Why You Should Pick Your Battles (aka Don't Fight With Bricks)

I hope this post finds everyone well.

So let's chat about Friday night...

We had our best friends over. Normally that would mean a great, serious injury free, night. Well, those stupid bricks had other plans. This is the story of how four little bricks can ruin your life. Okay, maybe I'm being dramatic. But they have ruined my whole week! Little a-holes.

So, the night is going exceptionally well. Brad and I kept my bestie's two youngest children and we were tired, but despite that, once K & C came to get their kids, we stayed up to play a card game.

Hilarity ensued and we were having a great time. Then I needed to take a potty break. I walk inside, handle my biz-ness, grab a sweatshirt, and walk my little (and by little I mean kinda big) behind outside.

Then it happened.

WHAM.

I went down like a ton of bricks. It was a very confusing time for me. I wasn't exactly sure what had happened. One minute I was walking out of the door, and the next I am laying on my side, sprawled out on the concrete. (I am using the word "sprawled"loosely here, but it's more entertaining if I say "sprawled.")

K immediately bursts into laughter. What are best friends for? And then men rushed to help me up, as gentlemen do. In my dazed state, I ask what happened. They (without laughing) inform me that the bricks have fallen off the step. Well crap.

Upon standing, I realize I am gravely injured. I took the heaviest blow to my knees. Particularly my left knee. Blood is squirting. Okay, it really was more like slightly pooling than squirting, but blood is blood. Being the tough cookie I am, I try to laugh it off, but I know it's bad. Brad got to play doctor with his stolen medical supplies (a story for another day) so he was pretty happy. Not something I found very attractive. And that was that. Let the healing begin.

It's been five whole days, and I swear my knee is worse. I am convinced I have picked up some strange infection that you can only get from concrete in an open wound. My body aches and just moving my leg hurts. This could just be the road rash, and let this be a lesson to everyone about why you shouldn't google anything EVER. Nothing good at all comes from googling injuries. Especially weird concrete infections. K knows this. And now that I think of it, -K-, I would like you to know that I would at least make sure you weren't going to need an amputation before I went into hysterical laughter. Just saying, maybe I'm the better friend. ;p

But anyway. Here is a picture of the evil bricks. (Notice the bloodstained, flesh eating bacteria carrying concrete in front):




Well, the bricks mock me once more. You are unable to see the concrete.

And here is my (once beautiful) knee five days later:





Lovely, huh? You can almost hear the bricks laughing from here.

So if I still have your attention, watch your step. You never know when psycho bricks and concrete will attack. I imagine they have been plotting this attack for some time.

(Note: No, I do not have any flesh eating bacterial disease that i am aware of and most likely, my left leg will NOT have to be amputated. Just thought in case any of you cared enough to be worried, you should know.)

(Note about the above note: But I stand firm about the google thing. I still may actually end up having to get it amputated. ;) )

Happy Daddy's Day!

I sometimes think this of my own children. ;p

It has been a pretty chillax week. My sweet little Emmett turned 6 months old. *sniffle sniffle*





Such a big boy! Now if I could just get Taylor to stop trying to wrestle him. Sheesh.

So it's about to be Father's Day. Tomorrow for all you people who forgot. I can't help but think about two people close to me who recently lost their daddies. One of which, this will be her first Father's Day without hers. If you still have your daddy, never take him for granted!!

Tonight my dad made fish. I was ridiculed for at least an hour by him because I wanted to bake mine instead of frying it like the rest was. Apparently I am "un-American." Whatevs pops. I also was "wasting" aluminum foil. My dad, being the engineer that he is, thought that my way of encasing the fish in foil was not correct and made me a nice little basket out of foil for me to cook the fish in. I tried explaining that I didn't need that, and this basket would require me "wasting" more foil because I would have to put a piece over the top of said basket. He then informed me, "Yeah, well that's the point of the basket. You put another piece on top to enclose the fish."

...huh? I'm wasting foil but you want me to use another piece to put on top? Ohhh myyyy gaaawd. He can be so exhausting, but I lovers him. ;p

And my baked fish was delicious, just so you know. AND I dismantled the basket and went back to my own method and everything was JUST fine. But I did get to hear about it for another 30 minutes. *shrug*






I wish everyone the best Father's Day possible and thank you Brad for being such an amazing, attentive daddy. Our children couldn't ask for a better dad and we are so lucky to have you in our lives! Thank you for loving me enough to pick me to be their mama.





(Ugh. I hate that beard.)


Just a thought to leave you guys with:





Until next time!

Location:Linden St,Trussville,United States

Let's Have Some Real Talk...

