House of Dolls

have you heard?

2011-04-08T15:35:00.000-04:00

Kotex wants you to design your own maxi pad.

ban the bland.

what will they think of next?

i kinda feel this is way too creepy for me.

hmmmm

2011-03-16T11:31:00.000-04:00

i go away on a little trip. i get home super late on monday night. guess what? i ask husband if he made dinner. he says no. we have popcorn.

ok. here i am, starved and exhausted. i made sure to stock up the house for him before i left and made him a special smoothie. is it just my man or men in general?

oh and he went straight to bed, saying -- "i missed you"!

About the Threesome!

2011-03-16T11:28:00.000-04:00

Welcome to House of Dolls!

Why Dolls? Because that is what we are, Dolls—just with more sass and less cotton between the ears! It’s what we call the ladies we love, our kids (future and present) will be playing with them, and really, who doesn't love a doll?

Our house is kind of like Barbie’s, minus the plastic furniture and the weird Stepford vibe. Instead of tea and cookies, we’re serving up the journey to marriage and motherhood with a bit of madness in between. Okay, and maybe some cookies. Actually, probably a lot of cookies—and wine.

With a valium chaser.

Don’t judge us.

Kristen

Kristen is a first time mom-to-be trying to navigate her way through pregnancy, new porn star boobs, and a tendency to pee her pants, all while babysitting her fabulous(ly messy) Husband of 2 years and playing human mom to a princess dog and two cats who thinks their shit doesn't stink (and it does). To understand her unwavering devotion to all things Ryan Reynolds and Miller Lite, visit her other hot spots at KLaw: Inspired & K's Little Law.

***

Tiffany

Hi. Hello. I’m Tiffany. Also known as Brown Sugar (BS) and TT. Perhaps the fact that my nicknames are either expletives or cutesy terms for urinating says something about me…I don’t know. I blame my children—those are always good people to blame. I have a daughter, G, who’s almost 3 and absolutely gorgeous. (Yeah, I said it.) My son, LB, isn’t even 1 and somehow understands how to conspire against me with his sister. I have a husband too. We’ve been married nearly 7 years and he’s big and can move furniture without my help. It’s pretty awesome—the furniture part, I mean. Not that the marriage isn’t awesome. The furniture thing has a lot to do with it though.
Crave more nonsense? Don’t fight the feeling—visit me at On the Verge.

***

Summer

Meet me. I'm Summer. Yeah, its my real name. My parents were hippies. I also answer to SumSum, Kiddo and Meow. I'm a season. I'm hot, cold, breezy, carefree and I perspire. Scratch that, I sweat...a lot. I'm a wanna be mother, a part-time actress, lover of staches and I sing in the kitchen. Oh, I should mention that I've got a hubby and 2 catkids - Oliver and Mr. Tabasco. Life has a tendency to rain on my parade but I don't care bc I just grab an umbrella decorated with sparkles and fringe and dance through the drops. If you want some whimsy, some spice and to watch me roll the dice of life, send me an email and I will send you my blog.

REMEMBER, THIS IS A DREAM. ONLY A DREAM.

2011-03-09T10:58:00.001-05:00

WARNING:

Before drinking a Hurricane, please read.

Thank you and have a nice day.

via

{First of all, I fully blame the Hurricane and the Abita beers that I drank last night for what you are about to read}.

REMEMBER, THIS IS A DREAM. ONLY A DREAM.

First it's about my Daddy. He is a ghost in my house.

Secondly, Mom is in it too and she apparently has the filthiest mouth in the South.

Last but not least, we had a pool that ran through our home and I liked to swim topless.

TOPLESS in front of my parents, ok? Oh and I had a son and he wore glasses.

REMEMBER, THIS IS A DREAM. ONLY A DREAM.

Then it all switches and I am at my work desk and in comes a video of my IRL girlfriend.

It's a happy video of her on vacation, until the tape cuts to her and her husband having sexual intercourse.

REMEMBER, THIS IS A DREAM. ONLY A DREAM.

Yes, sex. Like her bottom was in the air and across the whole computer screen.

Sound will not go off.

I am trying to muffle it so my co-workers don't hear it.

Not working.

I take the screen and shove it in my coat and try to stick it in the file cabinet.

The sound is still loud and clear.

OH MY GOD.

BACK TO REAL LIFE:

I wake up, quite embarrassed and sick to my stomach.

I think -- what in the world is wrong with me?

I remember the Hurricane and knew right then and there, it was to blame.

So, there you go. Moral of the post is -- do not drink Hurricanes and fall asleep.

And in the AM, take an extra long shower to get yucky grimey feeling off of skin.

Hope you enjoyed this tale of topless with the parentals and sex with friends.

