerator, buck naked, seductively balancing a burrito on your balls.

Don’t.EVEN.

A plea, because as much as I want a gooey, carby, chewy, sweet donut in my mouth, I can’t anymore. My leggings are starting to get stretched out. I just can’t, ya’ll.

Please, please, please do not tell me there are muffins and bagels in the staff lounge. I’ll run my fat ass down there and eat one of each while the rest of my sensible colleagues eat half of either/or.

Please don’t invite me to any parties, celebrations, or special eating functions. The second I see more than one kind of dip, mayo and cheese-based anything, and an over-frosted Costco birthday cake, I’m not giving two shits how many points the 80th dip-covered-chip I’m cramming in my gob will clock in at.

I.have.no.control. 

It’s not that I don’t want to help you celebrate. I’ll FaceTime you and sing you Happy Birthday/Congrats/Good Luck, while I eat my Laughing Cow cheese and cucumber. Just don’t let me see any of the food. 

Sweet baby Jesus and all that is holy, don’t let me see the food. 
(Actually, I hate talking on the phone, and FaceTime is the devil. I’ll just text you.)

I would like to point out that I DO NOT like the fact that I cannot be trusted at parties and get-togethers. I, too, wish that I could attend events without eating enough for three people. I am sorry I suck.

So, as per usual, the week I finally start to get my fat act together, there’s a staff luncheon. Unless you weren’t already aware, teachers, despite being overworked and overextended, know how to work it in the kitchen. The staff luncheons are one of my favorite days of the month. Not to mention, there is usually a Costco cake to celebrate the birthdays that month. There ain’t anything better in this world!

This month, the grade level hosting is doing a Pasta-palooza.

A FUCKING PASTA EXTRAVAGANZA. 

I seriously think I will need to get a sub that day.

How in all-that-is-good-and-right-in-this-world will I resist loading my plate with carby goodness and luscious sauce?

Sure, I could always just not go to the staff lounge and be sad eating my salad. But, that only works when I have not one clue that there is food to be had.

It has already been advertised.

This is my problem-the fact that, like a crack addict, I can’t even be within a mile radius of my drug of choice. When your drug is food, that is flat-out impossible.

It is going to take the power of the gods and every ounce of whatever tiny shred of willpower I have in my body to not participate in Pasta-palooza.

Pray for me.

What are YOUR methods for resisting temptations? Let me know in the comments, and maybe I can be helped. Maybe.

Enjoy these memes that I made here. Weight Watchers uses points to track food. Fuck points right now. 




All of the memes I generated here were done on imgflip

Sunday Survey

I’m a total noob. I can’t figure out how to insert a survey into a blog post. I wanted to survey all of you beautiful people on the topic of home buying, but I can’t follow simple directions. Instead of having a handy, easy to use, fun to participate in survey, I’m just going to write a few questions that I’m hoping ya’ll could answer. Thanks in advance! 

  • Condos? Yay or nay? Pros? Cons?
  • Any note-worthy personal experiences with living in a condo? 
  • Would you buy when home prices are high in order to take advantage of a $10,000 home grant?
  • How important was/is location to you?
  • How dumb is it to be scared of being stuck with a house that’s haunted? Is this a legit fear?
  • What if I’m stuck with terrible neighbors?
  • How terrible is being house poor? 
  • HELP

I have some real (and some made up) fears about buying a home. Permanence scares the ever-loving shit out of me. Despite feeling trepidatious and nervous-poopy, I need to get some perspective from unbiased home owners. Lay it all on me-horror stories and all. 

WTF Family Photos

In honor of my mother’s birthday yesterday, I thought I’d share my WTF Family Photos post for this week’s #fbf. Enjoy looking at some noob stranger’s family photos. But, really, you might find that they’re symbolic of your collection of weird family pictures before the advent of Instagram and other social media. You know, before everyone had hundreds of pictures of their lunch on their phone. Ah, the good ol’ days! 

In looking through some old family photo albums for pictures of my mom for my last post, Rein It In, I found some completely random, hilarious, and just plain WTF pictures. I took pictures of old pictures for hours, like a total noob, just so I could share them with all of you. 

I’m sure you are just thrilled to look at some random blogger’s family photos, but too bad. They were too good to just keep hidden in dusty books, never to be seen. 

I’d love it if some of you would share your most favorite WTF family photo. Let’s keep it weird. 

When showing this photo of my grandpa with a thong cake to my mom, she said, “We also made him a boob cake and my dog, Sadie, ate one of the tits. Just wow.