So. Here's the schpill. Yes, I just made that a word, deal with it. Has anyone ever been a victim? Like...had something completely horrible and undeserved happen to you that changed your whole life in a second? Well, I have. Recently as a matter of fact.


How do you move on? What is the standard procedure to get back to normalcy?


Lately, it seems like a struggle to do even the very basic basic every day things. Just functioning is barely manageable. I can't go a single day without spontaneously bursting into tears. I could be completely fine one minute, then be in tears in about .05 seconds. I feel crazy all of the time.


Does time really heal, or is that something that people just say to make their pain manageable?


Don't even get me started about leaving the house. If I even leave at all since my "incident", I almost immediately have a small anxiety attack. Things that used to never bother me send me completely over the edge these days. It's hard to tell why, but I think my patience is so thin because I am working SO hard every minute of every day to keep myself together that I can't handle anything else being thrown at me.


I know it isn't healthy for my kids to see me break down occasionally, but I have no idea how not too. Even tonight, I am sitting on the porch of our beach condo, looking out at the beautiful bay on this gorgeous night, and I am on the verge of an anxiety attack because I am sitting out here alone. But sitting inside with everyone is almost worse because I feel like everyone feels differently about me since the truth came out. So....sit outside - alone and scared- or go inside and feel weird around my loved ones? Coin toss? I'd rather cry alone.


My life has changed forever. I need to accept it and know that this is my new reality. But fuck....I didn't deserve this new reality and I am just so angry. I was happy!! Everything was falling into place and in one split second, all of that was stolen from me. I think anger is a completely acceptable reaction, it's the severe anxiety and other things I worry about.

My mother in law recently made a very inappropriate comment about how my actions are affecting the development of my kids right now. Can I get a big fuck you please?? You get sexually assaulted and then you can talk to me about my actions. I really had no intention of bringing her into this blog post, but it just sort of came out so I'm going to roll with it. This is MY blog. This is MY place to express myself, and by God...I'm going to do it. This is where I can vent and be real and not have to always smile and be polite and say the right effing thing.


I wish someone could tell me that all of this will pass...and that I can actually believe them. I wish that my husband didn't go out of town the week I had to go to the hospital over all of this shit. I wish that for two seconds, my heart wouldn't feel like it's going to explode from my chest. But mostly, I wish I had never gone to the store that night.


Unfortunately, there is no happy ending to this story. At least not yet. But I am doing the absolute best I can and I hope that my loved ones can realize that and give me some G.D. time and space. Please bear with me when I don't answer the phone. Please look the other way when we are laughing and cutting up and I am suddenly in tears.


I know this healing progress is going to be LONG and very, very hard. I just hope that one day I can feel like "me" again.

Location:Perdido Beach Blvd,Orange Beach,United States

Normal? Or Not Normal?

Sometimes I seriously wonder if there is something seriously wrong with the way I think. I am kept up at night worrying about things like the impending zombie apocalypse (it's coming y'all, PREPARE YOURSELF), and how I could possibly be at the grocery store and someone might hit me with a buggy on accident, but somehow my leg breaks. Then while I am in the hospital with my broken leg there's an air bubble in my IV and BOOM. DEAD. All because we were out of milk. *sigh* I need to be back on Xanax, and that's bible right there. (That was for you Kristin. BIBLE.)
Also, I want to be friends with the woman who had to buy this bra. Because she has some huge bazookas and probably is awesome because of it:

For real y'all, one cup of this bra comfortably encased my whole head. I could have worn it as hat, but even then it would be a little too big.
On the same trip to the thrift store, Danielle and I found hats that were suitable for a royal wedding. Sadly I do not have pictures of these hats. We wanted to buy them SOOOO bad and wear them out into public for a day, but they wanted $15 for those hats! What the what?? Afterwards, we talked about it and decided that it's probably best we didn't get them because once everyone has seen us in those fabulous hats, we would never be able to wear them again, and the next hats we buy would have to be even better, and it would hard to have topped these hats. But I did find a good drinking shirt and these adorable piggy earrings:
(Notice it's a boy and a girl pig)

I wore them last night with the hopes of having a conversation starter, but as it turns out, no one really notices earrings. So I had to tell everyone to look at my amazing earrings and it totally defeated the purpose and was exhausting at that. Danielle bought some awesome seagull earrings. They also went unnoticed. I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't disappointed. I would TOTALLY notice if someone was wearing rad earwear.
My spellchecker is not happy about the word earwear. If it isn't a legit word, it should be. Maybe I should send an email to the dictionary people and demand it be made a word. I could get a petition going and everything. EARWEAR EARWEAR EARWEAR. Take that spell check.