AND to the friend this dream was about, you will NEVER find out who you are.

OK?

And MCW, I think I may need to head to Mass with you tonight.

I feel so dirty today.

;)

{photo taken after my wedding}

then and now.

2011-02-17T10:06:00.000-05:00

Husband left for his guy's trip this morning.

I was thinking back to when we were first married and I hated saying goodbye to him.

I was so sad to be without him.

My bed was empty, as was my heart.

Fast forward to being married almost 5 years (next month) and together for a total of 10.5 years. I jumped out of bed this am to say goodbye knowing that I would get to go back to sleep and not be interrupted and poked and told to get up to work out.

I cuddled with my cat and slept in (ooops -- work today).

I have plans tonight with friends and possibly Saturday too.

I cannot wait to just chill. To wake up on Sunday and even Monday (day off) and take my time getting ready or . . . not. Maybe I just want to lounge.

You see, my husband likes to plan. He likes to get things done.

He likes to work out, make food for the week, do the budget, etc.

I know those things need to be done BUT sometimes I like to just relax on the weekend.

No plans, man.

I am sure that come Sunday am, I will be anxious to see him and it won't be until Monday night but honestly, I really do need to take advantage of the free time on my hands.

Calgon take me away!

Any thoughts on your end?

Knock Knock?

2011-02-14T15:44:00.000-05:00

(catbird nyc)

May we come in????

Cobwebs galore over here!

Whew.

HOW ARE YOU, LADIES????

Guess what today is?

MONDAY.

OK, OK.

It's Heart Day.

BUT, screw that sappy crap.

We want you to tell us your most embarrassing Valentine's Day story?

Can you do that????

I could tell you mine but I doubt I should spread that over the internet.

I mean, y'all can press that ANONYMOUS button.

I cannot.

HA!

clutter butter mutter sutter dutter mo hutter

2011-01-05T09:34:00.000-05:00

hello.

ok, so today i might tackle some household chores.

i realized today that i keep too many things.

stuffed animals? really? why?

the kid thing is not working out and these poor bears and things are suffocating in a drawer.

i also need to decide that maybe that shirt i have had for 6 years needs to be thrown out.

but once, there was this dress from the gap that i loved and thought was out of style and now miss that thing soooooooo fricking much.

bah.

no matter what i do and how much i clean, i feel my place is always cluttered.

is it because we live in nyc and have too much stuff?

do i not know how to organize?

am i afraid to give things away?

i think i might have a Blog Garage Sale.

things for sale for like cheap?

want my junk?

does anyone else have this issue?

do i really need so many silly socks?

that head massager thing?

bah.

help!

love,

cluttered in mind and home.

via

The Anti-Christmas

2010-12-30T10:32:00.004-05:00

I have a confession to make.

Christmas decorations kind of get on my nerves.

There, I said it. Feel free to throw all of your glittery ornaments at me, including the phallic-shaped ones complete with ridges that I just don’t get (gross), and tie me up in a string of twinkling lights—the white ones though, not the multi-colored. I prefer an understated yet classic look.

I actually rather loved our tree this year. The husband picked it out and, I must say, he did good. Though, any tree compared to last year’s red-headed step child of the Charlie Brown tree would be a vast improvement.

It sparkled in the corner for two weeks (we were late putting it up this year because, per usual, school ruins everything), between the fireplace and the husband’s oversized chair that I kind of wish would spontaneously burst into flames.

I adored it until I didn’t—which was exactly two days after Christmas. The tree overpowered the room. My mantel with those lovely silver reindeer was all ‘back up off me!’ and I can’t say I blame it. It all became clutter and too much and I just wanted my house back.

I could only stand about three and a half minutes of Mariah Carey’s Glitter (or Mariah Carey for that matter) and all the glittery things of Christmastime have a short shelf-life too. Decorations are like house guests—it’s nice to have them, but after a bit I just want to walk around braless again.

Thankfully, ornaments aren’t offended by the post-nursing boob sag, but still—you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.

And so, last night, back in the garage it all went. Every last silvery, sparkly, cheery bit of it. And before the New Year, no less. I know; I’m killing everyone’s holiday buzz. I’m charming like that.

G asked me this morning where the tree went and I told her ‘to a kitschy holiday party down the street.’

Parent. of the. year.

Obviously.

When do you take down your decorations?

Giveaway winner!

2010-12-10T10:27:00.001-05:00

The winner of the $35 House of Dolls giveaway is lucky #12, Karebear!!!! Congratulations lady!

I'll forward you all the details.

Thank you to everyone who participated and stay tuned for more goodness from CSN.

A $35 gift certificate giveaway!

