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This Is A Story About A Feline Named Trump

(this photo find is what we call "the perfect storm." Via Pinterest)

Oh Facebook, how I love thee. You bring so much joy and entertainment to my life. You are really no more than a proverbial assembly where proverbial philosophists spew their proverbial ideologies, but damn girl, you a good time!

If there is something to be said, it's gonna be said right there on your favorite iPhone app. I'm sure Facebook will soon replace Google as the main source of online knowledge (help us all) and unlike it's unwanted unloved redheaded step-sister, Myspace, Facebook seems to be sticking around for a while.

Oh goody.

My favorite is when people threaten to delete you off their Facebook account. Well alrighty then you valiant soldier, march off into your kitchen, grab you some chicken taquitos and come back ready to put those almighty deleting fingers to use. Such power you hold.

I however won't delete you off my Facebook or get my panties in a bind because you think differently than me. For one, I incredibly DGAF, and two, Facebook isn't exactly a meeting place of scholars. Which is funny how so many people treat it as such. It's a smorgasbord of frivolous, sundry opinions.

And if you delete me from your Facebook, I promise I won't even notice, so you go with your bad self.

Moving on from Facebook, (but not really), the newest coolest status update is whether you are in yay or nay of a certain potential Presidential candidate's choice words when it comes to a woman's anatomical parts.

Particularly, Donald Trump's exact words of, " can grab women by the pussy." (No need to bleep out words here, we are all adults, yes?) It's all over the internets so google if you must, but it has caused an insane outrage and firestorm of OMG WTF BURN HIM TO THE GROUND and such other cupcake-y type proclamations.

As is customary with those who partake in Facebook, my opinion isn't one you will need to question. I make it clear which way I drive. And in this particular instance, my "friends" also give some pretty clear direction in which way they drive. Some agree, some vehemently disagree, some disagree to the point where they, you guessed it! delete me off their royal highness friends list. (kbye)

But for right now, I'm talking solely about the Trump feline debacle, and how I just don't think it's such a huge deal. (I also don't get insanely overly offended either, but I'm sure those things are totally not connected in any way.)

Of course, I get many people who disagree (that's ok!) and many who agree (hugsies) but I keep getting the same arguments over and over from the disagree-ers. If I may, I'd like to humbly debunk those arguments now.

Let's go over the most popular arguments in regards to the kitty statement:

- Would you ever want your boys to talk like that?

I have to file this one away under "most idiotic question ever" because IF a mother ever answered that with - why yes! I sure do hope one day my precious little boys talk mockery and degrade women in my presence - then those women didn't deserve to have ever procreated in the first place, so they don't count.

But, since so many still ask such a birdbrained question (over and over and over again), I shall lower myself to an answer:

Of course not. 

And that's it. That's the only answer you get.
(I try not to reward foolishness with even more prolonged foolishness.)

- Ok, so you don't want it for them, but what if you ever caught them saying it? Wouldn't you be appalled?

I won't catch them saying it. Boys/men don't say that stuff in front of their mothers. They say it in front of their peers, in (and I hate to be cliche here, but cliches are cliches for a reason) crude locker room talk. I highly doubt Trump talks that way in front of his mother.

But ok, for flapadoodles sake, I'll answer the question: If I ever heard those words uttered from my son's mouth, I would smack it and then wash it out with soap. Maybe even with a feminine hygiene douche because you know, irony. And lessons.

If that ever does happen, I promise to come here and tell you all about it. However, I wouldn't hold the breath you so quickly breath out to judge the universe.

And as a daughter myself? I know I have done some things that would appall my parents if they ever heard/saw me do it. I'm just glad I didn't get recorded doing/saying such things. But yes, we know...all you finger pointers are perfect and faultless and never ever said or did anything out of turn.

Let us not skip over the fact however that Trump never actually DID grab a woman by the pussy. He never did it. He talked about it, in what he thought was a private conversation, but he never did it. So why the outrage? Have you never, ever, like evernever talked about doing something immoral or illegal? I for one have talked at great length about violently killing people (child molesters, mainly) but have I ever done it? Does thinking it, saying it, make me a murderer? Just like purely talking about something that could be a sexual assault does not make that person guilty of actual sexual assault.

