Friday, July 30, 2010

Butt Rashes

So, a few weeks back my husband noticed I was really stressed out. (Major shocker. I am ALWAYS stressed out being in graduate school. Boo.) Therefore, he was so sweet and bought me a book to read since he knew that de-stresses me.

Best part ever is that it wasn’t just ANY book. It was a romance novel. Annnddd if you know me? You know I LOVE romance novels.

(Don’t worry people…no Harlequin novels here. Only clean romance novels. I don’t want to read about people doin’ the nasty…)

Anyway. Back to my point.

So the last few days I’ve been reading this book, all the while oohing and awwwing when the two main characters kissed or confessed their undying love for one another.

Of course there was a hot guy, riding off into the sunset with his new love.

Amazing, right?

However, this romance novel really got me thinking.

How many women read these novels and end up dissatisfied with what they have?

I think whoever these authors are, are trying to brainwash us! They convince you that romance is all perfect and amazing every single day! Not only will your prince charming come in on a horse, but you will ride off into the sunset and he will be ideal ALL of the time.

And people? This is just not realistic. Let me tell you. My husband can be outright annoying. Like, sometimes I want to punch him. A lot of punching would be going on if I believed in violence. :)

But here’s the thing…

Little ol innocent me? Can sometimes also be really annoying. To the point that he should punch me in the face. Multiple times.

And guess what? I still love what I have way more than what they depict in those romance novels.

I think the faults that exist in a relationship are what make it beautiful. Sticking with someone and even sometimes finding their faults endearing (because it makes them who they are) can make a relationship a wonderful thing.

Plus, if you really think about it….that cowboy? Probably smells like poop. Horse poop. And the people riding off on the horse into the sunset? Probably got butt rashes from riding on the horse.

Just sayin.

Breastfeeding and Such

Do you all remember me talking about J, the kid I babysit? If not, you can read about it here.

So last night I am sitting with him eating dinner. Annnd, as most of our conversations go, they are normally random and filled with funny times.

Here is a great example:

J: “Man! My teeth are like knives! Look at them cut through this noodle! Watch! BAM! Did you see me cut through that? Just like a knife.”

Yes, J. That is so true.

“Ok, well are your teeth like knives?”

Yes, they are.

“Well are all people’s teeth like knives?”

Well, our teeth were made to be able to chew things so that food is more easily digested, so yes, all people’s teeth are like knives.

“Oh.” (Thinking.) “Well, babies don’t have teeth.”

Yes, that’s because they don’t need them. They just need to be able to drink milk from their moms.

“What do you mean?”

I mean they don’t have to chew because they just have to be able to drink milk from their moms.

“Like, the baby drinks milk from the mom’s tummy?”

(Me thinking: oh, Lord. He doesn’t know about breastfeeding. How am I going to
explain this to a 9 year old who is not my own???)

Umm…Not exactly. The baby drinks from the mom’s chest.

“Like up here?” (Pointing to his neck.)

No…a little lower.

“Oh, so right here?” (Pointing to the correct region)


“So, does the mom have tons of holes all over her so that the baby can just lay there and drink while it pours out?”

(Me: Cracking UP!...Meanwhile thinking: “I do NOT want to talk to him about women's nipples. Are his parents comfortable with this conversation? Oh crap, I’m stuck…”

No….Just two holes, really.


He finally drops the conversation after I explain that when a baby eats from his mom, it is called breastfeeding.

However, then the next conversation starts. Here we go again.

“So, Miss Elizabeth, are you having a baby?” (I have no idea why this kid is obsessed with me having a baby?!)

Not right now, J.

“Well how many kids are you going to have?”

I’m not sure. But I do know that when Brandon and I have kids, we want to at least adopt one too.

“Really? Like, from Haiti?”

Maybe from Haiti. Maybe from the United States. Maybe from anywhere in the world. Brandon and I haven’t really thought much about where we will adopt from.

“Well, when you adopt, I think you should adopt me.”

(I am thinking: “ok what??? This kid has a great life with parents he loves deeply. What is going on? I soon get my answer….”)

J, you don’t really want to be adopted by me, do you?

“Well, let’s discuss about the pros and cons.”

(I am thinking: What the heck, kid? Who, at 9 years of age, discusses pros and cons of something???)

(Laughing) Ok, J. Let’s talk about the pros and cons.