Every single person in this picture looks positively stunning, except for my uncle, who, apparently, thought it was a chance for a glamour shot #stunna

My uncle’s favorite part of Christmas was forgetting it was Christmas by taking a nap during most of it. 

My cousin played the part of “devil” far too well. If that’s not the face of up-to-no-good, I don’t know what is. Also, my mom said she made his costume out of an old bathrobe. My mom had skillz. 

Too cool for school. Crazy eyes really made my Spock hair pop. 

I love how, instead of rescuing their son/nephew/grandson from an evil goose chasing him, they instead took a photo for memory’s sake. 

This was my “whoa” face. You can read about it here. 

Another example of how ridiculous my family was. Apparently, capturing on film your darling child being attacked by the family dog was more important than saving her. Actually, our psycho dog was trying to eat the face off my doll. Regardless, my mom felt this a momentous enough event for this pic to have a place in a photo album. 

“Mom, are you watching me? I’m practically Mary Lou Retton!” as the dog is barfing in the background…

There were about 82 pictures of my dad’s sleep face. I’m not sure if that’s a VHS box or a box of chocolates. Either way, not one thing has changed today. 

Either my dad liked to wear his hats perched ever-so-slightly on the tippy top of his hair, or we now know where I got my immensely tall head. 

I can’t even right now with the glasses 😂😂😂

And my dad couldn’t even either. The joys of parenting, as can be read on his face. 

I wonder which asshole took this? Now ya’ll know being obnoxious with the camera is a learned trait. 

My mom: “I always felt I needed to have my hair as big as my body.”

Yup. 

Can you see the want in my eyes for alcohol? Where it all started. 

My mom said that I escaped to the kitchen and told everyone to leave me, “Boot”, and “Oonie” alone.  

“Dudes, who’s the beast using my head so she can stand? Who is allowing this?”

Here she is again. What the fuck?



I don’t even know. 

There were approximately twelve family members stuffed into this beauty. That’s how we rolled (barely). 

Look at how insanely thrilled my grandma was to get a toaster oven for Christmas. 

I shared this in my previous post, but what I didn’t divulge was that that hairy creature sitting on the bookshelf, looking all innocent, had a dick and balls. His girlfriend (not pictured) had you-know-whats. The most disturbing part about all of this was that my grandma and second cousin, Bonnie made them



Remember Doris and the tack-in-the-butt incident? This is Doris! You can see the murder in her eyes in this picture. 

I was always quite the fashionista. 

And, a family photo album is just not complete without a photo of the family dog taking the inaugural shit on the new grass. 

Flashback Friday: Bike Seats and Fannies of Steel

I almost forgot to post a #FBF post, so this one is coming to you late. It is almost time to dust off the old bike that I have used a total of five times. I can’t wait for the spring-I-am-totally-riding-my-bike-this-year-except-that-is-a-boldface-lie-season. Whoohoo! 

While living in Elko, I tried various workout classes and regimens, for no other reason than there was literally nothing else better to do. I did Pilates for nearly two years (yup, this fatty). I took a weights class in the old high school gym. I tried Zumba numerous times, despite being a spastic with no rhythm.  I took a Body Pump class and very nearly died. Lastly, I took one kettle bells class, and almost knocked the instructor out cold (whoever thought swinging heavy metal balls between between your legs was a good idea, anyway?). Despite my utter failures with fitness, I wasn’t giving up. I had yet to do spinning. 

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Flashback Friday: Felony Stop

The other day, my mom and I went driving around looking for a decent place for me to buy. After seeing one too many former crack dens, we decided to give up for the day. On our way home, we decided our feeble bodies needed sustenance after our arduous day. Four Lil’ Chickies and two cream slushes from Sonic later, and I was reminded of the time a trip to get ice cream almost landed us in jail. Read all about it in this week’s #FBF post:

All we wanted was ice cream. Dairy Queen Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Blizzards, to be exact. But, it’s never that simple when you’re a couple of fatties going for ice cream you really don’t need. Oh no.

Let me tell you the story of how an innocent trip to the local DQ ended up in a felony stop. Yes, you read that right.

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WTF Wednesdays #6

I’m going to start out this WTFW with a haiku:

House hunting sucks balls

All I can afford are dumps 

Ghetto life, here I come 

I have never in my life written a haiku. Even when we had to write them in high school, I somehow got out of doing it. I really don’t enjoy poetry, nor am I good at it. However, this was quite therapeutic. I rather enjoyed it. Thank you, Traci York and your Coffee Haikus. You inspired me to get creative and write my own haiku based on the fabulous house hunting experience I’ve had thus far. 

