Uncle Fatty- A Guest Post

Happy Friday, folks! “Aunt Fatty” is on hiatus, so “Uncle Fatty” from The Midnight Goose blog is taking the hell over for the day.

Hi. I’m Allen T. St. Clair. We might not have met before, but let me assure you, I’m actually a decent person. I’m generally kind, friendly, supportive—a real cheerleader for my family, friends, fellow bloggers and authors. Making others smile is one of my favorite hobbies and makes me feel better about myself…which I guess means I’m not being entirely altruistic, if such a thing exists.

However, I also am (internally) a total douchebag. I’ve constantly got an internal monologue going on about what I think but don’t say out loud. Don’t we all, though? We all have thoughts we’d never share with others because, well, we don’t want people to know how truly horrible we are in real life, amirite? In my defense, though, usually my mean thoughts are about people who deserve them.

People I refer to as “Dusty Bitches”. Now, when I call someone a “Dusty Bitch” out loud, it’s meant with love. When I think: “Oooooh, look at this Dusty Bitch”, it’s not meant out of love. It means I’ve hit my limit with someone’s particular brand of bullshit and wish they’d get a tape worm from eating buffet sushi. But I try really hard to keep those thoughts to myself.

Dusty Bitch

So today, I’m going to make an incomplete list of the Dusty Bitches we’ve all encountered at one time or another. Buckle up, ya’ Dusty Bitches, ‘cause we’re all going to Hell with this post.

Dusty Bitch Type #1

Karen, I know you want your venti almond milk unicorn latte with three pumps of raspberry flavor and rainbow sprinkles mocha chocha latte ya-ya served in the skull of a Shih-tzu at 195 degrees, but I ain’t got the time to hear you tell the barista that, okay? I was late to work the moment you started thinking about ‘Gramming your drank. Get a gawt damn “mocha” like the rest of us and move on with your day. You’re a Dusty Bitch.

Dusty Bitch Type #2

Thank you for telling me the best dog food I need to be feeding my pet, Moon Flower, but not all of us live on a communal hairy hippy ranch where we don’t have jobs and have all the damn time in the world to freshly puree yams mixed with Yak milk and blood larvae, okay? Purina is perfectly fine for my dog. She’s got 6 years (at best) left in her regardless of how much money I spend on dog food. Besides, she was more than happy to eat that cheese covered tater tot I dropped on the kitchen floor that immediately collected all manner of her own hair and floor germs. I’ve seen the things she licks, so I don’t think she’s all that concerned with her health. Go build a Yurt with your other friends who possess ample pube hair and names they gave themselves after a ceremony of dancing naked under the full moon while swinging friendship beads and dead cats who were possessed by the spirit of Jerry Garcia. You give me angina. And you’re a Dusty Bitch.

Dusty Bitch Type #3

Look, Brenda. We all respect the fact that you feel that since you have a bi-level blonde haircut that you should be treated better than everyone else when shopping at the Tar-zjay. I get it. You’re important. Only someone with that much confidence would rock a haircut even Cher would look at and say: “Gurrrrrrrl. No.” The manager doesn’t want to speak to you and your brood of children all dressed like they fell out of a early aught’s Old Navy commercial. Put your expired coupons away, pay for your shit, slide your sparkly oversized sunglasses over your overly mascara’d eyes, and let us all get on with our lives. You’re a Dusty Bitch.

Dusty Bitch Type #4

Okay, John. We’ve been in an environmental crisis since two dingleberries* said: “I bet if we dig up this congealed dinosaur shit, we could make the things go faster and emit smoke that we can all choke on ‘til we die.” For the record, oil was discovered in 1859, so this shit is getting old. I don’t want to avoid getting crushed by your lifted quad-cab with tires fit for Paul Bunyan and his big blue ox “Babe”. Your penis is huge, okay? We get it. But we don’t all want to be wading in salt water in Iowa, so why don’t you cut it the fuck out? You’re a Dusty Bitch. Yes, dudes can be Dusty Bitches, too. Congrats for proving it.

*Those “dingleberries” were George Bissell and Edwin L. Drake. Look there! We’re all learning.