2010-12-05T11:58:00.001-05:00

Just in time for Christmas, CSN Stores is offering a $35 gift certificate to their online shop! The Dolls may be busy these days, but we certainly haven't fortotten about you lovely folks. And that's why we're doing a giveaway! In case you haven't heard, CSN is your one stop shop for everything you need from toys and games to counter height stools and home decor.

And just think about how useful that $35 gift certificate will be right now. You could easily pick up a few extra Christmas presents!

What do you have to do to enter?

1. Leave a comment telling us what you'd use your $35 gift certificate for (one entry)

2. Leave a 2nd comment sharing a link to your Facebook, Tweet, blog post, smoke signal, etc.. about the giveaway (another entry).

3. Leave us a 3rd comment telling us that you still love us, even if our busy lives are getting the best of us these days (a third entry).

Drawing to be held on Friday. Get your comments on!

disturbed!

2010-11-17T09:28:00.001-05:00

disturbing...

...i am talking about my mind.

last night, i had a dream.

husband and i were still boyfriend and girlfriend.

and then he broke up with me.

throughout this dream turned nightmare, i am begging adam to come back to me.

he won't.

refuses.

then i see him and another girl in.bed.together.

yuck!

it was there in my dream.

i remember feeling so sick.

then i apparently jumped on top of her and cut a bi.atch.

dude, what is wrong with me?

do you ever dream things like this?????

2010-11-09T17:06:00.000-05:00

so, i go out of town.

i take the contact lens solution, but put a new box in the same spot as the bottle.

i get back.

husband tells me, thanks for not leaving me any solution.

i mean, really?

how UNOBSERVANT can someone be?

then, he tells me i did not get any toilet paper and he had to use paper towels.

funny thing is...i put a 6 pack in the drawer that houses the TP.

he just did not look.

OMG!

Blog Day of Silence

2010-10-27T13:44:00.000-04:00

stage moms

2010-10-20T09:24:00.000-04:00

Tiffany and I have both been hitting the sauce and have become THOSE moms.

Please vote for Smith and Miss Gabrielle! (You can vote every day - hint, hint). The winner gets a professional photo shoot, a $1,000 Gap giftcard, and his/her photo in a national campaign. Maybe we can both retire early... one can dream right?

Smith's entry's can be found here:

http://www.gapcastingcall.com/GapCastingCall/EntryDetail.html?id=694640

and

http://www.gapcastingcall.com/GapCastingCall/EntryDetail.html?id=694488

And Gabrielle's can be found here:

http://www.gapcastingcall.com/GapCastingCall/EntryDetail.html?id=653604

everyone loves a freebie

2010-10-12T15:06:00.000-04:00

I am holding two giveaways over at KLaw: Inspired.

Stop by for a teeshirt & a wine light giveaway!

(by the way, only 10 weeks until Christmas. Get your shop on!)

poop outside the box.

2010-10-07T14:03:00.002-04:00

ok.

i am sorta complaining again.

i just feel like i do it all.

work, clean, pay bills, schedule appts., go to said appts., chores, etc.

i mean, i could go on and on all day.

i ask my husband to do two things. litter box and garbage.

not empty all garbage into one and then take out, just take it out of bin when full.

he manages to let things FALL out of the bin.

GROSS.

then the litter box.

2 cats = DO IT DAILY.

UGH.

so, i try to keep a tidy house but with husband around, it is impossible.

socks, underoos, pants, shoes all over bedroom.

he opens a container, finishes what's in side and leaves the lid on the counter.
don't get me started on the bright a.s.s. red whiskers all over the bathroom sink the DAY AFTER i scrubbed it.

now, i get that some men do not care for a tidy house like we do but come on.

our little sick cat pooped for the first time in 2 weeks last night since he has been on the feeding tube. this is huge!

well, he did it outside of the box.

and husband saw it there and decided to LEAVE it.

i said, "pick it up NOW" and he said, "I will, just let me finish this first".

NO NO NO!

That ends today!

When I say something needs to be done, it means NOW.

GRRRRRRRRR!

Am I the only one, ladies?

finances - shared or separate?

2010-10-05T16:24:00.002-04:00

cake from pink cake box in nj

let's talk about $$$$$.

well, let's sorta talk about it, k?

how about marriage and $$$$$?

or partnership and $$$$?

do you share a bank account with your significant other?

do you have separate accounts?

hubs and i share.

we do a budget at the beginning of each month.

for some reason, i am in charge of this.

may i admit out loud that i hate this time of the month?

i dread it.

only time we really ever disagree.

ugh.

this AM i started the budget.

i go to send to hubs and i cannot copy and paste in excel.

nothing is working.

ugh.

i then ask him to calmly review this at home when i am sleeping,

not to wake me with a huffy puffy attitude asking why we need money for cleaning supplies!

um, how else do you think i clean?

spit shine it all?