Don’t get me wrong. I love, like, LURVE looking at homes. In fact, I’ve spent more weekends driving around looking for open house signs in my favorite part of town than I’d care to admit. I’ve whiled away hours looking at homes online, hoping, dreaming. 

My absolute favorite part of this whole process of looking for a house to buy was getting to look at potential homes, Starbucks in hand, paint color ideas swirling in my brain. It’s legit one of my favorite ways to spend a Saturday. 

However, I’ve grown to not like the part where most of the nice homes I’ve looked at are, in fact, over budget (I don’t even want to get into how that happened). So, now, my potential homes are really quite stressful and disappointing to view. 

Some I haven’t even stepped foot in, because the overwhelming scent of cat urine almost knocked me out. Some I was afraid of contracting some disease from, because they were nasty enough for an episode of Hoarders. Some had boarded up doors, falling down kitchen cabinets, and enough dirt on the baseboards to build a baseball diamond. It blows my mind how people don’t feel the need to, at the very least, vacuum up the stale chip crumbs and nail clippings when they know their home will be viewed by potential buyers. It’s just disgusting and shockingly eye-opening to see how some people live. 

It’s almost comical. I mean, I would laugh if I wasn’t racing the clock, trying to find an affordable home, where I might not get shot in a drive by in, before a very generous teacher grant of $10,000 runs out. Yes, right now, in the state of Nevada, teachers can take advantage of a $10,000 grant to use on a new home and a lower interest rate.

So, here I am, looking to buy when the time is right to sell, so I can take advantage of the only way I’ll have a sizable down payment. 

When this whole process began, I knew I’d have to leave my beloved neighborhood, as the home prices have been off the charts expensive for a long time, because it’s a very hip area that’s being revitalized. 

So, I knew that. 

In the beginning, I refused to look anywhere outside of a very select “second best” group of neighborhoods. Once I realized that homes that used to be exactly in my price range, were now out of reach, I begrudgingly allowed my search criteria to be wider spread. 

That was just the beginning of the madness that is now my reality. 

At this point in the game, the only place that’s off limits is our pride and joy, the world renowned “Largest Trailer Park in America”. It may or may not be factual, but there is a community just north of Reno that has been called this for years by locals. 

No offense to anyone living there, as I’m sure it’s lovely, but I don’t wanna live there.

I’ve succumbed, in utter loss of any other options, to areas that I used to be dead set on never considering, due to commute, safety, and pride. 

This tiny home is only $80k, but it’s a no-go, because it doesn’t qualify for an FHA loan. This is likely due to it not passing some inspection. My guess is that it was used for a meth lab and there’s massive damage due to an explosion not showing in the image. Or, maybe, the floor is dug up, because some serial killer buried bodies there. Despite it being in a very undesirable location, and Google street view tells me the neighbors like to collect old appliances, I keep going to back to the listing. It has a certain charm.  

When I first saw this listing, I legit thought that what was on the roof was a stroller. Upon further inspection, it is actually, in fact, Santa and Mrs. Claus riding a lawnmower. The listing says that the junk around the home may or not be leaving with the current tenants. I really hope they decide to leave the rolling food cart. I have a cute crafting idea for it. 


This next one is a foreclosure, selling for $85k. It’s a whopping 336 square feet. What a steal. And, since it’s a foreclosure, the previous residents have probably started the remodeling process for me, with holes in the walls and bashed in appliances. This one is a forerunner.  

You’re gonna poop your pants on this next one. I even looked at a condo, with wall-to-wall neighbors *shudders*, in my least favorite location in town. That’s not even the kicker. You ready for this? One of the pictures has an orb in it. 

I looked at a property, knowing that it is most certainly haunted. 

Someone call a head doctor. Stat. 


This condo was actually really well taken care of, had a high-end, front-loading washer and dryer, and more than one bathroom, but it also comes with the spirit of a previous tenant. 

Nope. 

I’ve even looked at homes just down the street from my school. 

I love my students and all, but I see them all day, five days a week. I don’t need them knowing where I live, or to risk seeing them at a grocery store, while I’m buying a box of wine in my weekend apparel that usually consists of no bra, hole-y sweats, and my Zero 🦊 Given shirt. 

Just no.

