Come Talk To Me At #Blogher14

I've been out of town for three entire weeks. And off the grid for the most part too, which has given me a great amount of time to reflect. On life, my blog, my writing, my career. And I have SO much to tell you all about. In the mean time, I'm preparing to go to #Blogher14 in CA next week.

I must take extra special care to prepare since I'm going to see +Jenny Lawson there and ask her to sign my boob. It's a tradition. Not with The Bloggess. Yet. But at #blogher.

If you're going next week too, please leave a comment! And your hotel room name and number.
 In case Molley kicks me out and I need another roomie.

I want to meet you ALL in person! 

Come see me and my sister wife, Molley +A Mother Life. K???

I'm Going to BlogHer '14!

As always, feel free to share a link in the comments so my friends and followers can check you out. See you soon!


Dry Needling - Not To Be Confused With Other Dry-Doing Things...

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I won't go into my list of: What to expect when an ass-face driver cuts you off on the highway and you roll your freaking vehicle upside down and nearly kill your children - list. Yet.

I'm saving that one for the book.

What I can tell you is, you can expect many things.

Such as:

You will be violated in every radioactive way known to science in the Western World. And then some.

You will be interrogated as if you were a heartless, witless, dickless, hopeless criminal. Only worse.

You will spend the majority of your day on the phone, much like a secretary. Minus the slutty outfit. Oh, and minus the paycheck too.

You will be subjected to numerous sessions of questioning where you will be asked to rate many things on a scale of 1 to 10...1 being you are only a minor liar - to - 10 meaning you are the biggest mother fucking liar on the face of the earth.

You should note, this has nothing to do with the fact that ALL of the radioactive films you've had taken of your inner-most crevices show that in fact, your neck IS fricking broken.

AND, it turns out once your Oreo Cookie of a cervical disk is "torn," it can't actually grow back together. Ever.

That, plus a "torn" disk tends to put "pressure" on the multitude of nerves in your fucking spinal cord. AND, it fucking hurts.

For those of you who wonder, "How much could a little bone in your neck possibly hurt???" I could ask you, "Have you ever cracked a tooth?"



I ended up where I was today. In a spinal and sports rehabilitation center. Because I didn't actually want to have anyone slice through the front of my throat to fuse the disks even though the spinal surgeon promised he could probably hide the incision in the folds of my neck. I wasn't actually sure if I should laugh at that, or be offended. But whatever.

So I ended up at this medical office. And the therapist wasn't even Asian. Although he did offer to use the "cups" if necessary.

Speaking of cups, I had an
awkward moment when he put his pelvis behind mine, bent my arms backward, funky-chicken style while he pulled them backward...

At one point near the end of my "appointment," I wanted to ask him for a cigarette, but I thought that might be moving a little too fast.

He also offered to dry needle my buttocks. Next time. WTF?

All I can tell you for now is, don't Google "dry needling." Whatever you do. Except that now that I said that, I'm sure you most certainly will. It's your choice.

I'll meet you back here soon to give you the details of the next procedure. I'm pretty sure my insurance company doesn't cover it. Just saying.

Facebook and Flatulence

Sometimes I forget to highlight the sheer brilliance of my fans and friends for their content on Facebook. I mean, they could totally write my blog posts for the rest of the summer...

HEY! That's an awesome idea! 

Maybe not. But here are some highlights from facebook that totally cracked me up, via my friends and fans this past week. Thanks, ya'll! 

By the way, they are not necessarily in order due to the fact that I am just too lazy to go back and put them in order when you could just as easily click HERE to Like my page or send me a friend request HERE or follow me on Twitter HERE.

AND...thank you to those of you who are always there to jump in and participate. YOU guys rock!

Oh, you MUST click HERE to see it! LOL!

So come ON! Share your funnies with us all on my fan page! I love it when you share. :-)

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Guinea Pigs - The OTHER White Meat

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My niece stayed with Desi and me over Christmas and January this year. My sister was in China for a month and it was a wonderful opportunity to spend some quality time as a family. My daughters, Thing 1 and 2 were delighted that their cousin was going to be staying with us. They couldn't wait to hear all of the adventurous stories their fourteen year old cousin had to share with them.

Along with my niece, came her two beloved guinea pigs Rex and Rocky. I've never really had much affection for guinea pigs, especially after visiting Peru where these little critters find their way onto the local menus on occasion. I can almost see the billboard now...

Guinea Pigs - The OTHER White Meat!

Only I should clarify, according to my niece that "these are not the same as the ones they eat in South America." That, plus "YOU are sick!" Whatever.

Rex and Rocky were adorable. They were some fancy kind of guinea pigs, not the average dumb rodents you find at most puppy mills and pet stores. She told me what kind they were, but I forgot. They were special breeds with really messed up-looking hair and Rex had a little red toupee on top of his head. But that isn't actually relevant to the story.