HEAVEN HELP ME!

the truth of it is

2010-10-01T10:32:00.004-04:00

I have read several posts on the matter recently and had considered writing a realistic expression of how these first 9 weeks of motherhood have been. Thank you to Gina for giving me the cajones to speak about it truthfully. It wasn't until I read your post that I decided to go for it. I wish someone had told me the unedited version of newborn life. Of course everyone shares their one liners about sleepless nights or colic-y babies, but I don't think anyone ever really laid it all out there for me. If they had, I'm certain that my fairytale vision of life after baby wouldn't have slapped me in the face hard enough to leave a permanent mark.

This goes without saying, I love my son.

But this shit is hard.

I think as a society, we are programmed to share only the good stories, post the good pictures, say "I'm fine" when, in reality, we really aren't. There are more bad stories in the first few months than good. More tears of frustration and despair than fluffy soft moments of cooing and snuggling on a soft blanket of happiness.

Catching my dear son in a good moment is difficult...a good bit of the time, its a combination of crying... or vomiting... or pooping... or spinning his head in a 360 degree rotation a la The Exorcist. He is not a perfect baby. In fact, he is inconsolable most nights from 5:30pm - 8:00pm. And this just happens to fall around the time that mommy and daddy are home from work, itching to spend time with our precious dude, only to realize the horror that is sure to ensue for the next 3 hours. I admit it, some days I dread coming home. We hold our breaths if, God forbid, we have to run an errand in the evenings and dear son is in tow. And forget about dinner out. If the neighbors don't already think we're abusing our child, the patrons at our favorite restaurants probably do just based on his face alone.

My time with Smith is limited to a mere two hours in the evenings before he starts his bedtime routine and drifts off to sleep at 8:30. I wish I had a peaceful two hours, but 9 times out of 10, Kent and I are slowly going crazy. There have been moments of complete and utter chaos under the direction of screams louder than anything you could imagine coming out of a 15lb ball of fun. Kent and I look at each other and share a look of desperation.

Admittedly, on more than one occasion, I questioned why I wanted this so badly. Dealing with an inconsolable child is painful. Not only to your ears, but to your heart, your mind, your body and your soul. You begin questioning your own sanity while beating yourself up for not being a good mother. Why can't you figure out what is wrong with this kid? Why aren't all the typical tricks working? Why is he SCREAMING? I may have considered, more than once, that if I had been afforded the opportunity to walk away, I would have. Then, the guilt sets in and you start beating yourself up for feeling so helpless and wanting to run screaming for the hills. You wanted this dummy! Why are you complaining? You tried for years to have a child. And now you're bitching about it? According to all the movies, this is supposed to be a beautiful time in our lives. We are supposed to be laying playfully with our child and giggling and admiring our miracle. Don't get me wrong, we have those moments too, but that is most certainly not reality 100% of the time. Not even 50% of the time.

Most of the time it is a daily struggle to understand your child. Have patience to get through the screaming fits. Find the sheer willpower buried deep beneath 3 months of sleep deprivation to get out of bed at 3 am for the 20th night in a row and shove a bottle (or a boob) into the mouth of this... thing. This thing that cannot tell you what is wrong. This thing that absolutely cannot live without you. This thing that doesn't say thank you or don't worry mom, I can feed myself this time.

Dealing with a newborn is the hardest thing I have ever done. It is not the picture perfect fantasy life that I had envisioned. If you would have told me, even 3 months ago, that I would have questioned my decision to have a child, I would have looked at you like your head had fallen off. If you would have told me that my marriage would have been strained at times, I'd think you were nuts. If you would have told me that I'd have the absolute least amount of confidence in myself as a woman, as a wife, as a mother, I would have told you to jump off a bridge. If you would have told me that I'd hate my body, despite the miracle that it went through to have this baby, I would have said no way, I'll take the fat rolls if it meant I'd have a child. If you would have told me that I questioned whether my Husband would want to leave me on account that I am the mere shadow of the woman that he married, I'd tell you to shove it. But this is my reality.

But, the other side of this is that my son is by far the greatest accomplishment of my life. My heart beats because of him. He is my absolute everything. And in the moments of my deepest frustration, all I have to do is look at his face and know that it is all worth it. These times are a drop in the bucket in comparison to a lifetime of love to give and receive from this child. He is the most perfect thing I will ever do. And its those moments of peace and serenity, when he opens his big blue eyes, turns his head to look at me and he smiles. I must be doing something right afterall.