“Ok, Pro: I would get to hang out with your dogs all the time.

Ok. Good…What else?

Con: I would have to move away from all my friends.

Another Con: I would have to change schools.

Pro: ummm….Pro:…. Ok, another Con: I would have to move away from my parents

Con: I would be sad.

So basically what you’re saying is, you don’t really want to be adopted by me at all, you just want to hang out with my dogs.

Yep. I think that’s it.

Haha, Ok J, whatever you say kid.

And this is the greatness called: Babysitting a curious 9 year old little boy.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010


Today I had a dentist appointment.

It was just wonderful and lovely (Read: it was torture like I’ve never known before).

When I first arrived, the receptionist greeted me warmly. AND since the appointment WAS at like 8 in the morning, I of course, greeted her warmly back (read: spoke in my man voice in monotone).

Then, they escort me back to the dentist. He is all sorts of cheeriness and talking about how much he loves his job and coming to work in the morning.

This does not make me feel better.

And although my dentist APPEARS to be a gentle, kind old man, I know this to be a lie.

The pain and suffering he put me through makes me think he is quite possibly the devil in disguise.

First, they tell me I have to get a freaking crown on my teeth. How did this happen? I have no idea.

So…what do they do? Shoot me up with some freaking needles.

I, like the rational 25 year old I am, start BAWLING my eyes out. This is totally normal.

He is very concerned.

And I just have to explain that I am a bit mentally insane and therefore still cry when I get shots.

When he is done implementing that torture device he called a ‘numbing needle’, he says: well, are you ready for the crown?

“What do you think, old dude? DO I LOOK READY FOR YOU TO PRACTICALLY KILL ME TODAY????” I said in my angriest voice.

ORRRR maybe I just smiled politely and shook my head, ‘yes’.

But, in my alternate universe where I say all of my thoughts, that is what I said.

So then, he decides to put that freaking cap onto my tooth. Great. Just freaking great.

He gets his dental hygienist to come in.

She too acts friendly. She too is a dirty little liar. What she does is not friendly. I am beginning to think that the two of them are here together just to end my life.

I say my final prayers.

And it gets worse.

The dentist holds my jaw open so wide I am positive it will crack at any moment. In the meantime, I am so numb my tongue starts to slip out of my mouth and drip drool right down my chin (I know, I am so sexy!)

So what does she do? Try to hold my tongue still with some sort of miniature medieval-looking joust.

While she’s doing that? I feel my tongue choking me! I am screaming “Oh my goodness! I can’t breathe! I CAN’T BREATHE!!!!!!!!” (and by screaming, I mean I am sitting quietly thinking to myself that I guess these are my last moments and I just am going to die here in the dentist’s chair. I hope Brandon knows I love him.)

This reminds me of a time in college.

I was sitting in my abnormal psychology class.

All of a sudden, my eyes go black. I look to my friend, Olivia and say:

“I can’t see!”

You can’t see?

“I can’t breathe!”

You can’t breathe??

The professor thought I was having a panic attack. I was not. I am just a lunatic.

I digress.

Where was I? Oh yea, the devil dentist dressed like a sweet old man.

So after I survive my near death experience, they pull and tug and press until I again think my jaw will break in half any second and I will have to file a lawsuit against this man and his hygienist.

But alas, they finally get the cap on.

Now, I am finally home. Sitting on the couch. Drooling all over myself. While the dog sniffs my lips because she cannot figure out what is wrong with me.

Go away dog.

I am in a bad mood.

I almost lost my life today.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

X and Y

So, 2 weeks ago my college roommate was in town. We went out to eat and caught up on good times.

While talking over breakfast, she shared some hilarious things with me that just made me think about how different men and women really are.

Case in point:

Her husband is finishing up graduate school. Although up until this point I believe his curriculum has been rather strenuous, this semester has been much easier.

Meanwhile, my roommate recently started a new job as an occupational therapist.

Since she is working and therefore gone from the house more than she was before, she has allowed her husband to take over some of the menial household tasks.

Like grocery shopping.

So apparently she has been making shopping lists for him, EXPLAINING them before he leaves, and then allowing him to go shopping.

Still, things don’t always go as planned.

Once, she said she sent him to the store to buy ingredients for Rice Krispy Treats.

He came back with the Rice Krispies.

He came back with the butter.