So, as it stands, The Haunting is the property with the most potential, but I’m not convinced it’s a smart investment to purchase a condo in a less than ideal location. And, despite loving the show Paranormal Witness, I really don’t want to be a sad tale that people watch, thinking, “Thank God that’s not me!” 

The search continues. 

I’m really not that big of a snob. A true snob wouldn’t have thought twice about some of the properties I’ve added to my “favorites” folder on MLS before deleting them, and calling their realtor for a reminder on what’s acceptable and what’s not. So there. 

WTF Wednesday #5

Just me and my best friend (not a random dog I borrowed to snap a pic for Instagram).


As many of my followers know, I’m on the hunt for a house. I couldn’t have chosen the absolute worst time to do that, too. It’s a seller’s market in my area, and home prices are climbing to new heights. Homes that would have been right up my monetary alley are not even within reach. 

Probably you’re wondering, “Then, why are you choosing to buy right now, dumbass?”

Well, it’s simple. I’m sick and tired of paying someone else’s mortgage. I’m sick of having to share the communal laundry area in the basement that reeks of weed and stroganoff. I’m sick of forgetting to get quarters to do said laundry. I’m sick of not having a garden I can swear I’m going to use for planting an herb garden, but I’ll likely neglect. I’m sick of not having private outdoor space that I never use, but it’s there if I ever do decide to enjoy some fresh Reno cigarette air. Most of all, I’m sick of not having a dog.

I’ve had more people than is even reasonable who respond to that desire in a way that would insinuate that I’m not “ready” for that responsibility. Maybe they are just putting a really rude spin on the classic, “There, there. It’ll happen in time.” Either way, it pisses me the hell off. 

First, I’m 34-fucking-years-old. Sure, I can’t keep a house plant alive to save my life, but an animal is completely different.

Second, I could have gotten a dog like other irresponsible college kids do when I was young, living in a cramped apartment, and I sometimes couldn’t even afford to feed myself, but I didn’t. I didn’t because I knew that kind of lifestyle and my idiocy was not fair to any animal. 

Third, who are you, the Everything You Could Possibly Know About Dogs expert? Who says you’re the best dog mom/dad ever? I know you feed your dog expired hot dogs and clearance tinned cat food in secret. That organic dog food you made and posted on Instagram happened once. Three years ago. Sit down. 

Lastly, needing/wanting a dog in your life is almost as legit as the need to have a child. It’s all about the biological need for a woman to nurture something. 

Maybe it seems silly to you, but I was born with puppy ovaries. I yearn for a furry, milk-breathed baby. I need something to love and care for. Since I’m not planning on having human children, my desire for a puppy feels legit to me. 

Don’t belittle that desire, because it seems silly to you. 

Might I remind you again that I’m well into my adult years, I am responsible for 20 human lives on a daily basis, and I’m pretty damn dependable. 

Quit acting like I don’t know what kind of huge responsibility it is to have a dog. 

Just stop.

So, the search continues for a non-crack den house that’s crack-den-cheap so I can have a dog. Keep your eyes peeled for my next WTF Wednesday, which will likely be on the myriad options I have for housing (hint: I’m being sarcastic, and most of my options come on wheels).

Tell me: Has anyone made you feel like you were too inept for a dog, or even a houseplant? Let me know in the comments. 

My dog cousin, Pepper. She was cold. See? I know what to do.

WTF Wednesday #4: The Leggings Spread

It’s no secret that it’s my belief that leggings are life. They are insanely comfortable, they don’t cut painfully into your fat, and they don’t feel the need to remind you every time you yank them on that you’ve been laying the butter on pretty heavy lately. 

I seriously have a definite love affair with my collection of leggings. It’s almost sick, guys. 

I treat them better than my poor boyfriend. 

I never dry them, and I bought a deliciously scented fabric softener to make them smell irresistible (is it weird I feel the need to have my pants smelling irresistible?) I also bought special hangers, because you don’t put these babies in a drawer. 

Because I’ve been so comfortable and happy, I’ve hardly noticed it. 

Noticed what, you ask? 

The Spread.

Due to the elastic, forgiving nature of leggings, it’s easy to not realize when your girth starts to spread in all directions. 

I’ve been ignorantly blissful about my weight these past few months. 

That is, until I decided to wear jeans to school. Whatever possessed me to think this was a good idea is beyond me. 

Because all of my jeans have a ridiculous amount of stretch, I didn’t really notice it until I sat down in my chair at school. 