Note: after a few comments, I feel I need to say that my little mister isn't captain fusspot all the time. He just has his moments, typically in early evening, that don't agree with him. This is typical, from what I understand - a bewitching hour of sorts. He's a healthy eater, suffers from a bit of acid reflux, but typically accepts his bottle in any way, shape, form, temperature, etc. He just gets his diaper in a bunch, like most babies, and sometimes... well, its just hard.

I feel its important for other new or soon to be new mommies to know that they are not alone should they experience these same feelings. Just as we found out after our miscarriage, there is an underworld to this whole fertility / parenthood thing that no one discusses for fear of embarrassment or judgment. Other mommies need to know that if they experience these feelings, IT. IS. OKAY. You are not alone. And you are not a bad mom. And like most things, this too shall pass.

its that time

2010-09-29T09:20:00.001-04:00

Alright friends!

Time to get your baby brownie prayers going.

Miss Summer B is having her one perfect little brownie embaby implanted today.

We are praying for a sticky baby.

We are praying for peace in their hearts.

We are praying for an easy two week wait.

We are praying for their baby to be.

Join me in wishing Summer and Mister B well today.

We are thinking about you.

We are loving you.

We know it only takes one fertilized egg to make your perfect baby.

And we are praying for your miracle.

Women rock.

2010-09-28T14:10:00.004-04:00

Why is it that women can handle so much more than men?

Seriously?

Women give birth.
They break their backs but still manage to make a 6 course meal and vacuum.

My crown fell off.

That's right, I am no longer a princess.

OK OK.
Not THAT crown.

The crown on my tooth.

It plum fell off after I may or may not have eaten some taffy, but the point is it fell off.

Did it hurt? No but the reason I needed it in the first place DID. LIKE A MOFO.

So last night, I am dealing with progesterone shots in my ass, a toothless smile and serious shoulder pain when husband B decides to conveniently throw out his back, immediately after I changed into my jams.

I had to undress him.

Needless to say but here goes, I put him on the couch in his underoos and black socks.

He tells me he needs Advil.

Summer cannot take Advil.

Which means we don't keep it in the house.

So, I have to go out in the rain to get my man some Advil, sore buttocks and all.

I get back and all I heard ALL NIGHT was moaning and not in the sexy, baby making way.

He could not handle the pain.

Nope. No way.

And guess who got him dressed this am while listening to him whimper?

THE PRINCESS WITH NO CROWN!

WHY CAN WE HANDLE IT BUT THEY CANNOT?

brownie eggies

2010-09-24T09:33:00.000-04:00

Our very own Summer is going through her egg retrieval today.

Please send up good thoughts for tons of healthy, viable eggs and to their future Brownie babies. #5 is soon to be their lucky number.

We love you Summer and are thinking about you and Mister B!

prayers please

2010-09-24T08:47:00.003-04:00

I am coming to you this morning to ask you for prayers for my dear sweet blog friend Kirsten.

via her blog

Her precious little boy Ewan was born 6 days ago with several congenital heart defects and he has taken a turn over the course of the evening. Right now, they are preparing to say goodbye to their angel. Please visit her blog and leave her some love and send up some prayers for her precious little one. I truly believe in the power of prayer. And I know that Ewan, along with his mommy and daddy are in God's good hands.

My own heart is breaking for their pain. No parent should have to endure this.

happy feet

2010-09-23T10:26:00.000-04:00

happy feet at the ivf clinic for morning monitoring.

future baby, your momma has been through a lot for you!

come home.

we are waiting.

awwww

2010-09-20T12:40:00.000-04:00

my marriage monday:

wife bakes a cake.

cake sticks to pan.

husband gives wife a hug.

husband takes cake pan to table.

wife hears husband mumble, "MMM".

wife brings husband some frosting to dip cake in.

husband and wife = happy.

{ps - i am here to stay. thanks ladies. i was just feelin kinda sorta all over the place.}

via

me aka the puzzle piece

2010-09-16T14:43:00.001-04:00

As I peruse TTC blogs, as I sometimes do, I have noticed that I don't really fit in well with some of these ladies.

One person told me that having two blogs did not seem like I was dedicated to being a TTC'er. (Really? Not sure how IVF NUMBER 5 is not considered dedicated?!)

I know I don't fit in with the pregnancy/mom blogs now either.

{Even though I write for this one}

So, where do I fit in?

You see, I started my baby making/adopting blog because I wanted it to be separate from my every day life.

I did not want to blog just about my fertility/adoption issues.

Honestly, it was too hard for me.

As it is, I am constantly reminded that I don't have what I long for. Why remind myself?

So, Bisfor... is the place where everything else comes into play and I do try hard to keep the two aspects of my life separate in blogosphere.