And he came back with the marshmallows. Multi-colored ones. Which are all types of brilliant with their artificial fruit-flavors.

Incredulously, she says to him: “Why in the world did you buy fruit-flavored marshmallows when you knew I was making Rice Krispy Treats? You have to know that when these are melted? They will turn poop-colored brown. And will be disgusting when all the ‘fruit-flavors’ combine.’”

His response?

“Why would you NOT want to buy the fruit-flavored ones? They are the BEST! AND! The best part is that they cost the EXACT SAME as the other ones! Best find of the day!!!”


Among other purchases that day?

Frosted Mini-Wheats.

My roommate? Says she had been eating Mini-Wheats for the past 2 months and the thought of them made her want to barf.

His explanation when he bought them was as follows:

“I bought you Frosted Mini-Wheats, babe! I know how much you love them!”

Her response?


And this, my friends, is a wonderful example of the difference between the X and Y chromosomes.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

The Segregated Church

So, for all of you who are a bit ‘slow’ (It’s alright, I don’t discriminate…) and haven’t gathered yet that my husband and I are a mixed couple based upon my profile picture, I will now spell it out for you: I am White. My husband is Black.

“SO??” You might be thinking…

Or, “UGH” some others might be thinking…

Or possibly you had no reaction.

But I will tell you, being a mixed couple comes with its own set of challenges.

I think there are some individuals with the belief that being mixed in America today isn’t very difficult. After all, aren’t we a ‘progressive’ nation? There are SO many people preaching tolerance, acceptance, etc.

However, although I will agree that being a mixed couple in America today is much easier than say, in the early to mid 90’s, It. Is. Still. Difficult.

And what is frustrating is that many people don’t seem to be aware of that fact.

Do I expect that everyone walk around on their tip-toes around me? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

I CHOSE to marry interracially, I get that. And LOVE it. And I don’t expect people to feel bad for me about it. In fact, that would simply irritate me more if they did because I find it to be a blessing!

However, marrying interracially carries some unique hardships. And sadly, one of the most prominent places that it is a problem for us is in the Church.

The issue? Often, we will find a church that is solid in teaching of the Word, however, it is homogeneous in its racial composition. AND, since there is a lot of sin and racism in the church (Why? Because we are sinful and fallen people!) it’s not all roses and butterflies.

Too often, even if it is a place where the Word is being taught, it is difficult to concentrate on that, when your spouse (a.k.a. the other half of your ‘two-become-one’, a.k.a. your best friend, a.k.a. the person you love so much you would give your life for them) is being A. Stared at constantly as if they were some type of disease, B. Treated like crap, or C. Not spoken to. At all.

OR, we might find a church that is racially mixed where we both feel comfortable enough to relax, but then we don’t feel like the messages are very deep and we aren’t spiritually fed.

Therefore, even though we’ve lived in this city for 3 years now, we have not settled down for long periods of time in a church.

Although we both desire deeply to find a church to get plugged in to, it is difficult when it takes So. Much. Work.

Making relationships is hard. Making relationships is harder with people who are not friendly, afraid of your spouse, or outright racist.

When I look at Brandon, I don’t think to myself: “Oh, there goes my Black husband.” The only thing I see when I look at him? An AMAZING man who follows after Christ with his whole heart.

When he looks at me, it is the same. He doesn’t focus on my race, but the person I am.

When we discuss race? It is to appreciate our uniqueness. Not to criticize.

Therefore, here is my charge to you:

If you belong to a church that is predominately one ethnicity, ask yourself: “Why is that? Do others not feel comfortable here?” And then? See what you can do to make people who come in who don’t look like you feel more comfortable so that others will come.

If the Church is to look like Christ and be the example of PURE love, then I think we still have some work to do.

I think the Church as a whole would be a much more beautiful place if it looked more like Heaven: Every tribe, tongue, and nation coming together to worship the Lord.

All as one.

Seeing one another as uniquely created and bearing special talents and gifts.

Regardless of their skin color.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Ode To Budgeting

Dear Budgeting,


Ever since I started grad school, you have put me and Brandon in a tizzy.

No longer can I go out to luxurious restaurants and buy exquisite clothing and go on expensive cruises.

(WHO am I kidding? I never was able to do that anyway…)

When I want to buy excellent presents for people’s birthdays, weddings, wedding showers, baby showers, etc., I cannot. Instead, I have to (regretfully) settle for something that I don’t feel like expresses my love for that person, just so that I don’t break the bank.