Dusty Bitch Type #5

Spencer, Brandon, Booker, Tucker, and every other entitled guy with a trendy non-name nowadays who is being told by they momma how special and unique they are and how they are a “prince”. Stop sending your unsolicited dick pics to…everyone. No one wants to open their phone and think: “Who licked the orange dust off a Cheeto and sent me a picture of it? How odd…oh. My. God.” Hardly anyone gets turned on seeing a picture of your nasty, shriveled business that you’re incredibly proud of for some reason. Keep it in your pants, leave people alone, and learn to flirt like a civilized human being—with displays of ritualistic dancing, offering dowries, and challenging competitors for affections to duels at sunrise. It’s called “being a gentleman”? Look it up. You’re Dusty Bitches (well, before you licked the dust off).

Anyhoozles, this concludes the first edition of “Allen’s Dusty Bitches”. Feel free to comment the Dusty Bitch tropes that annoy you—and leave “Aunt Fatty” some well wishes.

I gotta go.

The Dieting Chronicles of Dumpy von Marshmallow Waist and Duchess McMilkshakes*

Ya’ll, the weight loss motivation is finally getting serious up in here! (Right in time for all of the delicious Thanksgiving and Christmas season goodies. Smart.)

I’ve found me a Weight Watchers girlfriend and she’s funny lady, Amanda AKA Duchess McMilkshakes. She doesn’t have a blog yet, but I’m slowly chipping away at her apprehension to put her funny out into the world. For the time being, we are going to collab on a Weight Watchers weight loss adventure.

We each signed up for Weight Watchers (again) and took our ‘before’ photos (that, for the time being, will live in the privacy of our phones and in the minds of our lucky men). We are so ready to take this bitch DOWN.

Well, at least we are ready to not eat cake for breakfast *everyday*.

Because all of you lucky people already know so too much about me (and it’s about to get even more TMI) I’m just going to share Amanda’s bio. But, here’s my selfie in case you forgot what I looked like:

My two chins and my sassy cousin.

Throwback to when my daughter stayed in one spot for more than 10 seconds, and I could get my hair and makeup done. It’s one or the other now and I almost never pick makeup. I’m grateful every single morning for eyelash extensions.

My name is Amanda, and I’m a 36 year old mom to the sweetest angel on the planet, who inadvertently destroyed my bladder and waistline. I’m currently on a mission (with the help of my friend, Katie) to get fit, which hasn’t been easy because I love food and hate exercise. Let’s be honest, I didn’t get this round by eating apples and walking everywhere. Oh, and did I mention that my dude is a chef? Like an actual, classically trained chef who makes delicious food and couldn’t care less how fat I am as long as he gets to see me naked once in a while? It feels insurmountable some days, but I’ve mustered up the courage to give it another shot. This journey isn’t going to be easy, but I’m excited to share it with everyone- the good, the bad, and the funny. Let the hilarity ensue.

I don’t care that there is a mystery period in the middle of the sentence, this meme is our brains on bacon, ya’ll.

Random fun facts:

K: *I’m obnoxiously long-winded. Oh wait, we all knew that already.

*When I was a toddler, I used to get into the splits to stand up. I went on to do gymnastics for several years. You’d never know any of this after seeing me get off the couch or out of bed in the morning, though.

A: *I am 8 months postpartum and I still weigh over two bills. ‘How far over’ you ask? Far enough that I’d need to be seven feet tall for me to have a healthy BMI.
*I have contemplated teaching my baby and or dogs how to tie shoes so that I don’t have to pass out every time I bend over because I can’t fucking breathe.

Why are you losing weight?

A: I want to Beverly Goldberg the shit out of my daughter, and I can’t do that if my heart explodes because I can’t stop putting half and half on my Apple Jacks. Seriously though, you gotta try it.

K: I’m pretty sick of my bingo wings swinging like huge bull balls when I write things on the board at work. I’m really worried one or both might get carried away and knock a kid out one day.

What makes this time different?

A: Honestly, I don’t know if this time will be the magic time I get my shit together and stick to a diet, but I do know that I’m not comfortable settling for elastic waistbands and angled selfies so that only 1.5 chins show. Unfortunately, Snapchat hasn’t made a flower wreath to flatter my waddle, so I need a new plan of action.

K: I’m just gonna be real TMI here. Last weekend, I was getting into the shower. It wasn’t a hair-washing day, so I had my super sexy shower cap on. I look completely and utterly ridiculous in the thing, but it does the job, so I guess I’ll have to accept looking like a beached whale at the salon.