But clearly, I live being a TTC'er each and every day.

I used to let it consume my life.

It was all I thought, talked, dreamt about.

Don't get me wrong, my days are still filled with thoughts of babies but I had to tone it down a bit for own sanity.

My original baby blog was a downer.

I was angry and bitter.

I deleted that like spam in my inbox!

And to be honest, I have been having a hard time coming up with posts for this blog.

Mommy and pregnancy stories are soooo much better than TTC and adoption ones.

So, what to do?

Retire as one of the main dolls?

Talk about IVF and all the funny shit that happens during a cycle?
Talk about sex?
Or as Tiff asked a week ago, how much is too much?

I dunno.

Thoughts?

via

where's my helmet?

2010-09-14T13:04:00.000-04:00

There are certain things that take on a different meaning or a different direction once you have children. Reminds me a little of the opening scenes in Little People Big World where Amy, the mom, says that they do everything that normal sized people can do, just a bit differently. That is my world now too. Except I don't attend the LPA convention every year.

I admit, mommyhood is full of beautiful things. Great experiences that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. But there are a lot of challenges that come with the job. And I'm not just talking about poop and projectile vomit. Or the 6 week bleed that comes after giving birth.... why didn't anyone warn me about this?

I type one handed now. If I am even able to leave comments on your lovely posts, they probably consist of something like this... "omg, cute!" Yeah, that's cause I most likely have a 14 lb human attached to my chest and the one handed thing is about all I got. There goes my killer 70 wpm.

I also have mastered the one handed bottle feed, with burp cloth tucked under the chin, while surfing the tv and texting. Talk about multitasking.

I have also... wait for it.... gone to the bathroom ... yeah, THAT bathroom, while holding the kid. Call CPS! That's probably not in the top 10 requirements for the mommy of the year award, but when you gotta go and you've got a leetle one screaming so loud that the neighbors are sure to think you're the Ike to his Tina, you can't put the dude down. Business has to be done.

Nothing spells efficiency like simultaneously feeding a baby while opening the back door for the dog to pee and using your right leg to block the cat from attempting to run off to Abu Dhabi to get away from the chaos, meanwhile instructing the Husband where to put the newly purchased groceries in the cabinets that have been installed for a year. How he doesn't know where to put the taco shells is beyond me. Does he need assistance with where the refrigerator is too? Last I heard it was stuffed where the sun don't shine, along with your ability to cook dinner once in 5 years. Le sigh.

On a separate note, our cat has a urinary tract infection and has been peeing all over the house. Cat pee... with blood in it. Fabulous. Can someone tell me when the circus will end? I feel like I'm walking the tight rope and about to fall the eff off and plummet into a pile of dog shit mixed with a side of insanity.

We Bare All

2010-08-31T09:00:00.001-04:00

Have you ever seen the ‘we bare all signs’ while driving on 95 through Florida? The ones with the scantily clad chicks with 80’s hair attempting billboard seduction on unsuspecting dads driving their minivan full of kids to Disney World or to tour that spot where Tiger Woods ex ‘didn’t’ beat him with a golf club?

No? Consider yourself lucky.

I do have a point though—if you’re reading here then you probably have a blog. You may even have done a meme or 12. Last week, the uber gorgeous Sass (seriously—she’s beautiful, like whoa) tagged me to answer a few questions, one of which was the following:

Have you ever faked an orgasm?

Crickets.

I'm sure I'll make a joke out of the question instead as my entire family reads my blog for one and, second, I’m graduating this December and would like to avoid the ‘we were going to hire you but apparently you like to talk about orgasms all over the interwebs’ conversation with potential employers.

But it got me thinking about how much we (bloggers) share in this virtual space for strangers’ peering eyes. I read about a sex blogger, (who blogged anonymously, by the way), who was fired because her employer didn't approve of her content. She never mentioned her company or her job--she kept the two completely separate, but her company felt her anonymous blog misrepresented the company.

So, how much is too much? What details are absolutely off limits?

Or, more to the point—do you bare all?

Um, wow.

2010-08-27T10:00:00.002-04:00

Wife Sees Husband's 2nd Wedding On Facebook

Woman Began Searching Facebook For Possible Affair

MEGHAN BARR, Associated Press Writer

POSTED: 5:39 am EDT August 5, 2010

UPDATED: 7:13 am EDT August 5, 2010

CLEVELAND -- Dread of the unknown hung in the air as Lynn France typed two words into the search box on Facebook: the name of the woman with whom she believed her husband was having an affair.

Click. And there it was, the stuff of nightmares for any spouse, cuckolded or not. Wedding photos. At Walt Disney World, no less, featuring her husband literally dressed as Prince Charming. His new wife, a pretty blonde, was a glowing Sleeping Beauty, surrounded by footmen.