When I want to make gourmet meals for my family, I cannot.

When I want to NOT have to stress out about paying for school, I cannot.

When I have to work a job in addition to going to grad school, doing a practicum, doing homework, and trying to have a life, I get angry!

When my husband has to take on a second job to help pay for school and bills, I get even more furious!

Therefore, I think you are a suck-face.

You are very much so irritating me. And do you KNOW what happens when I get irritated?!

I get an attitude. A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E.

So look out, budgeting, my attitude is coming.

(Too bad you are an inanimate object and this is a pointless conversation anyway. I really wish I could punch you in the face though. Just saying.)

Whatever, budgeting. Shut up. You’re irritating me.

And, like I said, you suck.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Can you please make a boy?

So, while I am finishing up my masters, I babysit part time 3 nights a week.

The boy I babysit is 9 years old, and probably one of the sweetest and funniest kids ever.
Every time I leave, I think about how great it is that I get to hang out with one of the coolest people ever and get paid for it.

And he’s just a kid.

Just tonight, we were cooking dinner together, and randomly he asks me: “Miss Elizabeth, can you make a boy please?”

Excuse me?

“Can you make a boy, please?”

You mean, when I decide to have children, can I have a boy?


Well, J, I know that when Brandon and I have kids, we can’t really control what gender it is.

“I know, but there aren’t any boys in my family and I REALLY want a boy to play with…so I was thinking that you could just make a boy!”

If only it were that easy…

I tell you what. That was one of the sweetest things I've ever heard. Not only was he saying that he wanted me to be around for a long time (long enough that he could play with my child!), but that I was, in a way, part of who he saw as his family.

‘But he’s just a kid!’ some might think. Could he really be thinking or feeling all of those things?

This is where I disagree with people who think kids are ‘just kids.’

Have you ever really sat down and considered the once popular saying :”Kids are to be seen, not heard.”

Like WORST saying EVER.

Are we for real as a society?

Kids will one day grow into adults (obviously). AND, kids feel much more than many individuals even realize. (Ever watched or read about play therapy? If not, it would convince you otherwise). If we don’t allow them expression as children, how will they learn that their thoughts are valuable and that they have immense worth as a person??

I think the reason why J felt so comfortable asking me to ‘make a boy’ was because I have allowed him the free expression that he needs. I have always encouraged openness and honesty with me, and applaud him when he chooses to speak his opinions.

This also leads to some REALLY interesting conversations.

Prime example: He has lately been putting his hands down his pants. Both his parents, as well as I, told him that he needed not to do that in public.

So, about a week later, I remark to him that he has been doing such a good job with keeping his hands out of his pants.

His response to me?

“Yea, well, my doctor gave me a cream to rub on my weiny. I think I kept wanting to touch it all the time because my weiny kept getting sticky. But now that I have the cream? It feels weird to touch it, so I don’t like to anymore.”

Seriously kid? WAY too much info.

I couldn’t help but crack up.

He was clueless as to why Miss Elizabeth was laughing so freaking hard.

However, even considering conversations like these, I wouldn’t give up the opportunities I have had to allow him to be so open and honest with me. About anything.

Even if it means he talks about his sticky weiny and weird feeling lotion.

Or even asks me to please ‘make a boy’ for him.

Monday, July 19, 2010


One important thing to know about me is that I am a social worker.

In fact, I recently returned to school to get my masters in social work and will be done in 2011.

Therefore, as a social worker, often times the clients who I see are struggling with a myriad of issues.

Many are victims of abuse or neglect, have grown up in foster care, or have had very rough lives filled with alcohol and drug abuse.

Many others have been victims of systemic oppression, poverty, and extreme forms of racism.

However, none of that is what I want to focus on.

What I want to focus on is human resilience.

Meet Wanda*. Although no longer a client, this young lady is someone who is very close to my heart.

She grew up in foster care as her father was never around and her mother was dependent upon drugs. Her relationship to this day is very rocky with her mother, and she is far from being a support system for Wanda. When they do communicate, she is a drain upon Wanda’s already depleted energy.

Wanda became pregnant in high school. She had never been sexually active, but on one fateful evening, she gave up her virginity to her boyfriend. Not long afterwards, she realized she was pregnant.

Although not everyone was supportive, she kept the baby.