I was leaned down, completely naked, getting the water temperature right. All of a sudden, I hear a noise that sounded exactly like Tina Belcher saying, “Butt”, so, naturally, I figured it was a serial killer who somehow managed to break in in broad daylight while the dude and I were at home. A split second later, I realized it was my boyfriend imitating Tina Belcher and I screamed, “Don’t, you asshole!” and slammed the door in his face.

From the other side of the door comes his voice, “What the hell? I just said ‘butt’. I saw your butt, so I said ‘butt’.”

Yeah, he saw my totally-in-need-of-a-serious-waxing-job butt in the bright light of morning. He probably also noticed my second ass (more on that later) and the fact that my back rolls have back rolls. Thankfully, since my rear end was facing him, he didn’t see my stomach eating my entire lower half.

That’s what I thought in my head. He probably just saw the ass he (for some strange reason) loves, but in my head what he saw was something so frightful, so grotesque, it pissed me off that he snuck up on me when I wasn’t prepared or almost fully clothed and in the dark.

That mental narrative needs to stop.

What was the breaking point? The cherry on top? The straw that broke the camel’s back?

A: Some of the kids in my Pre-K class asked when I’m having my baby. Granted, they’re 4 and 5 years old, but the fact they think I’m 72 weeks pregnant is a real problem.

K: Probably when I saw my second ass for the first time. What is a second ass you ask? Well, it’s a secondary butt within one’s primary butt. Usually, at least in my case, your second ass looks like two chicken cutlets with a bad case of cellulite that have been glued smack dab in the bottom middle part of the dominant ass. I noticed it while I was leaning on the counter brushing my teeth (because that task is really tiring, obvi) and because the full-length mirror was lined up perfectly with the vanity mirror, the stars aligned and- bam- I saw it, clear as day. I always thought I only had one butt.

Biggest irrational diet fear?

A: I believe, wholeheartedly, that being fat is God’s way of keeping me humble. If I were thin, I’d run around in two tassels and a leaf in the middle of winter with zero fucks given. I’m afraid that if I ever get in shape I’m going to have to have my ho phase at 36, with a new baby. It’s not gonna be a good look.

K: My most irrational fear is that I’m going to like this diet thing and turn into someone who prefers bullshit like kale brownies over fried Devil’s food cake donuts. Like, what if I become that annoying person someone made the meme “Just shut up and eat your salad, you whore” about? (I added that last part. I think that meme needed an extra touch of sass.) I can’t become that person. Fatty McSpaghetti Squash just doesn’t have the right ring.

What do you think you’ll miss most when you change your lifestyle?

A: I think I’ll miss the comfort that comes with old habits. Sometimes, the need to feel better outweighs the need to fit into skinny jeans.

K: I’m gonna miss just being a total fool about food. There’s something really freeing about not knowing or caring about how many calories or points something is. As awesome as it is to wake up and know your food plans for the day are limitless, it becomes a problem by the end of the day when you’re eating as much as a running back that does zero running and gets out of breath doing the brownie dishes.


We have some exciting weight loss topics to explore and some insane ideas for fitness in store. Let us know what you want to know more about. What would you like to see us do in the name of getting fit (because we are pretty much down to do anything ridiculous if we can write about it)? How can we embarrass ourselves to help you? Let us know in the comments.

*Amanda found this website where you can find your weight loss name to um…inspire you. If being named Greasy McBacon Thighs doesn’t get someone to eat a salad, I don’t know what will.

Sisters From Other Misters

To a blogger, followers are everything. Fucking everything. I’ve yet to meet a writer or online content creator who is just doing it all for the sake of doing it. We love, we need and we appreciate our readers.

If followers are important to bloggers, their fellow bloggers/followers are their life blood.
The people who are doing the same damn crazy thing I’m doing- writing, editing for daaaaays, creating, compiling, and otherwise making damn word magic- give me life.
They are me.
I am them.
For some oddly awesome reason, the majority of the bloggers I’ve connected with are either from the U.K. (also Ireland) or they are expats living there. Jealous af.
(This just further fuels my crazy British obsession.)