Let's also just get this out there, since the most obvious of things somehow still need to be said: If Trump ever did, or ever does, walk up to a woman and grab her coot coot, then he absolutely needs to be jailed and convicted of a sexual assault. In this day and age justice system, he probably would never see the inside of a jail cell (thanks liberals for going to bat for all the sexual predators and fighting in vain for them and their "right" to be rehabilitated) but at the very least, he should be lynched and mobbed and beaten up and grabbed vehemently in his own purrrr. There is absolutely no excuse whatsoever for a man to treat a woman that way. IF that ever happened, there is zero possibility that he would be still be running for President. He would (hopefully) have slim-to-none supporters and he wouldn't even be a blip on the radar in the political eye.

And yet still, back to the point at hand, he didn't actually do it. He talked about it (over a decade ago) during normal, crude, boorish guy talk. He got recorded without his knowing. God forbid that never happens to you.

- Not all guys talk like that. And if you have men in your life that talk that way, you need to find better men.

Fair enough, I suppose. Can't really argue that point, however, a lot do. A great amount of men do talk that way. And a great amount of those men still end up being great, loving, responsible husbands, fathers and contributors to society.

(I also suppose now wouldn't be a good time to bring up the lot of women that also talk profanely, that call men disparaging names and giggle to their girlfriends about wanting to do damage to their anatomical regions - nope, I'm sure most every single woman on this planet has never talked that way before in private. So saintly you are.) But! If you have or ever have had women like that in your life...

The bottom line is this: Trump is egotistical, immature, pompous, overly-sensitive, self-absorbed and at times can be, yes, a whiny little pussy. I never said I wanted to reproduce with the man, for criminy's sake (although I do have a thing for much older men...rarw Billy Bob Thornton) but even after all those negative traits he possesses, I still think he would do better being President. Hey, our choices are pretty slim pickins, if you haven't noticed. (And being totally honest, I really do like a lot of his policies and plans for our country, but that is another post for another day.)

My main point of this time-honored opinionated post is not "can we all just get along," rather, "can we all just please stop being whiny little pussies?" (Trump, I'm looking at you.)

And if you haven't had enough kitty talk (is that even possible?) then you can check out a fun little light-hearted post about all things feline right here. (Warning: not for the overly-offended pussy.)

Things I Really Want To "Nope"

- Trump's Twitter account. Come on man, I like you, I really do. I wear your slogan loud and proud across my bouncy paid-for knocks (I know you'd be proud Don) but for the ever living love! How are you still tweeting? Why hasn't someone taken away your twitter rights? Why? WHY? I promise you, no one will jump on board the Trump Train because of tweets you type. But I can almost guarantee that people might dive off if you just. don't. stop. already. It really makes you seem like a total baby, and I surely don't need you ruining this for me, ok? Criminy

- Supermodels showing off their stretch marks. Being all brave and heroic about it. Tigress, no, just nope. Like Chrissy Teigen (whom I love) displaying her barely stretch marks here (and let's be honest — her stretch marks? Totally cute), and then articles like this one titled "14 Hot Celebrities Who Have Stretch Marks Just Like You Do." Puh. leez. Not enough eye rolls when Angelina Jolie quotes, "I love it. It makes me feel like a woman." We've seen you naked Ang, no stretch marks anywhere on your horizon.

Look, I'm all for being comfortable in one's own body, but let's not make us regular folk even more self conscience by showing us the most beautiful people in the world with their one baby stretch mark. I mean...


- Eyebrows. I'm sorry, but I don't understand them. I mean, I get what they are there for, but big? Thin? Bushy? Extra-Bushy? Landing strip? I'm just so confused.