Thank you, Baby Jesus and all that is holy, that this occurred before my class was present. 

When I sat down, due to the sheer force of my stomach, my pants jumped ship as Bertha spilled over the top, like overflowing bread dough in the oven. 

It happened in slo-mo and I just sat, stunned, watching my spilling fat. 

The rest of the day I spent sucking as much in as possible as to not knock an unsuspecting kid in the face with my fat. 

Fuck. I’m disgusting. 

I’ve figured out what the real purpose of jeans are-they are your First Alert Weight Gain System. If you can still breathe in your buttoned jeans, you’re golden. If you need an inhaler after buttoning, you fat, friend. 

Real pants are assholes, but they are like those true friends who don’t feed you any bullshit. They both won’t hesitate to tell you you’re looking like a polar bear in a puffy jacket. 

Maybe real pants aren’t as useless as I’ve been believing. As soon as I can fit into my jeans again, I’ll maybe put them back into the wardrobe rotation. But, just so we’re clear, I’m still wearing leggings the majority of the week. I’m not about jean-everyday- life anymore. 

Bend your knees for the added power and energy you’re gonna need to cram yourself into your neglected jeans.

When the button doesn’t take the first try…

Jump. Because jumping into your jeans is the obvious answer. Sorry, neighbor. No, I’m fine. No, a large piece of furniture didn’t fall over. Just fuck off, OK?

Is it just me, or does this look like my butt is on backwards?! Something doesn’t add up here.

Screw it. I’ll just wear my leggings.


An extra special “thank you” to my boyfriend, who just said, “You want me to do what?” and “OK, let’s do this” when I told him I wanted to recreate squeezing into my jeans. 

Ladies, learn from me. Even if you don’t plan on actually wearing those asshole jeans, try them on, at least once a month, to monitor how far your Leggings Spread has grown. 

You’ll thank me later. 

It’s All About Yours Truly 

I was tagged by The Gay Stepdad in his Get to Know Me post. He listed me as a blogger he’d like to get to know more. I hope he knows what he has done, because I’m a massive over-sharer. Ya’ll ready for this? Brace yourselves. Hold onto your socks. Maybe, use the restroom first, because this is gonna get weird. Actually, it’s probably going to be boring, but I don’t have my other posts ready to publish yet. So, sorry not sorry. 

1. Who are you named after? 

Oh boy. Are ya’ll ready for some complicated shit? So, I’m named after my maternal and paternal grandmothers. Here’s where it gets fun. My “actual” name is Dorothy Catherine. Not once have I ever gone by Dorothy. Not once. My parents never even intended on calling me Dorothy, but they did intend on calling me Katie. However, they wanted to honor my mother’s mother first and foremost. So, instead of making it simple by calling me Catherine Dorothy (making the name “Katie” make more sense) they decided to stick with Dorothy Catherine “Katie”. I know. 

Every first day of school was a nightmare. When I got to middle school, I had to explain the convoluted way my name ended up as Katie eight different times in the course of one day. 

Thanks, Mom and Dad. 

2. Do you like your handwriting?

My handwriting changes depending on the day, the writing utensil I’m using, the surface I’m writing on, and my mood. I like my handwriting on the 82,567 anchor charts I have in my classroom, so I’d say I’m pretty happy. Dang, I don’t know how I’d sleep at night if my handwriting looked like crap and I had to see it all day long, on every wall and surface. What a potential nightmare that’d be! 

3. What is your favorite lunch meat?

I know you all have wanted to know the answer to this particular question for some time. As much as I’d like to share, I feel this is an incredibly personal question that only my boyfriend should know. 

Oh, I misread this question. 

Salami.

4. Longest relationship? 

Seven Years’ War. It ended in a battle wherein I almost cut an 18 year-old midget and her bearded fool. It wasn’t a pleasant time in history. 

5. Do you still have your tonsils?

Yes, and if I wasn’t such a scaredy cat who needs her voice for her career, I’d get  them removed by choice. Why you ask? Well, sometimes I get those nasty tonsil stones that smell like death. When I first got one, I put it in bag; made an appointment with an ear, nose, and throat doctor; and spent the day mentally drafting my will, convinced I was dying. 

#poopchunkssuck*

6. Would you bungee jump? 

Hell to the I’d-shit-my-pants-NOPE. 

7. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?

Actually, yes. Most of my shoes don’t just slide off of my fat feet. It’s one of the many inconveniences of being plump. Also, I dare anyone to just slip off Converse. It ain’t happening. 