It was an absolute necessity that on my trip to the British Isles that I’d meet as many of my Blogily* as humanly possible.
It was actually them (well, the Annual Bloggers Bash Awards) that was the reason for the trip. As if anyone needed another reason to visit the most beautiful corner of the world EVER, but, yeah, meeting my favorite bloggers inspired my trip this past summer.
In the end, I didn’t get to meet up with quite as many bloggers as I had hoped I would, because life always seems to find a way to ruin the fun (and trying to arrange specific meet up locations and times when you are constantly traveling and you aren’t the only one it affects is hard af). All this means is that there will have to be another trip.

Now, let’s get on with it. Here are the lovelies I met during the great Clampetts Do Europe 2018:
The One Who Writes Things That Make Me Ugly Cry
Lorna from Gin & Lemonade is one of my favorite blogging writers. She has a unique writing style that I could recognize in my sleep. All of her posts are gold, but this one gave me goosebumps, granted me a supreme reader’s high and made me cry all at the same time.
I got to meet Lorna at her house on the Isle of Skye on her daughter’s fourth birthday party day. If you don’t know Lorna, you’re also missing out on knowing her adorable, precocious daughter, Isla (that we get to know through Lorna’s posts about her).
It was such fun meeting this penguin-loving girl who will for-absolute-sure grow up to rule the world.
It was so, so amazing to laugh, gossip and plan (Reno 2019, baby) with Lorna. It wasn’t enough time. Not even. Hence the part about something amazing going down in my neck of the woods in 2019.
Here are the pictures we almost forgot to take, because every minute we were together, we were trying to cram in as much nice-to-meet-you-finally-I’m-only-in-this-corner-of-the-world-for-a-short-time-but-I-have-so-much-to-say-and-ask-so-let’s-not-waste-our-time-mmmkay.

The immensely talented Lorna and yours truly

Lorna’s hubby, Neil AKA The Car Packing Ninja and Isla
The One Who Fucking Hates Scooters, But is Just Lovely AF
Hayley is the kind of blogger you instantly want to be best friends with. Her posts are:
A. Well-written
B. Relatable AF
C. Funny/thought-provoking/important
D. ALL OF THE ABOVE DUH
When I read her post about her hatred for scooters, I knew we were destined to be friends.
To someone obsessed with anything British, Hayley is every beloved British chick lit heroine I’ve ever wanted to know IRL. She’s the girl you want to have a drink with after work. She’s the girl who’s funny smart and real smart. She’s the girl you can be real with, because she probably also has ruined a table by ironing on it and not, like, on an ironing board. She’s real and genuine and lovable.
Hayley picked out a gorgeous location-Angelica, a super posh restaurant on the sixth floor of a shopping center- to meet in Leeds. While eating the best fucking ravioli that have ever passed my lips, we (my mom and I) were treated to breathtaking views of downtown Leeds and to, of course, Hayley.
One evening was not enough to get to know her and listen to her quintessentially English accent at all. As we said our goodbyes, I realized how grateful I was to have a friend who was so hard to say goodbye to.

I LOVE this lady!

How gorgeous is this place AND THAT RAVIOLI?
The One Who, I SWEAR, Is My Real Sister Somehow
You know how once in a great while you meet someone who just gets you, someone you just completely and utterly click with?
Well, that is Cinzia.
Awhile back, I started a secret Facebook group for my lady friends, because sometimes we need a safe place to ask about period panties and WHY IN THE FUCK CAN’T HE PUT HIS SOCKS IN THE HAMPER, and that’s when I first started seeing comments from this just-like-me crazy funny girl invited by one of my blogger buds.
She would respond to threads and posts with gifs that are my absolute favorite gifs of all time and sometimes I’d have to do a double check, because I’d think something she said was something I’d said or vice versa.
When she found out I was coming to England to meet her friend and workmate who is a blogger friend of mine, we agreed she’d absolutely have to join in on the fun.
The day we met, we had drinks at a bar called The Magna Carta in Lincoln. See:

She walked up Steep Hill in the 85-degree heat to meet me. And, Steep Hill is literally what it’s called- a really fucking steep hill.
She rode the train for two hours to get to Lincoln from Nottingham.
She bought me our first drink even after trucking it uphill in the freakishly hot weather.
She took the Clampett Clan on a personal tour of the Lincoln Cathedral.
We laughed and talked like we had known each other for years. It was easy and fun and the hours felt literally like minutes.
I figured I’d only get one day with Cinzia, but she made the two hour train trip a second time and we took a boat ride on the Lincoln Canal and had lunch as we talked and laughed like old friends.
At the end of the day, my mom and I had to take a bus back to our house stay. Being total bus newbs, she figured out what bus we needed to take, told us to ask the driver to yell out the stop for us (that’s a hilarious story I’ll have to tell another time, btw), and saw us onto the bus (I secretly think she was worried we were learning disabled in public transportation and was genuinely concerned we’d end up in Wales or something).
As the bus drove out of the station, we waved and waved like two little girls and I couldn’t help but feel like I was saying goodbye to a lifelong friend or beloved family member.
She’s totally my Sicilian sister from another mister from across the sea (I don’t care if that doesn’t make sense).

Cinzia is now a blogger! Check out her work here.
The One Who Sent Me Tunnock’s Tea Cakes (AKA My Most Favorite Person Ever)
While in Lincoln, I also got to meet Frédérique, another blogger and follower of mine. It was pretty exciting to meet my Québécois package pal in person (that means we have sent each other packages with special sweet treats in Fatty McCupcakes language).
The funniest part of this whole meet up is that this girl is literally half my size and when taking pictures together, I was squatting down to appear not quite so gargantuan in comparison and she kept squatting down like it was a fun game I was trying to play. It was hilarious.

In case you haven’t met my massive nose yet, here it is. It says, “Nose to meet ya.”
So, I think it’s pretty safe to say that my trip across the pond was a monumental one and I had many memorable moments, but it was and will always be defined by the short, but influential moments I had with these wonderful women.
*Blogily:
blog•i•ly
noun
1. a group consisting of writer types from all walks of life, background, sexuality, ethnicity, and what have you, who band together to support one another in all manner of ways, including but not limited to blogging.
synonyms: blog family, tribe, sister/misterhood,

Don't Be a Debbie Downer 

Blog comments-I live and breathe by them. I mean, my life would obviously go on, and I’d figure out how to get oxygen the good, old fashioned way if I suddenly didn’t have WordPress. But, no shit, my day is made exponentially better when I see a slew of love waiting for me to read in my WordPress app. 
That is, unless it’s an unnecessarily rude/bitchy/salty/passive aggressive comment. 
Those aren’t my favorite. 
Way back when I first started putting my ridiculous thoughts out *there* for God and everybody to read and critique, I was scared out of my ever-loving-mind. 
What if my humor doesn’t translate well to others?
What if my use of the word “fuck” offends the  majority of those who attempt to relate to me?
What if the only person who thinks I’m funny is me?
What if what I write about is too TMI, and the people in my life start regarding me as a loud, unfunny, crass imbecile? 
These were very real concerns. 
The response over the years, however, has been incredible.
Somedays, I don’t even believe that I’m able to put together some words and those words mean something to others.
Somedays, I have to check to make sure it’s me who’s getting the laughs about unfortunate yoga flatulence and insane vacation fails. 
The love has been real, immense, and supportive. 
Except, when it hasn’t. 
There’s always gotta be that person. You know who I mean: 
The guy who has to ruin the good time with their overly concerned beliefs or their inability to get a joke, even when it slaps them in their dopey face. 
Only very recently have I had run-ins with some haters making their presence known on my blog. 
I’ve always heard or read stories about relentless haters from other blogs and bloggers. To be honest, I only half believed that someone was being harassed by strangers over their content, language, or grammar usage. 
Really? Does that *really* happen? (There’d always be an eye roll, too, for good measure.)
Well, I’m just a little late to the game, ya’ll.
Yes, people actually take time out of their day to comment on minor grammatical errors.
Yes, people actually miss the entire main idea of a post and then make their disdain of a tiny kernel of an idea known in your comment section. 
Yes, people actually make it a point to sound as bitchy and passive aggressive as possible when commenting on a harmless subject, like book suggestions. 
I can’t even.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m always first in line to spread some bitter all over the comment section of dumb articles or videos on social media. I have too big of a mouth to not. 
And, I’d be lying if I said I was never tempted to comment on terrible grammar or topic choices when reading blog posts. 
But, here’s the difference between myself and your average Comment Creep: 
I understand that blog posts are off limits in regards to unhelpful, just plain salty opinions.
A Facebook post took seconds, and likely, very little thought. Yet, a blog post, almost certainly, took hours/days/weeks, tons of creative energy, and a shit ton of guts to post. 
I feel pretty confident that fellow bloggers understand this code of conduct, but the “others” obviously don’t.
I know excuses for constructive criticism might come up. My opinion on “helpful” suggestions is that they aren’t welcome unless specifically asked for by the author/blogger. 
Also, respectful dialogue and discourse on a topic that is controversial is fine. There’s nothing better than having a lively discussion with someone who believes differently than you do. 
I’m strictly speaking of rude-ass comments that make you feel stabby, yet, instantly self-conscious. 
The.worst. 
So, here’s where I need your help.
What do you do when you come across a rude comment? Do you delete it? Do you ignore it/not approve it? Do you comment back? Do you dust off your voodoo doll? 
How do you deal with Debbie Downers? Let me know in the comments! 

