10 Awesome Reasons to Drink Wine

Lol, like we need a reason to drink wine… Anyway, I thought I’d share a few random thoughts I’ve been wrestling with today. Maybe y’all can help me through my issues.

  1. Does Rachel Ray have a speech impediment? Why does she always use half-words? Does it drive anyone else cray when she says “delish” or “nutrish”? It’s so totes obnox.
  2. I want a hammock in my studio at home. Is that weird? My hubs says it is. But I’ve always been weird and he married me so I feel like I’m just giving him more of what he wanted. PLUS, I’m convinced that I would be so much more creative in a hammock. With a fully stocked wine fridge. Hidden in my panic room. Oh, yeah, I also want a panic room. Am I alone in thinking that all of this would be awesome?!
  3. My youngest, my big little man starts kindergarten in less than 2 weeks. Check my blog for lots of alcoholic beverage recipes, coming soon (that’s what she said). I’ll be trying out lots just to stay sane. If you have any good ones, feel free to share. No one likes drinking alone.
  4. Is there crack in Thai food? No, not ass crack. I also think it may be sprinkled in gelato. All of it. Oh, and in Starbucks coffee. Wait, I see a pattern emerging…
  5. Can I start a Go Fund Me page to fund my beach house or is that tacky? I feel like I’m prettier when I’m at the beach. And that benefits everyone.
  6. I read a headline (uh, yes, just the headline) the other day suggesting that salads are bad for you. Since then I’ve decided that I might as well go out in a blaze of deep fried Twinkie glory because it’s all bad for me anyway. Anyone wanna come with? There’s plenty of room on this pretty train of crazy.
  7. Do you ever see those moms who are always dressed like Barbie in unglamorous places? Do you ever wonder if they regret wasting time to get dolled up to watch their husband compete in a mud race? Or wonder if they’re really time travelers who thought the DeLorean would drop them off somewhere else?

{“Wait…………. What?! WHERE ARE MY RAINBOOTS?”}

  1. I watched the movie Sybil as a kid and it creeped me out somethin’ fierce. Now that I’m grown I realize that this movie is really just about the everyday woman.

{“Yesterday I could speak French. Today I can’t even speak English. I don’t even know where my youngest kid is… wait, I have kids?!?”}

  1. How many times a day do you pick up your phone to look up something important only to get distracted by a new text and forget what you initially HAD TO FIND OUT then put your phone down and immediately pick it back up because you remember you were going to look something up but can’t remember what it was? So far today I’m at 3… I think. I can’t remember.
  2. Nope, never mind. I only had 9 things.
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The Only Organizational Tip You’ll EVER Need

Lately I’ve felt like my entire life is all over the place. Anyone else out there know the feeling? Everything is great: deadlines are met [yay me], important events are remembered [yay me], dance recitals are successfully prepared for and attended [may or may not have remembered the “nice” camera]. Then it all falls apart and I’m left shell-shocked and crying, rocking back and forth in a corner holding my baby blanket and sucking my thumb wondering if my family will fire me and my boss disown me.

How did it get to this? Everything was going so well! [Weeell, most of it at least]. The chaos always sneaks up on me! I always start off totally together! Eighteen-month day planner pristine and ready to be filled out, lists of important dates, games, practices, husband’s call schedule ready for documentation, all my work projects planned and coordinated, hitting all my milestones and keeping people happy since 1981.

Then one ball drops. [That’s what she said.] Maybe I pick it up. Maybe I didn’t realize I dropped it. Next thing I know, I can’t keep my head above water, I’m letting people down and wondering if anyone would notice if I showed up to work drunk. (Just kidding…(wait, no I’m not. I work in HR)).


Every time this happens, [once a year], the following timeline occurs:

Life is great, leprechauns are riding unicorns over the rainbows of life when ALL OF A SUDDEN…

Apocalypse: Shat hits the fan

Day One Post-Apocalypse: Wallow in self-pity

Day Two Post-Apocalypse: Say “F*ck It”, drink heavily and come to terms with my failure of a life which will be nothing but a disappointment to myself and others so I might as well tattoo my face with cursive profanity and start shooting up Propofal I’ve melted off of stolen patches from the hospital dumpster.