- Redbox. The big red movie renting machine they place in grocery stores and outside convenience markets. This make me go "nope" simply because I cannot seem to get my life together when it comes to renting - I mean returning - movies. I've used this service probably six times in my life, and I can arrogantly say that I am the proud owner of five former Redbox movies. Of course, I ended up owning them all by default — because once I didn't return them in time, Redbox just sent me an emailing saying "congratulations! You now own Road House! Enjoy!" And also of course, they charged me five times what I could have purchased said movie online.

And why do I own five movies and not six when I've used Redbox six times? So glad you asked. It's because one time, I rushed to return Showgirls and was so proud of myself that I finally, finally made it on time! I drove home all satisfied until two hours later, I got an email from Redbox saying, "congratulations! You now own Showgirls! Enjoy!"

Turns out they have a slight lag period (I'm guessing two hours on the dot) so I still didn't make it in time. So you get what I'm saying here, right? That I own Showgirls (at least my inflated credit card bill says that I do) but I still don't own Showgirls. And yeah, I know I could have probably called up their customer service and sat on hold for eternity, but a) I was a little embarrassed to be renting Showgirls in the first place and b) I already have Elizabeth Berkley's money shot as my screensaver so what's the point.

God I love that movie.

- People with no sense of humor. I went to the pharmacy at Target the other day to purchase Allegra-D for my allergies. Apparently you have to get it behind the counter now as people would use it to make all sorts of meth. When the lady was ringing me up, she had me sign some sort of electronic form. I said, "what's this for? If I use these pills to make meth, then I will get arrested?" "You're not supposed to say that," she replied. "Well, who says I'm not supposed to say that?" I asked. "You're just not," she replied with dead black eyes.

Alrighty then.


Have a good weekend.

A Letter To My Son About Greatness

I showed my oldest son Gunner a youtube video titled "People Are Awesome: 2015 (Maniac Edition)." It's an amazing compilation of ordinary people doing incredible things: standing on the top of skyscrapers with no lifeline, unimaginable dirt bike stunts, sailing off a cliff without a parachute, standing at the opening of an active volcano, surfing some of the biggest waves ever recorded, somersaulting off the top of a building, freestyling and doing phenomenal things with only their body, going as high as they can and then going a little higher, pushing themselves to the very limit and then pushing even further.

Standing on the edge of the world.

And jumping.

My eight year old was astonished. The craziest thing he's ever done was sliding seamlessly head first into the gravel rocks underneath our tree swing, and I'm pretty sure that was an accident. He cried, he hurt, and then he had some pretty gnarly scars to show off to all his friends. 

But as he watched the youtube video, his eyes got wide and I could see the frenzy in his breathing. He watched as people did things that in his little innocent mind, was impossible. Things that looked fun and thrilling but also scared him half to death.

"How do they even do that?!" He asked me. "Those people don't even care if they die!"

And I stopped him right there, made him look me in the eyes and said, "Gunner, quite the opposite. Those people? Those people in that video who were conquering things most people only dream about? Those people are the ones who actually do care. They absolutely care if they die. But they care a million times more about living."

"I think I'd want to do those things when I grow up but I can't because I'm afraid of heights."


Stop right there my beautiful, precious, starry-eyed and creative son. Let me tell you something about fears. Fears are real, they are natural, they are warranted and they will do nothing but hold you back from doing something extraordinary. From experiencing the world and the universe. From moving away from where you are standing right now and propelling you into unheard of, uncharted, inconceivable, out-of-this world adventures. A lot of people live their lives with fear in control. And it's ok, it's accepted, and if you choose to live that way, you can still go on and live a decent even happy life. Maybe get a puppy, have a few kids, a job you kinda sorta like and live until you die.

But, and listen to this: if you do so, you forfeit the right to ever utter the words, "I think I'd want to do those things when I grow up BUT..." Because there is no "but." There is NOTHING acceptable that can ever follow that sentence when you interject the word "but."


Any excuse you will throw in there is baseless and invalid. 

And it's so, so, SO untrue. It's a lie. It's a lie you will tell yourself to keep from achieving greatness. It's all a lie, Gunner. It's fiction, it's deception, it's an intentional untruth. It's a prevarication that has stopped and silenced so many of the world's greatest that we will never, ever get the pleasure to know about.