"I was numb with shock, to tell you the truth," says France, an occupational therapist from Westlake, a Cleveland suburb. "There was like an album of 200 pictures on there. Their whole wedding."

Affairs were once shadowy matters, illicit encounters whispered about and often difficult to prove. But in the age of Facebook and Twitter and lightning-fast communication, the notion of privacy is fast becoming obsolete. From flirtatious text messages to incriminating e-mails, marital indiscretions are much easier to track - especially if potentially damaging photographic evidence is posted online.

"All of these things are just a trail of cyber breadcrumbs that are easily tracked by good divorce lawyers," says Parry Aftab, an expert on Internet safety and privacy laws.

France, 41, was not completely blindsided by her Facebook discovery, which happened in January 2009. That fall, she had grown suspicious when her husband began taking frequent business trips, even leaving the day the couple's newborn son came home from the hospital. Once, she found his passport at home when he was supposed to be in China for business.

In October, before leaving for another trip, her husband left a hotel website up on the couple's computer screen.

"So I actually went there with a girlfriend, just to see for myself for sure," France says. "He was there with this girlfriend. I said, 'Hey, I'm his wife. We've got a baby.'"

The woman told France that she was engaged to France's husband.

"Sure enough, they were registered for a wedding at Target," France says.

A girlfriend recommended checking the woman's Facebook page, which was then open to the public, France says, but has since become private. There, France found evidence of an unfolding relationship that she still couldn't wrap her head around. Overwhelmed with two young children, she confronted her husband. She says he told her he wouldn't actually go through with the wedding.

It wasn't until she saw the wedding photos that she finally began divorce proceedings.

"People who engage in these sorts of behaviors now have the option of trying to keep things private or turning it into a spectacle and becoming their own reality show," says lawyer Andrew Zashin, a child custody expert who is representing Lynn France. "In this case, it seems, the spouse may have crossed the line and gotten married while he was still married."

Aftab, a lawyer who runs the online protection site WiredSafety.org, says the lesson to be learned from the Frances' case is that no form of communication is sacred anymore.

"It's like trying to catch a river in your hand," she says. "It will leak out eventually."

But Aftab doesn't recommend snooping around online. That can backfire in court if used inappropriately - such as when spouses log onto each other's Facebook pages without permission. If your spouse isn't trustworthy, she says, get a divorce and save yourself the trouble.

Lynn's husband, John France, does not deny that he has remarried. Rather, he simply is insisting that he was never married to Lynn in the first place.

His attorney, Gary Williams, issued a statement Tuesday saying his client is asking a family law court to declare that his marriage to Lynn was "void since its inception."

"While it appears that John and Lynda France were both under the impression, once upon a time, that they were married, the fact of the matter is that their marriage was never legally proper," Williams wrote, "and, therefore, it does not actually exist."

Lynn and John France were married in July 2005 in a seaside wedding on Italy's Amalfi Coast, having organized the event through Regency San Marino, which coordinates weddings for couples looking to get hitched in Italy. On the company's website, Lynn is still the first radiant bride whose portrait appears in a gauzy veil, the brilliant blue sea behind her.

If that wedding was a fraud, it was news to Lynn.

"If that were true, then he's lied to the IRS," Zashin says. "He's lied to insurance companies. Banks."

In June 2009, against the advice of her attorneys, Lynn France dropped divorce proceedings when her husband came home and persuaded her to reconcile.

"I just wanted to believe the good when he came to me and said, 'Let's reconcile, I love you,'" she says. "You want to give somebody a second chance."

But three months ago, Lynn says she was cleaning the sink when her husband took the couple's 2-year-old son out of her arms and said he was going to give him some milk. Minutes later, she heard the car running.

"He threw them in, no car seats, no nothing, and took off," she says.

She hasn't seen her sons since. John France had taken them to Tampa, Fla., where he currently lives with his new wife and, according to his attorney, is seeking custody of their children.

Lynn France called 911, but as in most parental custody disputes, little could be done. She is in contact with the Center for Missing and Exploited Children and has a team of attorneys preparing for a court fight. Authorities have told her not to attempt to take back the children forcibly.

For Lynn, the only glimpse of her children now comes, ironically, from the same Facebook page where she found those fairy-tale wedding photos.

Until the day she can see her children again, Lynn France says she continues to text her husband, pleading with him to bring the children back to Ohio.