About Last Night...

Conversation between me and Danielle this morning following a party at JJ's:

(via text)



Me: I fell last night and busted my chin on a rock and have a huge strawberry. Sloppy sloppy sloppy.

Danielle: Fail Barbie fail

Me: You know it's a good party when you have to apply Polysporin to half your face the next morning.

Danielle: I'm proud you're using Polysporin on a less serious note. Did everyone happen to see it?!

Me: No. It was when we were walking to the car. But I mean damn! It be dark in those woods walking to the car! I'm pretty sure Brad and Chris Ruthven had to carry me to the car after that...like Rhett Butler style.

Danielle: Oh shit guh! It was dark in dem woods! Hope that pretty face ain't too beat up

Me: The strawberry takes up most of my chin. It's pretty impressive.

Danielle: Boo I'm hungry

Me: Me too. Brad is going to be working outside in a little while. Wanna lay in the bed with me and watch Netflix?

Danielle: Yes after we get food

Me: Do I have to get out of bed for this food excursion? Because I really really don't want to

Danielle: No you don't


...and that right there is friendship bitches.







On a side note: Thank you JJ for hosting an amazing party. Thank you to everyone else for allowing me to be uncomfortably cuddly with y'all. And sorry for trying to kiss you Laura.

There May Be A Restraining Order In My Near Future

So I spent my entire day completely involved in the book , Let's Pretend This Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir), by Jenny Lawson.
It. Was. Hilarious.

And for the first time ever, I felt inspired to write a letter to an author. Notice how I call her "Jen" instead of "Jenny." Yes, I'm cool like that. But anyway, I thought I would share my fan letter with you all in hopes that it will inspire you to buy this book. It's worth it!

My completely NOT inappropriate fan letter went exactly like this:


"I just finished the book Jen! Yes, I read it over a 10 hour span and completely ignored my children in that time. I also had to put on a maxipad because I pee when I laugh. Thank you childbirth. I LOVED the book! So great! It is completely refreshing to (sort of) meet someone who has similar irrational thoughts and has also almost gotten into slap fights with my husband over whether Jesus is a vombie and the impending vombie apocalypse. By the way, I would at least survive a week. The Jesus conversation just resulted in my husband becoming extremely offended and telling me "he'll pray for me." That's Alabama for you. Anyway, I hope this comment doesn't get lost in all your other comments because the fan girl in me would be crushed if you didn't see it. I was planning to write a page long email explaining my love for your writing, but then I didn't want you to put out a restraining order. Or block me from the blog. Or buy a handgun. Then I figured that probably why you don't post your email address. Or maybe you do and my iPhone screen is just too small for me to see it. I have been reading for the past 10 hour after all. I'm going to wrap this incredibly long and stalker-ish comment up by saying thank you for making me feel like I'm not so crazy. Not saying that you are crazier than me. Or that your crazy at all. Okay...NECROPHELIA IS BAD.

Haha. I think I like that. Although my go to subject changer usually involves me referring to strange moles on my skin, or asking people about their bodily fluids and/or pooping habits. Am I the only person who shits once a week and thinks that that is normal?! I know there is some other chronically constipated, extremely bored person who is still reading this post and is all like "Hell Yeah Sister!!" So cheers to being one of a kind lady-friend. You inspire me to hold my freak flag high! Although, once again, I am not insinuating that you have a freak flag. But I'm pretty sure you do, and a cute little stuffed rodent is probably holding it for you. Maybe you have an oscillating fan that makes it blow in the wind and there is a little light that shines on it and it is a battle monument. FREAKING BRILLIANT. Someone should totally hook you up with that.

Unfortunately, your book tour is not coming to Birmingham, or Atlanta *sniffles* so my chances of meeting you are crushed for now. And I continue to make myself sound stalkery. I am totally not the stalking type. But it would make me happy if you signed my book. Well, I'd have to. It another one because I bought your Nook book. But even if I never get my future book signed, I will still post this to my newly started blog and tell all my friends to read your book! You're welcome. "



Hopefully she won't call the police. I wouldn't. I imagine that I would be completely flattered that someone would write all that to me. I might even cry. Seriously. And I think it would be effin amazing to have a stuffed mouse holding a freak flag in some sort of mini war monument. Maybe it can even wear a little soldier's outfit and look war torn. God I feel sorry for my children.

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God's Amazing Love

God's Amazing Love is in my hand and is holding my wine tonight. Jesus take the wheel and such.




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Location:Munger Cir,Trussville,United States