Monday Musings: What Are Your Blog Reading Requirements? 

I was just talking with a friend about the purpose of reading blogs. She’s a devoted reader of mine and, apparently, I’m the only blogger she reads. She was saying that unless she’s friends with or related to the blog writer, she’s probably not going to spend her time reading their personal stories. I can totally respect that some people have to know the blogger/writer to want to read about their embarrassing encounter with the Porta Potty or their personal preference when it comes to stand mixers. 
I totally get that. 
I’m pretty much the opposite of my friend when it comes to online reading preferences. 
I love reading about someone’s awesome vacation to some exotic locale or reading about how they make a mean enchilada casserole with a recipe they got from their crazy Aunt Marge. 
Maybe that’s totally weird? 
Maybe I’m entirely too interested in complete strangers’ fun family stories or how they studied abroad in Ireland (read about one of my favorite blogger’s experiences doing just that here)?
Whatever it may be, I can definitively say that I’m a devoted blog reader, and I appreciate my committed readers more than words can express.
Throughout the last two years and some odd months, I’ve connected with, gotten to know, and enjoyed reading so many bloggers. 
I love you all. I truly do. We are a tribe, and I’m so fortunate to be a part of it.
Just like my friend, however, I have some requirements that must be met in order for me to spend so much of my time reading blogs. 
These are some of them:
1. You’re a real person who responds to comments and engages with your readers. If you never respond to comments, or it takes you far too long to respond, and I’ve long since forgotten about your post, I will grow weary of dedicating time to read and comment. 
2. Posts are well-written and purposeful. We all make grammatical errors (like that one time I made a massive one in the title of a post *cringe*), but if the mistakes take away from the message, this teacher can’t even. 
3. The topic is one in which I can relate to in some way, shape, or form. This is a pretty straightforward one. If you write about something I can hardly come up with a comment for, then your topic is best left to those who can. There’s nothing wrong with that. I write about back fat, rogue chin hairs, and how I have a tendency to inhale baked goods. Those topics aren’t for everyone, either. 
And, that’s it, really. If you respond to comments I spend time crafting, you don’t have grammatical errors every line, and your posts keep me wanting more, I’m hooked. 
So, I’m curious-what are your blog reading preferences and requirements? Let me know in the comments. 

My Future Life

One of my all-time favorite bloggers, babysteps22 nominated me for the Future Challenge. I feel I must take a moment to profess my adoration for this fabulous fellow woman and writer. She was the first person I connected with on WordPress. I instantly fell in love with her wit and spunk. I saw a little of myself in her words, and I was intrigued by the stories of her life in India. When I realized how effortless it was to connect and relate to someone from a different country and culture, I knew my decision to blog and network with other writers from all over the world was the right one. I feel honored to be able to write from my heart, and that expression of who I am is felt in someone else, thousands of miles away. Really, honored is putting it mildly. Thank you, beautiful human, for being the catalyst and my inspiration to write and touch so many lives. Also, sorry it took me so long to complete this challenge *sheepishly, shamefully hoping for your forgiveness*
So, now that I’ve been thoroughly creepy and sickly sweet, I will move on to the actual challenge. 
The rules: 
Thank the blogger who nominated you. I think I over-thanked *check*. Next, link back to the original creator of the challenge, Dreams and Movie Screens, so they can see how far their challenge has spread *check*. 
Then, share 5 things about your future, because obviously you’re a fortune-teller. Actually, in all seriousness, it’s like a dream board. The concept is, anyway. It’s pretty much a known fact that if you write down your goals, you’re like 90% more likely to accomplish them (or something like that). 
Finally, nominate 5 bloggers to share their own future. My nominees are:

