Every Single Time


A couple things have a way of reoccurring in my life, some good and others not, some out and some 100% in my control.

Maybe to you, this might seem small, but every single time I tweet about or to Dateline [don’t judge me] they tweet me back. This was the first time…

Then, a few months later:

A month later:

And for the win…

Perhaps this is not as exciting for you, as it is for me…

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I’ll move on…

Public bathrooms are scary places, yeah? Every single time I use one, regardless if there are three stalls or 32 stalls, I always seem to choose the one, then two, sometimes even three that have something wrong with them. Usually I’ll have to dip out real quick after a lack of flushing going on, or worse there is piss sprayed all over the seat.

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When every single stall in the public bathroom is disgusting…

We are ladies, right? Can we fucking act like it? I have to enter and immediately exit several times before finding one I find acceptable and that’s a problem. If you’re going to hover, clean up after your, omg-I-can’t-sit-down, prissy ass.

It drives my husband crazy, but every single time we get something new I have to open it. I don’t know if it’s an OCD thing, I’m sure it’s not medically related at all, purely selfish actually. Bags of chips, cereal, ice cream, toothpaste, dryer sheets. I do not care, at all, if the previous one is not gone. I want to use, more specifically, open the new one… it’s fresh.

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Every single time I drink vodka I make terrible decisions. Every single time Hanson gets played, especially without my own doing, I jump around and make sure every knows how great they are – if you didn’t know, they have the best Christmas album.  Every single time it’s pointed out that I am left handed or someone has a relative also named, Jenni, I respond with the same answer: We’re everywhere. Every single time I’m around a baby I want one, until I get home and remember how easy my life currently is with one ten-year-old… and I’m late, every single time.

E is for Every Single Time.

An Open Letter To Carbs

Dear Carbs,

I just wish we could have a more functional relationship. It’s not me, it’s you…all you. Honey wheat, dinner rolls, cake, rye… if you didn’t basically just wad up into a doughy ball after I ingest you and slap yourself to my ass loving you all the time wouldn’t be a struggle. Or, maybe you could work on making my A-cups into B-cups, my ass does not need you the way those things do. I’ve proven my feelings over and over again.

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What can you do for me, Carbs? Help me, help us.

I’m not sure I’ve ever told you, there is a joke within my family regarding just how many rolls I can eat during holiday functions. I’m not even picky, give me 12 store bought rolls that have been sitting out for 5 hours and I’ll eat that shit right up with no regrets. You embarrass me.

I blame you for the tire that appears here and there above my favorite pair of jeans, it’s when that happens I realize the time spent with you needs to be monitored, like supervised visitations. I have to tell everyone who strikes up a conversation with me that I’m watching you, keeping a close eye. I even invite others to get all up in our business…

“Please take these away.

-Me, regarding bread, chips, beer, rice, potatoes…

We just need to find a happy medium. One where you don’t make me feel uncomfortable and gross. I think the word might be, moderation. That’s what we’ll work on, Carbs. Me and you. We got this.

Love & Hate,


C is for Carbs

An honorable mention goes out to my friend, Casey, who also loves carbs.

A Rant.

For some reason, when I attempted to come up with a topic to write about for the letter A, I could not stop singing the state song we all learned in elementary school.
Aaaaaaalabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas…
If I had to choose one thing to take away from public schooling – that’d be it. I don’t know, maybe you didn’t get the pleasure of that education and in turn probably can’t recite every state in America in alphabetical order.
Procrastination is a real problem though, I thought I’d have at least a handful of posts ready to go for this A to Z challenge and even a theme. Yep, got super ambitious for a quick second, talked real hard about not stressing out and really utilizing my time to network with other writers. I had a few ideas mapped out, one solid bit that I was sure was the one, but here we are at 11:30pm on April 1st writing out the post for the letter A. How about, A Mess? Or, Awesome, Who Was I Kidding?
Anyway, I saw a bumper sticker the other day; I love bumper stickers.
via: pinimg.com

This is not the one I saw, but I do like it and it gets my story going. Sit tight.

I’ve always been a fan of folks who like to proclaim that their child can beat up my honor role student. Before I had a drivers license, I had plans to get me one of those. If someone is willing to slap a sticker donning a statement of sorts, they must feel pretty confident in what they’re driving around advertising, yeah?  From political affiliations to sports teams, people who love their wiener dogs and Hello Kitty – I’ve never really been offended by someone’s stupid sticker on their car before. Seems silly, but it happened.

It was an obnoxiously large, navy blue Ford truck with more than one statement on its bumper. The first one that caught my eye was: Abort Planned Parenthood. Okay. I think that’s shitty but I’m not offended. Next, was this guys free ticket into heaven, it simply said: God is Good, with a silly little smiley face. Again, doesn’t really do much for me, but the third one made my eyes get all wide and before I knew it, I’d rapidly placed judgement on this man in the giant truck. This guy is an asshole. 