I thank the Lord for this decision…but it hasn’t been easy.

Now, she works a 40 hour work day during the day, and wakes up each morning at 5 am in order to do it.

She also attends school full time at the local community college at night.

In addition, she is raising her baby and making extremely mature decisions along the way.

This is all on a very strict budget and with exhaustion racking her body much of the time.

She makes a concerted effort each day to work hard to provide a better life for her baby.

That is resilience in my book.

And leads me to see my own life in a different way.

Often times I see myself complaining or not even feeling like life is fair when things go wrong.

But if she, having been through so much, can still put a smile on her face and keep working hard each day, then

Why. Can’t. I.?

God has blessed me with SO much:
-a husband who is so kind toward me, and allows himself to be transformed to look more like Christ daily
-an immediate family and in-law family who are blessings and amazing
-friends who care for me and pray for me
-a job which I love
-a chance to minister to hurting people daily
-an opportunity to further my education
-a daily income to pay my bills
-limbs to walk on
-a mind to think with
-a tongue to speak with
ETC…you get the idea…

I encourage you too to focus on all the ways in which we have been blessed! Use Wanda’s story to see the best in every day.

But, we also need to take it the next step further. What can we do to transform negative experiences in our lives into a testimony…into resilience?

I challenge you (and me) to think about it…

And I leave you with this verse:

James 1: 2-4 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

May we all allow our trials to make us more mature…

*Name changed for confidentiality reasons.

Impatient, Hearing Impaired, and Down-Right Quirky

So, since this blog is new, I figured I would provide some info about myself for all those who don’t know me and happen to stumble upon this blog… (however, judging from my followers, all those who read my blog know me…but this is besides the point! What if someone wanders here? I need to make sure I am understood, people!)

Here is a list of 5 things you may or may not know about me:

1. I am extremely impatient. Like, to the point that if something doesn’t happen the exact second I want it to, I get all whiny and huffy. This is because the world should clearly revolve around me. I just can’t understand why it doesn’t!

2. I have impaired hearing. This occurred when I was younger because my older sister thought it was funny to scream in my ear. She claims this never happened. She is a bad liar.:) ANYWAY. My partial deafness has gotten so bad that it is hard for me to understand what in the world people are saying if I cannot read their lips when they are talking. This is especially apparent when I try to sing songs on the radio. Prime example: Just the other day, I was sitting in the car singing my heart out “Sha-ma-la-ma-ding-dong-Sha-ma-la-ma-ding-dong!” Do you know what the ACTUAL lyrics were? “Said you’d never leave me lonely, never leave me lonely!” That’s soooo close to sha-ma-la-ma-ding-dong, don’t you think? I thought so too. My husband informed me otherwise.

3. I have two dogs who I love a lot. Like, I think they’re my children. I would probably be one of those ladies who just surrounds herself with zillions of dogs if I wasn’t concerned about what people thought about me. I’m sooo not even kidding. I am a CREEEEEEPSTTTERRRRR….I know.

4. I have a nail-biting-compulsion-problem. I bite them so low my hands look like mutated elf hands that got sent through a meat grinder. Hideous, right? So, you might be asking yourself, why don’t you just quit? I CAN’T! I have tried for years and I will quit for a little bit, and then start again. My name is Elizabeth, and I am a nail-biter. For life.

5. I LOVE discounts! You may have gotten wind of this from my last post. However, I flat out refuse to pay full price for just about everything. This can lead to some great negotiations, or some embarrassing visits to stores. However, my thought is: Why in the world would I pay full price, when I know they are giving people discounts?

Well, hopefully these wonderfully insightful 5 random facts about me have convinced you that you should continue to read my blog, because there will be other really exciting(or dreadfully boring, depending on your perspective) things to come (I hope).

Until next time,


Sunday, July 18, 2010

The Good 'Ol Teenage Days

So…about a week or two ago my brother-in-law moved in with us (quick note: I have, like, one of the worst memory’s EVER, so when I estimate, it’s because I truly have no clue when in the world he moved in. I only know it was recently. I know, I know. I really need to work on this.)

ANYWAY. I digress.

So my brother-in-law has moved in for a temporary time.

And…something to know about my husband’s family is that although he is my age (25 going on 26), he has much younger siblings. Like MUCH younger.