Day Three Post-Apocalypse: Realize that I maaaaay have overreacted and assess the damage, thankful that I didn’t go through with the tattoo or drug use.

Day Four Post-Apocalypse: Remember I’m a badass and put an action plan together to fix my life forever and ever, Amen.

Now, how to fix my life… Here’s what I know: I need an organizational plan.

  1. Lists are great. Until I forget to put something important on the list. Or until I forget where I put the list.
  2. Planners and calendars are great until I forget to write an important event down on the correct date. Or I forget where I put the planner.
  3. Sticky notes… just no. I lose them by the packs.
  4. Color coordinated excel spreadsheets and Google Doc calendars are fantastic until I forget which color I used for what thing and I can’t decipher my own code… or until I forget where I put my computer… or forget where I saved the file.

Day Four Post-Apocalypse is where shat gets real. It sounds like this: E, do what you need to do to slow down, take a daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly, yearly inventory of each bucket of life, however it works. Figure it out. Then, drink wine. Lots and lots of celebratory wine.


What tricks you use to organize your life?

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Zero Effs Mom

The Revolution is well underway, people. It’s no longer a grassroots movement. Bully moms everywhere are feeling the heat as the Zero-Effs moms climb out from under the rocks of humiliation dropped on them over the years for not living up to the pretentious expectations of “society” and band together in a perfectly imperfect sisterhood of normalcy.

Even Hollywood is glamorizing us with movies like “Bad Moms” and fulfilling my dream of being played by Mila Kunis in a movie about my life. The Zero Effs mom is becoming a modern day folk hero, the Robin Hood of our time, stealing pride back from arrogant biatches and returning self-esteem to those just trying to do their best.

But as it becomes more mainstream to fight the oppressive parental expectations we’ll never live up to, I beg you – don’t celebrate me because my bag of effs is empty. I’m not this way to be cool or trendy. I doubt any of us are. It comes from pain. It comes from embarrassment. It comes from humiliation. And from that pain, embarrassment, and humiliation we realize that we are still standing. We realize that we don’t have the luxury of giving up. We have life to live and a family to raise. We have things to do. How we do those things is none of your effing business. So get out of my way or get run over.

I started life with a bag overflowing of effs. I handed them out like candy. I was the Opera of effs. “YOU get an eff! And YOU get an eff! And YOU, take four!” I gave 1/4th of them to the mean girls in middle school, trying to be cool. I gave ½ of them to my first husband. Which leaves me with 1/4th of the effs God gave me. Those are very precious, limited edition effs reserved for my family. I got none to waste.

Honestly, it’s not just the way I interact with other parents. It’s the way I live. And it’s liberating. Do what you do and let me do what I do. Celebrate the non-judgment. If you want to hand-make all of your baby food, refuse to allow anyone to drive your child without a car seat installed by a fireman, or only allow your child to play with hypoallergenic designer puppies, that’s your prerogative. I won’t judge you for it. But don’t judge me for wanting my kids to go on road trips with friends, experience a Twinkie, and know the feeling of rescuing a dog from the pound.

If I hear judgment of me or anyone else, I will not only call it out, I will ensure the biatch receives the verbal assault I didn’t have in my arsenal as an 8th grader with the self-esteem I didn’t have in my first marriage. Not to be mean. That’s not my intent. It’s to tell the bullies of the world to move on. Go somewhere else. Like Hell.

The Zero Effs moms aren’t perfect. And we know you aren’t either. And your neighbor isn’t either. And the PTO president isn’t either. The kicker: your babies don’t want or need perfection. They need and want you. So know you’re good enough, stock your arsenal with some self-esteem, and tell Tiphi to shut the eff up.

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