“Celebrate Diversity – Marry Someone of the Opposite Gender.”
Whoa. I feel like I need to talk this out. Where did he get this? How many people have this sticker on their vehicles, displaying their obvious lack of acceptance? This guy probably had a solid two minutes while trying to get the sticker off the backside. He could have decided against it and went back to trolling the gays (probably his words, not mine) in cyberspace instead of driving around town making everyone hate him. That’s what I imagine this person does with their time, cracks open cans of Budweiser in front of his computer while bitching that Jack and John are allowed to get married.
I might be analytical to a fault but can we just acknowledge, real quick, that this guy has to have a family member (or seven) who think it’s just as wild? I can hear the whispers at family functions:
Rick is here, have you seen what’s on the back of his truck? NO? Go look.
Without thought, I sped up to pass him. Clearly I wanted to get a good look at this holier-than-thou, God fearing man. He was everything I thought he was going to be, I feel like these people have a certain look – maybe it’s just anger. They are so mad that Jack and John love each other, maybe even want to raise some kids and DAMN IT – that’s not what they teach in the great book, The Bible. God is good m’right?. We locked eyes for a solid 2.5 seconds and I don’t think I’ve ever disliked someone so quickly. In that quick glance it was like he said: Yup. I said it.
Actual footage of me afterwards…

I’m not religious but I know that if you take that book word for word there are a lot of things that seem a bit off.

“And the pig, because it parts the hoof and is cloven-footed but does not chew the cud, is unclean to you. You shall not eat any of their flesh, and you shall not touch their carcasses; they are unclean to you.” Leviticus 11:7–8

I hope Rick doesn’t eat bacon or play any football – it’s against the rules. Where can I get my snarky, rotten bumper sticker about that? A is for Asshole. Rant over.

7 Reasons I Do Not Shop On Black Friday

I don’t judge anyone who wants  to battle for parking spots at 4am or stand in line for the out-of-this-world deals but it’s certainly not my gig. I used to think it had something to do with my ridiculous procrastination bug I suffer from, but there’s more to it than that.

[1] I’m still in a food coma.

Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, a helluva lot of pie, a few veggies… all of that is still very present and has left me with the day-after-thanksgiving-day-bloat. I don’t think there’s anything in my closet that will fit me today, even my yoga pants are questioning my decisions from yesterday.

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[2] I can’t handle the amount of less-than-desirable humans who are out.

Masses of people with varying degrees of cleanliness, friendliness and common sense. Sure, a lot of shoppers are showered, nice and know that it’s frowned upon to shimmy their way in front of you without an invitation – it’s the other ones that keep me home on Black Friday.

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[3] I’m a homebody.

Movies, my laptop, left over pie for breakfast and lunch, hot coffee at my disposal? Yes, please.

Me, if I looked like Blake Lively. via/ wifflegif.com

[4] Why put yourself out there when you can shop online?

Even if I wanted the door buster deals, I’m not patient enough to stand in a line that exceeds 5-6 people ahead of me, ever, let alone the day after I just gorged myself with food and beverages.

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[5] Impulse shopping is bad news bears.

Black Friday isn’t even a thing anymore, the deals start a week before and go on through Christmas… Black Friday is simply a way to get you in the door. Walmart is giving you that mixer for $2.99 with the hopes you’ll also buy that TV for $699.00. Marking and sales 101, folks. Being an impulsive person, I’d overspend like a madman.

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[6] It seems kinda dangerous.

I am confident chances of my face getting clawed or falling down and being trampled while I am switching my laundry or laying on my couch is small. Additionally, I do not enjoy feeling like I am losing my mind. I can be a dramatic person, especially early in the morning, especially when I’m surrounded by strangers who might smell, or take my personal space for their own use. So, not only could this be dangerous my by own well-being, but for anyone around me when I reach my breaking point.

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[7] I’m not a very urgent person.

I move to the beat of my own drum. I don’t like being rushed, pushed or forced to be quick so I can get what I came to the store for. I’m that person who calls to make sure the item I want is in stock on an average day, so my time is not wasted. I’m not waking my ass up early, or not going to bed so I can maybe get the item I’m hoping for. Fingers crossed! No, thank you.

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12 Things That Happen After 30

[1] Anyone: “How old are you?”

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[2] You realize you’ve accomplished approximately 1/8 of the list you started 10 years ago…of the things you’d do before 30.

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[3] Secretly you hope 20-somethings at the bar either a.) think you’re 28 or b.) think you’re the most badass 30-something they’ve ever met.


[4] Plans are made roughly three hours earlier than in your younger days.

 Well, ideally I’d like to be in my pajamas on the couch by 9:30 – so, dinner at 6:30?


[5] You become much more accepting of your flaws, maybe because you’ve reached the perfect level of don’t-give-a-shits or, maybe you’re lucky and embrace them. Either way, this is a win for us 30-somethings.


[6] You take care of your body, before it’s sick. No. Not like working out… 


[7] A night of excessive cocktails is rarely rewarded with chipper mornings and brunch. 


[8] Friends start pointing out stray grey hairs that you’ve been wondering exist for the last 5 years.


[9] Your social media has become a plethora of pets and babies… and you like it.


[10] Your body has chosen its desired shape and weight, if you would like something different – good luck.


[11] The excitement level for a new lawn mower <insert any major appliance here> exceeds levels you didn’t know were possible in your 20s.



[12] You read and contribute reviews. Restaurants, mattresses, curtains, daycares, cars, pens, tables, music, hotels, dogs, movies… anything.


…Cheers to your 30’s.