  1. Cat in the Cactus
  2. Carrots in My Carryon
  3. A Funny Thing Happened When I Was Learning Myself
  4. Island Smile
  5. Spiked Cupcake

I guess it’s now time to Windex my crystal ball, it gets pretty smudged with all the peering into the future that I do. I swear, I spend more time looking into the future than I do living in the present. It’s a problem, I know.
Also, I’ll have you all know, I’ve had to knock on my coffee table, end table, entry table, and every kitchen cabinet because OCD. One does not simply tell their own future without superstitions rearing their ugly heads. So, with that I’ll jinx it all and tell my future: 

  1. I will finally have a damn dog. At the ripe-old-age of 32, I’ve never had to care for more than a ficus (and I promptly killed it). I know I’m ready to keep something other than myself alive. It’s time.  
  2. I will break down and buy a new car. I’ve spent my entire driving life not having to pay an expensive car payment each month. I also drive a car that has no emergency brake, has a cardboard sun visor, a broken, disintegrating seat, and has to go through major repairs just to pass smog each year. It’s more than time I finally drive a car that doesn’t have parts falling off it as it speeds down the freeway. For everyone’s safety. 
  3. I’ll be living in England. Somewhere lush, green, and homely. I’ll be so engrained in the British culture, I’ll be wearing wool sweaters, which I’ll properly refer to as jumpers, in July. I’ll not be able to go a day without my afternoon cuppa, and I’ll go on holiday to Italy, like it’s no big deal. I can already see myself walking along an old cobblestoned street in the drizzling rain, wearing plaid wellies. 
  4. I will be a published writer. Maybe I’ll write a lighthearted, fictional chick lit story about a lovable heroine, or maybe my big break will come in the form of a gritty, controversial autobiography that shocks my loved ones and friends. It’s a crapshoot. 
  5. I’ll finally be able to wear those expensive size 12 jeans that are collecting dust in the back of my closet. They’re circa 2009, and they have rinestones on the ass, in the shape of a fleur de lis, but they will fit like a second skin without leaving permanent indentations in my gut. A girl can dream. 

So, what do you see in your future? Play along, so I’m not the only one who has horribly jinxed myself. It won’t feel quite so lonely if I’m not the only one who actually ends up being the crazy cat lady whose only trip to real life is my weekly cat food and Popov vodka run. Please play. Please. 

Just a Freaking Ray of Sunshine-An Award

  
I was nominated by the always fabulous Carrots in My Carryon to participate in the Sunshine Blog Award. I love talking about myself. Just being honest. Conveniently, I’m also super creepy-curious about others, so asking really pointed, possibly embarrassing, questions is my forte! Yay! Here we go! 
The Rules:

  • Thank the person who nominated you in a blog post
  • Answer the 11 questions set by the person who nominated you
  • Nominate 11 blogs to receive the award, and write them 11 new questions