And when it comes to heights? Everyone in this world is on some level afraid of heights. It's a natural human emotion built into all of us to be afraid of standing at the top of the world and looking down below. The higher we go, the more scary it gets. I bet there is not one person who has ever stood at the door of a plane, about to jump, and who didn't get a little lump at the back of their throat. But I also bet that every single person who has ever made that jump pushed fear away and instead replaced "I can't" with "My GOD, this is amazing. I'm doing this."

And then they do it, Gunner. Being afraid of something is part of us all. But letting those fears stop us is absolutely and unequivocally not acceptable.

"Ok then, when I'm older I want to be one of those people who jump out of planes. I won't be scared, mom."

"You will be scared, Gunner. I never said you won't be scared. You will be petrified. You will freeze, you will want to change your mind a million times, you will throw up, you will feel like your heart is going to beat straight out of your chest and fall to the floor beneath you. 

And then you'll jump."

 "How do I do it then? How do I get there?"

Oh, I'm so glad you asked, darling.

There is no right or wrong way. There's just a way. And it's going to be your way, no one else's. You'll know it when you get there. You'll feel it. Your soul will rumble and you will feel courage with such fervor it will be like nothing you've ever experienced before. You want to dive off cliffs? You can. You want to jump out of planes? You can. You want to swim with sharks in the open ocean? You can. You want to create a pair of rocket boots that will help you sail away to the moon?

You can. 

But only if you treat fear like the four letter word that it is.

You can do absolutely anything in this whole entire world. You can make the rules, you can break the rules, you can soar to the edge of this whole entire world kid and you can break free from every chain that was ever placed upon you and you can be without limits and you can LIVE. 

(and here's a situation where that word fully applies)

You have to put in your dues first.

You have to work hard, sometimes doing things you don't want to do. Actually scratch that. You have to work hard, always doing things you don't want to do. You have to tow the line. You have to go to school and keep your nose to the grindstone and your feet on the ground. You have to focus and stay centered. You have to live with disappointment and be able to withstand setbacks. You will have to experience blow after blow after blow and then when you think you can't possibly take it anymore, you will have to suffer one more terrifying blow. You will fail, that's a given, and you will want to throw in the towel. 

And you can, that's your choice. But a lot of discarded dreams are wrapped up in dirty laundry.

You want to rise. I know you do, I can see it in your eyes.

So go do it. Start right now.

You have be determined and dedicated and you have to obey the rules.

Yes, son, you have to obey the rules before you can break the rules.

There is no shortcut, and if you spend your time trying to find one, that is precious time wasted from getting to where you want to be.

No one just wakes up one day and decides to conquer the world.

You have to want it, to feel it, to yearn for it, to live for it, to never, ever, EVER give up and to never stop working for it.

Then, and only then, my little lamb, can you grab your dreams and fly around the world on rocket boots.

But for now, go clean your room.

See also: On Being Happy (another letter to my boys)


Cute Clothes Wanted

shirt from merav

Popping in real quick to say a) I had the biggest plans to blog every day once my kids went back to school — I thought to myself, 6+ hours of freedom Monday through Friday? Sweetness. But yet, turns out I still have to work and my home office is still an office and even though I can create ad pages while watching Fox News, the work still has to get done. I'm also writing more freelance articles for the local newspaper so napping all day while my kids learn hasn't quite happened yet. 


I still have time to wear and photograph clothing from boutiques that I find amazing, such as the cute top I'm wearing here from a new online boutique, MERAV. My former babysitter (boohoo...she's "former" only because she moved away from me — for her professional baseball husband) started an online boutique called MERAV. She's based out of Scottsdale Arizona and if you order from her shop, it's always free U.S. shipping! 

I promise her clothes aren't run-of-the-mill: they're gorgeous with a bit of boho vibe. I know online boutiques can be one of many but this one stands out, and you'll see why. Visit her IG shop (username: shopmerav) and also visit her website HERE. The best part? The whole mission of MERAV is that 20% of all proceeds goes back to helping women in need.