I have never really understood why my niece loved her rodents so much. Because that's what they are. Rodents. We've had our share of rodents before, both invited and uninvited. We've had Robo hamsters. Those little suckers were SO stinking cute! And they were tiny, which is a bonus because then you don't have to clean their cages nearly as often. Can you imagine cleaning up after a pet capybara??? Holy crap!

Rocky was a little temperamental. He liked being held, but only after he savagely attacked my hand as I removed him from his cage. After I stopped the bleeding, he seemed to enjoy my company.

Rex, on the other hand was mild-mannered and gentle. His only downfall as a pet was an extremely weak bladder. That, plus he was a heavy drinker. 

They were funny little pets. They would hear us when we got up in the morning and rattle their cages with their teeth for attention. Thing 2 spent hours downstairs with them. Feeding nearly lethal amounts of produce to them. And they actually oinked! Well, not so much oinked as squ-oinked. 

That is totally a made up word. But it sounds like a squeek plus oink. A squ-oink.

My children, Desi, my niece, Rex, and Rocky all spent the month bonding and enjoying each other's company. Mostly. And when my sister returned from China, we exchanged teary good-byes. I was totally going to miss them all.

And I did. Until it was time to clean up the room my niece and her pet rodents occupied that month.

Thank GAWD she didn't have a pet capybara!

P.S. I have a little update coming soon... Come back again, k?

Living In The Present Takes Practice. Apparently.

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I've been on a mission of self-awareness and personal growth for the past 2 years. I'd have to go back and look at the date of my first "life coach" session, but I think it was back in February of 2012.

Since then, I've been trying to consciously decide to live in the present. It's super easy for people to say, "Oh, just live in the present sweetie." As if any of us are purposely squandering our present in exchange for dwelling in the past on grief and guilt or the future on worries and insecurities.

It's not like that at all. If only it was just that simple. But it takes practice. Like anything.

Pretend you're looking at a new car. A blue VW. (insert car of your choice). And you look at one at the dealership. Suddenly, everywhere you go and everywhere you look you see blue VW's! As if they never existed until you noticed them. But the thing is, they were always there. You just didn't pay attention to them before now.

Living in the present for me began with practicing noticing my thoughts that strayed to the past and future on things I couldn't control. It began with practicing being hyper-aware of the thoughts AND behaviors that led me astray from the present.

The more I practiced being aware of these thoughts and behaviors, the more I was able to guide my thoughts back to the present. Blogging has helped me in this and so many other ways. By putting those thoughts out in black and white, I am forced to stare at them. Attend to them. Acknowledge them.

And then, I am better equipped to manage them. I still need lots of practice in lots of areas. That's the nature of my personality.

So for those of you who are wishing that you could just "snap" into living in the present, good luck. For me, it took guidance, reflection, and lots and lots of practice. But it's helping.

Practice doesn't make perfect. Practice makes permanent.

Guest Post - A Dream About My Sister

The following is a guest post that was emailed to me by someone who has been following me for some time. She reached out and asked to share this as a guest post because it was so eerily similar to my own story. To her, I say thank you for sharing your story and wisdom with us. You never know what happens behind closed doors. <3

Guest Post: 

I LOVE my dreams. They're like a carnival waiting to happen. And sometimes, they're a lesson to be learned. Or just random entertainment. I love to dream. REM, style.

So. Last night, I had a dream. I dreamed I was standing up to my sister's abuser. It sounds intense. And it was. I was threatening to turn him in. Tell on him.

I threatened to call his employer and rat him out for the thief and creep he was.

And then. I threatened the worst. I threatened to go to the authorities. To protect my sister. And also, to retrieve the priceless Egyptian artifacts that he held hostage. I KNOW, right?

Now. If you knew my sister or me in real life, you would be on the edge of your seat. Knowing. Just how relevant our artifacts are to us.

And in my dream, he backed down. WAY down. Because he knew. Just how much my family and I relish these timeless treasures that money can never buy.

So you go on, you ruthless evil. Throw around the weak and meager. In the end, you will never win. Never take what you seek. Because in the end, that which you seek can never be obtained in war or terror.

That which you seek only comes with peace. And self-awareness. And kindness.

So fuck off. You lose. The end.


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I Need A Nap

I feel sort of sorry. People have been worrying about me. I fine. I'm good. I'm not going anywhere. Anytime soon. Only. I'm tired. Exhausted.

I got up this morning and I was already tired. I wanted to shut the door. Hide in my room. Stay inside and stay away from everyone in the entire world.

I wanted to keep my girls home with me too. Hide them. Shelter them. Keep them for myself.

Only I knew that wasn't what was best for THEM.

SO. I put on my pretend happy face. I packed up their lunches and sent them off to school with a kiss and a smile. A phony smile.

