I Was Told There Would Be Donuts...

I love summer.  I love the small (the middle between summer and fall)  I love fall.  Not a fan of spring. Awful allergy inducing, rainy, constant shat of weather. Windy, cold one day, hot the next. Zero idea of what to wear to work...spring SUCKS.  And don't even get me started on winter in Illinois. BAG OF DICKS level, suckage.  Hate SO much.  Summer is my jam.  Yes, it's hot. Yep...fat girl. It does not mix. The humidity is awful. That corn sweat is definitely a thing.  Underboob, underfupa, underarms. Sweaty, gross, mess, stinkage.  Oh stop cringing...it's not like you can't relate.  I mean, unless you are a skinny chick/dude. In which case...whatever. Enjoy the icicle snot rockets forming under your nose in the cool of a properly air conditioned home.  (If you keep your thermostat higher than 74 when it's hot-don't invite me to your terrarium, you lizard.)  Anyway, my point.  For this summer lovin' girl, or old lady-wh...

Consider this... Hi, guys. So, as many of you know-and maybe, some who don't-I am currently in the throes of writing my first novel. Yeah. Good times. And while I am doing this, and as you have observed-I am not able to dedicate time to this here little blog. (insert audible Boo-awwww...sigh, here)  But fear not, loyalists! I have done a typically genius thing, and put out a call to action to all of my awesome writer friends who also dabble and may not have a blog of their own to speak of. To clarify, I'm not sure why they don't, because most of these folks are kick-ass writers themselves. And (what? I can be humble. Shutup, I can!) even better than me at the craft. So, guest bloggers abound! Our first guest is a local chef in my little city, and has an interest and all things cee-gar oriented. The art of enjoying a fine cigar may not be as poplar with my chicks out there, but to be honest...I think a little knowledge on the subject is a learning experi...

...not yet a man. Becoming a man. I admit, as a woman...this is unfamiliar territory for me. I know a little about how to become a woman-(well, I am still grasping at the full concept of this, truly) Because, becoming a woman-is still a work in progress for most women, until...well, death. I guess maybe, that men-have the same issue? My son is 17 years old. And as the cliche goes, not quite a boy, not yet a man. He deals with a lot of the typical things, hormones, school, growing up, full-throttle angst, and responsibility. But these things really just scratch the surface. I'd like to say that I know what he is going through, but my failing ability to see through his eyes, is becoming quite apparent. He is struggling. I have posted prior about my son making the decision 2 years ago to move to his father's house-for many reasons. I told him years ago after a nasty custody battle, that when he was at least 13, he could then make the decision himself to move to spend...

...Or not. You happen to like winter.  It's here. Fuck. I am not a winter lover. I loathe the snow, the cold, the frozen ground, the frozen cars, and frozen fingers and toes. I detest the thin, dry, air. The slathering of chapstick, lotion, and static electricity when I am attempting to look pretty and styling my low-maintenance hair. I have never been the person who likes to play in snow, or make snowmen, or snow angels, or build forts, or have snowball fights. I DON'T LIKE WINTER. Insult to injury...even though I don't like it. Typically I get three good months of autumn to prepare my body for the aching bones, the sight of my own breath, and layers of clothes. This year...we skipped fall altogether. And it really pisses me off. Mid-November. Not even Thanksgiving-and we are shivering, shoveling, salting, sliding, and bundling. It's a fucking weather conspiracy. But. In the interest of being a more positive person...today. There are a handful ...

...Inner Thespian. Relax. I'm married. Look up the word. So, it's been a long time...shouldn't have left you...without a dope beat to step to. Sorry, I like 90's R&B. It used to be my sex soundtrack when I was single. Don't judge. And Alliyah is dead now, so don't be disrespectful. Anyway, sorry I haven't written much. But, the title implies that I was doing something new. I warned you about it in other entries, don't seem so shocked. I was busy. The theater proved to be a mostly positive experience for me. And despite my early apprehensions, it was fun. I don't regret it and a certainly glad that I finally put on my big girl panties and did it. They are the ones embroidered with the days of the week, and no stains. I'm a big girl now. I could wax poetic about all of the experience with great, illustrious, descriptive words and give you the visceral tour. But, really I just want to talk about why it was so special to me with...

...have lighted fools. "Ooh...that's a touchy subject." Days and days and days go by, and really...how often do you hear this phrase? A lot. And when I say-a lot. I mean, a crap-ton. Daily. Hourly. Touchy subject. Let those words sink in for just a minute. In a Facebook culture-those words are just common moniker. Taboo is no longer taboo. People talk about everything-openly. On a public forum, like it is chattel. People post memes of declaration and passionate topics like they are standing on their own personal soap box-only from behind the safe confines of their Think Pads and Chromebooks. There are no real heroes in this world. Even politicians, activists, are joining hand in hand with housewives and students behind the veil of the interwebs. They cry out in unison..."this is unfair, that is right, this is unjust, this is left..." People. It's fucking ridiculous. I posted last last week about the Kavanaugh debacle, and the ...