  
1. Describe to me, in detail, your favorite pizza.  (Bonus points if you can make it sound sultry.)
My ideal pizza has a nice solid, substantial crust. Not too thin, not too thick. The color has to be right too. Not too pale, not too dark. Just right-in-the-middle firmness. My ideal crust has to satisfy me as it’s the foundation for the rest of the pizza relationship. Next, it’s all about the sauce. Weak, thin sauce is unacceptable. I want a zesty, robust, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am experience. Knock my socks off with that ish. The toppings don’t really matter to me. As long as the base is solid, everything else just comes together. 
2.  Congratulations!  You just won a boat.  What do you name her?
I happen to already know that boats are usually named for women, but not my boat. I would name my boat ‘The Gary’. Gary is my uncle and he was always our captain on my grandma’s boat. Every summer. Forever. I think boats, I think Captain Uncle Gary. It’s just how it is. 
3.  INTRUDER ALERT!  Someone’s breaking into your house!  What do you grab to fend him off? 
What do I grab? I’m already out the window, running down the street. Oh.Hell.No. 
4.  What is your least favorite household chore?
CLEANING THE TOILET. It’s germy. There are usually stray pubes adorning the bowl or they’re fastened to the under seat. There are tiny toilet paper poop balls littered behind the seat. People defecate inside it and I have to clean it. Toilet cleaning is, quite possibly, the worst thing to ever happen to anyone. Hands down. Anything that has poop in, around, or on it is NOT my favorite.
5.  A stranger hands you $100 and one condition:  you have to spend it on something COMPLETELY frivolous, or a puppy dies.  What do you spend it on?
Oh girl, what do I NOT spend it on? I master in the art of frivolity. Shoes. Cute shoes that hurt my feet. Every single product in any Bath & Body Works at any time. A Michael Kors purse. A day of pampering at a spa. Eyelash extensions. Full body hair removal. Oh. Wait. It’s only $100. I was totally spending $100,000…
6.  Say something spiritual about doing laundry.
It’s the bane of existence. Is that spiritual? 
7.  What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten (on purpose?)
Haggis with “neeps and tatties”!
8.  What’s the oldest thing in your fridge right now?
A moldy lemon. It’s grown around and become one with the top rack. It looks comfortable. I don’t want to disturb it. 
9.  Describe your sleeping space. 
I MUST have a fan on at all times. For the sound, and for the constant air in my face. It’s up there with my face shaver as my most important possession. My bed has precisely 12 pillows for two people. I have a down feather pillow top mattress and a down feather comforter. My sleep is all that matters, so it has to be top-notch. 
10. Thrill rides:  Yes or no, and why or why not?
Um no. If you can guarantee I won’t die or feel sick afterwards, I’d consider it. I’m zero fun. 
11. What’s your favorite joke?
Me trying to give up cake-like consistency baked goods. It just ain’t gonna happen. 
My nominees are…

  1. Cat in the Cactus
  2. Kimboxin
  3. A Wandering Memory
  4. Karlaland
  5. Island Smile
  6. Babysteps22
  7. atalossforwordz
  8. lifeofmon
  9. afunnythinghappened
  10. A Couple Talks
  11. sfarnell

Heeheehaha. Now for MY questions…
1. If you could have one superpower what would it be, and why? 
2. Describe your ideal Friday night. 
3. What is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you? 
4. Describe your High School experience in 4 words. 
5. What is in your bag/pocket right now? 
6. Biggest fashion mistake? 
7. If you could go back and relive one experience, what would it be?
8. Most embarrassing song in your ITunes? 
9. You have a year, unlimited resources, support, and 1 million dollars. How would you fix our world’s problems? 
10. Your favorite movie and why?
11. What’s the worst part about getting older? 
I went easy on ya’ll. I totally could have gotten creepy! These are easy, so join in on the fun! 
 

Build Your Blog Bullshit?

Hiyo. I have been stumbling upon quite a few gimmicky blogs that promise blog success and all the riches the world can afford-Scrooge McDuck style. Anyone find success with these? One of the blogs I stumbled upon was a How-to-Get-Paid-to-Write-a-Travel-Blog type. The man writing it could barely string together a sentence, yet he professed to make 6 figures with his blog. He also says he has a book deal thanks to his uber successful blog. To finish off a paragraph trying to convince his readers, he said, “Don’t take my word for it”. Really. You mean to tell me, all of your promises mean nothing? Thanks for wasting the 5 minutes it took to read your drivel, dick. Are you actually saying I should not trust you? So, that steep fee to get your program could be a scam? Is that what you are trying to say?
Usually if someone says, “Don’t take my word for it”, it is usually followed by an explanation as to why you can’t just take their word for it. Usually one says, “Don’t just take my word for it”. Hence, why you must buy into some gimmick they are selling. So, all I can surmise is this “super successful” blogger, promising you don’t have to sell out, is trying to get you to sell out by wasting your hard-earned money on his shady shit.
I am also about ready to unfollow a blogger who is begging his readers for money to keep his blog afloat. Excuse me?
How have you found success with your blog? Have you bought into any of these “gimmicks”? If you did (I won’t judge-promise), did you find your blog improved? How does one not sell out in this world, yet get their work “out there” for all to see?
The struggle continues.