And then I rushed home. Climbed into bed. Pulled the covers up over my head and hid from the world.

Don't get me wrong. I have responsibilities and I am FULLY aware of them. So I set the alarm.

And I slept. Not well, but I did sleep off and on. And then I got up. Washed my face.

Brushed my teeth. Put my pretend smile back on my face and met my very dear friend in the driveway. I didn't want to go out. I forced myself because I knew I should.

We chatted, laughed, and even went out for sushi. And that made my day! Seriously.

I NEEDED to get out of the house. Out into the world of the living. And shed this depression shit that hangs over my head.

I hate it. But it's me. It's who I am. It's my eternal battle. Only I won't let depression win. Not ever.

For those of you were worrying about me, I'm sorry. I'm fine. I really am. I tripled my Prozac dose two days in a row and I'm feeling a little better. I'll be back to my old snarky self soon. Promise.



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Blogging Just Isn't For Me, Apparently

Blogging is a confusing and living creature. At times, we bloggers have extreme highs. Other times, we are scrambling and grasping at any thread of affirmation available to keep us from slicing the ties we have as a community.

I decided recently that blogging just isn't for me any longer. I've grown. Changed.

In the beginning, I blogged for myself. Mostly because I had no audience. Well, I did have my sister. But. That's. About. It. And then I started to connect with a community of kindred spirits. And I grew. As a writer. A thinker. A blogger.

I gained courage to speak up about things I never dared to speak of in public. Child abuse. Domestic abuse. Depression. Anxiety. Mental health issues. AND...public and private school. Whoa.

So, today I decided that I wouldn't continue to write. I even ran it past a few blogger friends. And they answered with a resounding, "quit now."

Except, I sort of think I won't. I mean, what's wrong with my thoughts? My perceptions? My prose? Really? Should I stop writing? Because it makes a handful of others uncomfortable??? Because what I compose isn't always perfectly coherent? Clear? Politically correct? No. I think I will NOT stop writing.

I have the great fortune to have met an amazing group of writers, thinkers, philosophers. Should I stop just because it disagrees with a handful?

I think that may just be the exact reason why I WILL continue. Because I refuse to go with the grain. I never mean to be oppositional. What I mean to be is real. Authentic. And if necessary, against the grain. When it's right.

So I suppose, this means I have zero plans to go anywhere for now. And when I look at my stats and social media shares from my blog posts, it reminds me that what I have to say does, in fact resonate with many, many people.

And THAT, is why I will not quit in spite of my reservations. If I can comfort and reach just ONE person, it will have been worth all of the effort and discomfort I have endured. And THEN some.

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Child Abuse Is No Laughing Matter

How could ANYONE think child abuse in any form is a laughing matter? Well, I do.

You see, I'm a survivor of childhood abuse. Verbal, emotional, physical. The scars I have on the inside are only recently beginning to heal as my family heals together. I don't write this for pity or sympathy. I write this to help spread awareness and hopefully, sensitivity and understanding.

Through truth, honesty, acceptance, and TRUE forgiveness we are healing as a family. So what's so funny?

Humor is just about the only defense mechanism I have that worked for me as a child. Laugh at myself before someone else does. Smile when I was inconsolable on the inside. Pick myself up when I felt shattered.

Laughter. Because it helped me feel better. It still does. And there are times when my laughter and antics may seem terribly inappropriate to others who know me less well. My over-sharing and off the cuff remarks may make some people feel uncomfortable. That is never my intention. But it does happen all too often. Only sometimes, I make others laugh. I like that. When I can make someone else laugh, it's therapeutic in a way I can't explain.

Not all people "get" my jokes or my sense of humor. Some are offended. Angered. Hurt. Also never my intention.

For those of you who may judge, lash out, or retaliate when you see a child or adult behave in a way you dislike...I say this. Try to remember this.

You never truly know what goes on behind closed doors.

April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month. 

The first Wednesday of April is 
Childhelp National Day of Hope.

Today, we light a five-wick candle in remembrance of the five children who die every day in the United States due to child abuse and neglect. For those of you who pray, I offer this and ask that you please share it all through the month of April.

Childhelp National Day of Hope Prayer:

Dear God,

Our prayer is for the children, little ones so small,
Who suffer neglect, abuse and pain behind a silent wall.
Please protect and comfort them;
Let Your presence calm their fear.
Give them courage to tell someone,
Help all of us to hear.
Instill in each one of us to remember them in our prayers.
Please give them hope and
Let them know a nation truly cares.
For the love of a child,

*Disclosure: I am an #OrigamiOwl Independent Designer.

Origami Owl is partnered with Childhelp.Org.

Through the sale of our cause charms we hope to 
help spread awareness and education of childhood abuse. 

Please consider joining the campaign by sharing this, 
posting, pinning, tweeting, or in any other way. 

Click here to learn more about Childhelp.Org.

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