OH. And I kid you not, swear on my life, her husband looks EXACTLY like The Bachelorette's JoJo's temporary boyfriend Jordan. See for yourself on her personal IG here. Told you. (jeals) 

Check it all out here.

And I promise to come back soon with lots of total unbiased non-conservative pro-Hillary content asap.


An Anti-Blogger Anniversary Post

My husband and I celebrated our twelve year anniversary this past weekend. That's twelve years, to one person, no deaths. Pat on my back if I do say so myself. 

Look. I love my husband. He's great! He works hard for my money, lets me know when I'm gaining too much weight (accountability) and responds well to my threats. He only questions my spending habits once a month (when the credit card bill comes) and he loves our kids almost as much as he loves me. He's really fun to party with in Las Vegas and this one time, in the Dominican Republic, we almost died together as a result of a really poor choice. (You know the ones, the ones that seem like so much fun in the moment...until they're not.) We've had some really exciting times.

He's there for me, he provides for me, he protects me. Really, he's great. And twelve years is something to celebrate but let me tell you what. I am so sick and tired of seeing all those sappy anniversary posts proclaiming ridiculous nonsense.  They all sound the same, they are all contrite as hell and it's just one glaring shade of vanilla pudding.

They all go a little like this:

On this day, nine years ago, I married my very best friend. I can't believe how much we've grown together and you make my life better every second of every day. The day I married you was the best day ever and I look forward to many, many more years of happily married bliss.


Or really, any other kitchen utensil you have sitting around because, no.

Girl, you know he ain't your best friend. He may be your best husband (at least I hope he is) but best friend? Come on. Let's get real. A real best friend is someone you can go to when you want to complain and bitch about your husband. A real best friend will cry with you and actually listen to you and then after she's done wiping your tears, will help you think of a way to seamlessly dispose of said husband without any trace being led back to you. Husbands can't help you with that, but best friends can. 

I'm kinda sorta pretty much kidding, but my point still remains the same. 

I mean, I got my husband and I matching Toms and he wouldn't even wear them with me. A real best friend would wear those and matching beanies. 

And I don't remember my husband being there for me when I watched my littlest one go off into the big bad world they call school. His little legs walked onto the bus and his little hand waved at me goodbye...I felt like my world was ending. I cried big fat tears and needed someone, anyone to talk to. Who came through in my time of need? That's right, my best friend. Not my husband. Sure, I wouldn't have the amazing kids I do if it weren't for him, and sure, maybe the reason he couldn't be there to hold my hand was because he was working to provide a living for us, but once again, my point still remains the same. 

And best day ever? Ever? Come on. I admit, the day I got married was pretty groovy. We had fun with our friends and family and got a little too tipsy on tequila shots and yeah, I look back on it fondly. But best day ever? Shoot, I do that Monday through Sunday. Now if we're talkin' about a real best day ever, that would probably be the day I realized it was socially acceptable to only text everything. Or when you get a free Kylie lip kit in the mail. Or when Taylor Swift got taken down. 

I think if we're being honest here, we can all admit that your razzle-dazzle wedding doesn't even begin to compare to that time Taylor got owned. (And Tay girl, if you're reading this, do something about that hair, k? Every time I see a picture of you I get into a bad mood.)

Again, I think weddings are great (actually I lied) and anniversaries are cool too. But let's not get carried away. You don't have to copy and paste whatever Bethany wrote on her Facebook wall the day before and what Marcy will write on her Facebook wall tomorrow when it's her anniversary. Be original, a little more honest.

Try something like:

Dearest Rob, today we celebrate twelve long...long long long long years of marriage. We've been through a lot, you and more so than you...but hey, I'm still here, ain't I! I can't say we make each other's lives better exactly, but we're really good drinking partners and that has to count for something, yes? The day I married you was the best day ever I got really drunk. I look forward to many more happy years of wedded bliss getting drunk with you this Friday. Love you! Mean it!

Butterflies and rainbows, people, butterflies and rainbows.

(ps, I'm working on getting the green hyperlinks and 
all the ads off my posts/photos. They are driving me nuts.)