Like, a 19 year old brother, a 13 year old sister, and another 12 year old brother. (yes, he is more than twice his youngest brother’s age).

So why, one might wonder, would I voluntarily allow a teenager to move into my home?

Our conversations thus far have revolved around two subjects: what ‘cuties’ we could pick up, and the random ways in which we can make fun of other people.

Was I ever this shallow?

Those who know me, don’t answer that question.

Clearly I was much more mature than that as a teenager, I am sure.

So again I ask myself, why did I agree to have a teenager move in?

That is a darn good question.

Maybe I need therapy.

Of the intense type. Like Freudian style where I lay on a couch and talk about my subconscious thoughts during free associations.

When I was younger, my mom and I went to therapy. The experience was NOT a good one (read: I screamed at the therapist and my mom.) Quality times, man, quality times.

But of course at that time, I did not think I could ever need therapy. I thought therapy was for crazy people. And CLEARLY I am not crazy. At least I didn’t think so.

I have since begun to re-evaluate that thought.

Brandon pointed my possibly-crazy behavior earlier this evening.

So, we were on the way to the mall with the aforementioned brother-in-law (all the way talking about cuties and making fun of people, of course).

I decide it is time for dinner. So, instead of driving ALL the way back to the house, I suggest that we should buy a pizza.

However, will I pay full price for the pizza? Heck the freak no! Are you kidding me? Not only did I choose one of the cheapest pizza places in town, BUT I also found the best coupon ever and got a free pizza.

Yes, you can applaud me now.

But, then I got outrageously angry when we realized we needed drinks and had to spend $1.49 on each drink. WHAT? I quietly (or not so quietly) mentioned while we were still at the drive-thru that this was SUCH a rip off.

Brandon was getting embarrassed of his squacking-like-a-bird crazy wife who would not stop talking LOUDLY about how much of a rip off this deal was.

Who can agree with me that I am clearly just a conservative woman who is concerned with saving money?! I mean, come on, getting good deals is crucial to my survival!

I knew you would see things my way.

About 10 minutes later, we passed The Melting Pot. I casually (or maybe got a bit excited [like flap my arms and get all googly with my eyes] mention that I LOVE The Melting Pot and it is my FAVORITE restaurant ever.

And what does Brandon do? Reminds me that the last time we went there? When there were only two of us? We spent $130.

He then points out that I am completely irrational and that I freak out about the fact that my drinks cost $1.49, but am totally OK with dropping $130 on a Melting Pot meal.

Whatever, Brandon. I am totally normal and rational. ALWAYS.

Orrrrr…maybe I do need therapy. Of the extreme and intense type.

And, not just because I have a teenager living in my household.

I might just be partially crazy.

Friday, July 16, 2010

A Little Healthy Competition

Ok, so I just started this blog yesterday, right?

So I’m all giddy and happy and bragging to Brandon about how funny I am and how excited I am about my blog.

And he says?

“I could soooo write a better blog than you.”

EXCUSE ME? Did he just say what I think he said?

I am completely rational (read: extremely competitive) and therefore calmly explained that although I was sure he had wonderful thoughts, mine were a bit more superb (read: I yelled: “Oh it’s ON baby. You are SOOO going to lose this competition.”)

Therefore, even as I write this entry, my husband is sitting across the room.

Starting his own blog.

What the c.r.a.p.??

He is so going down.

So let me explain the competition:

A month from today, August 16th, 2010, we will compare. What will we compare? FOLLOWERS!

Therefore, if you are reading this right now, you need to follow me!

(Especially because he is currently making fun of the fact that I only have three followers.)

PLEASE help me prove to my husband that I am the best blogger ever!

Because if not? I might not be friends with you anymore (read: I will hunt you down.)

Your angry, loser, didn’t-win-a-competition-with-my-husband, friend.

The FUUUUNNNN Has Arrrriiivveeddd!!!!

Hellooooo blogging community! For a few months now, I have been reading blogs and thinking about how much I really wanted to start one myself.

When I proposed this idea to my husband, his reply? "Well what would you blog about?"

My reply? "Hello, I have funny thoughts, man. I would write about my funny thoughts."

He blew me off. I cannot possibly imagine why.

So, hello. Welcome to my random thoughts about life in general.

Let's hope this is a good ride...

Because let's face it folks: The fun has officially arrived in the blogging community.


Just don't run this idea by my husband.

He might blow you off.