8. Favorite ice cream?

OH SNAP. Where do I even start? When I’m feeling naughty, a good cake batter ice cream with an icing ribbon and cake pieces is the only thing that will do. If I feel like I need to tone it down a bit, I am all about TruWhip and rainbow sprinkles. SHIT. I need some now. 

9. What is the first thing you notice about people? 

I’m going to break this down by sexes. The first thing I notice about women is their eyebrows. If their eyebrows are not on point, I judge the hell out of them. Every other YouTube video is an eyebrow tutorial. Get with the program. 

Is that bad? 

The first thing I notice about men is their height. When a man is really short, I always wonder how they feel about that. Like, are they insecure about it? Do they only like women smaller than them or are they into being the small spoon? Clearly, these are important questions. 

10. Football or baseball? 


Source

Baseball too…

11. What color pants are you wearing? 

Wouldn’t you like to know? Actually, I’m wearing my black leggings with the holes in the inner thigh area. It’s laundry day. 

12. Last thing you ate?

Oh, man…

Well, I ate a bowl of cereal. Only, it wasn’t with milk, but TruWhip. And, instead of cereal, there were sprinkles. It’s kind of like cereal, if you think about it. 

This is TruWhip:


13. If you were a crayon what color would you be?

“Black is ‘Slimming'”

14. Favorite smell?

Baking bread. A fresh bottle of wine. Lavender. 

15. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?

I try never to answer my phone. I also try to send an email whenever possible. Despite this, I still had to call to get a refill on my Xanax. It’s that kind of year.

16. Hair color? 

A little bit of brown. A little bit of balayage blond. A little bit of bastard gray. 

17. Eye color?

Baby blue, baby. 

18. Favorite foods to eat?

I really don’t have enough battery on my phone to answer this question. Let me just make it easier by saying: all the foods, except lima beans. 

19. Scary movies or happy endings? 

Happy endings? I think you mean chick flicks or feel good movies, because happy endings are strictly XXX and I’m not about that life. 

I like all movies, except Oscar-nominated flicks. Blech. 

20. Last movie you watched? 

I actually got The Arrival from Redbox Friday night. It was too boring and slow for me. I didn’t even finish it. I also forgot to return it until today, so I’m basically winning at life. 

21. Favorite holiday? 

ERMAGERD CHERSMERSE (you have to say it out loud). 

22. Beer or wine? 

Both. A lot of both. 

23. Night owl or early bird? 

I’m a teacher. I haven’t seen 11 o’clock in years. 

24. Favorite day of the week? 

Friday. I love me some Friday so much. 

24 1/2: Which three of your favorite bloggers do you want to know more about? 

BlairAn Historian About Town, and Charlotte 
25. Who were the latest three people to follow your blog (link to their about page)?

Jennifer’s Kitchen Blog

Traci York

Old House in the Shires

*My friend Alyssa describes her hubby’s tonsil stones as “poop chunks”. This is such an appropriate name, so it’s what I call those foul creatures now, too. 

Unbeknownst to me, this tag was started by Stomper Dad. Go give him some love! 

Flashback Friday-Nostalgia and Longing

Ya’ll, I wish, from the very depths of my soul, that I could be a travel blogger. Why hasn’t someone super rich and stupid with their money hired me to travel and write up hilarious travel snafus? Why?

Not only do I long to travel more, I wish to go back to where I left my bleeding heart-London Town.

I went on my last, serious trip seven years ago. Seven.years.ago. 

This is unacceptable. 

Seven years ago was the last time I was in England, and a little bit of my soul dies every day more. My ultimate fear in this life is never getting a chance to get back there again. 

As I type (tap on my asshole phone that still thinks, after all this time, that I mean “duck”), my heart is literally aching and my stomach is in knots. 

It feels like homesickness. 

I miss where my heart belongs. 

Ya know?

#fbf to when I was living it up in London (This is also a flashback to when I thought I was fat-I wish I could be that fat again). 

I had some super sweet photography skills seven years ago. I’m glad I was able to travel all the way to England to capture this dude’s chops so well. 

#awkwardtouristphoto

Those T-Rex arms, though.

Fucking Nandos. Dammit, I miss you.

I had just eaten a hot crossed bun. Baked goods create a certain glow about me.

Impossibly quaint.


I can still feel that cool, curry-scented breeze (it was a nice change of scent from the hotel room’s eau de funk). 
Le sigh