"The only way I've been able to see my children is on her Facebook page," she says. "It's stranger than fiction to watch this woman living my life."

the unmentionables

2010-08-26T09:01:00.006-04:00

This whole motherhood thing most certainly has its perks. I mean, lets me honest, my kid is the single most cutest thing to walk, errr... sit, on the planet since a baby Ryan Reynolds. Of course I am completely bias, but lets throw the kid a bone here. He's handsome. G'on... admit it.

Some things about being thrust into motherhood have got my head spinning though. Primarily, lets discuss penises. My adorable 10 lb 8 oz little boy has gotten himself a handful of erections in his 4 weeks on earth. There's not much more uncomfortable than blissfully giving your brand spankin new baby boy a nice warm bath, playfully squirting warm soapy water all over him, tickling his toes and rubbing his tummy only to look down and see a full on baby boner (is it wrong that I refer to my son's erection as a boner? Perhaps I need to check myself before I subsequently wreck myself). I had NO idea that its possible for a one month old to stand at attention. Am I supposed to be proud? Am I supposed to pretend its not there? Am I supposed to slap a diaper on him, wash my own eyes out with soap, and never look in that direction again?

But then there's a whole nother issue about cleaning AROUND that thing. Yes, THAT thing and THOSE other things... How do I do that? I mean, do I just gingerly push THOSE to one side and clean in the crevices? Do I need to actually lather them up and give them a good wash? Or does simply diverting your eyeballs to something less uncomfortable, say his earlobes, work? Do I need to clean in and around THAT thing and if I do, do I need to push the skin down? That sure is a lot of work.

And while we're mentioning the unmentionables, why is mine STILL requiring, after 4 weeks, a 3" memory foam pad that could give Sealy a run for its money? As if the leaking boobs, the kangaroo pooch, the plastic syphon permanently attached to my nips, and saggy tits weren't sexy enough... dear Husband is surely to want to spoon and fork again in the next century with the sound of a swishing maxi pad coming down the hallway at 3am. I mean, honestly people... if ANYTHING else were to bleed for this long, it surely should be dead.

Baby boners and dead vaginas. That's all I've got.

How does this happen?

2010-08-25T16:54:00.000-04:00

Child’s Family Anxiously Waiting For Test Results After Condom Incident

Child Sick After Putting Used Condom In His Mouth

By Tony McNary, CBS Atlanta Reporter

POSTED: 11:15 pm EDT August 23, 2010

UPDATED: 3:20 pm EDT August 25, 2010

ATLANTA -- A 4-year-old child may now have a sexually transmitted disease because of a used condom he found in an Atlanta hotel room.

On Wednesday the family tells CBS Atlanta they are anxiously waiting for blood test results.

Carmen Jones said she is hurting inside not knowing what sexually transmitted diseases her grandson may now have.

“The doctors at Scottish Rite said, if it was some sort of herpes it would last seven to 10 days, and sure enough about 10 days he started getting better, but then the blisters reappeared,” said Jones.

Jones said she, her grandson and other family members stayed at the Wyndham Garden Hotel in downtown Atlanta on July 31.

When they got up the next morning, her grandson found a used condom in their bed.

“I ran out the bathroom and my grandson had a condom in his mouth. His tongue was in the condom and he was trying to blow it up. I immediately took it out of his mouth and he thought it was a balloon, that he was blowing up a balloon,” said Jones.

Jones said she became even more worried when she saw what was inside the condom.

“It still had, what appeared to be semen in the condom. I want to take the condom and have it tested,” said Jones.

But Jones said the manager at the Wyndham Hotel would not let her take the condom.

Jones said after 24 hours, her grandson started throwing up, he developed a fever and started showing signs of a possible STD.

“Little white blisters all on the top of his mouth, on his tongue, inside the mouth, inside the lip the bottom lip, it was all over,” said Jones.

CBS Atlanta went to the Wyndham Hotel with our tough question only to find out the Wyndham no longer owns the building at the corner of Piedmont and Andrew Young International Boulevard.

Georgia State University bought it and turned it into student dorms.

CBS called the Wyndham Corporate offices with our Tough Questions. We left a message, but no one returned our call.

Jones wants answers about the dirty room. She fears the answers she may get from doctors about her grandson.

“You definitely don’t want it to come back as HIV [positive] or STD or something like that. You don’t want that and you definitely don't want him to have to live with this for the rest of his life,” said Jones.

Tuesday, CBS Atlanta uncovered new details about the company that managed the hotel in question.

CBS Atlanta has confirmed that Crescent Hotels and Resorts managed the property at the time of the incident.

CBS Atlanta also confirmed hotel General Manager Bonnie Stanley was in charge of hotel operations when the July incident happened.

CBS Atlanta reporter Michelle Marsh contacted Stanley over the phone.

Marsh: "Do you know why a condom would be in a room that was supposed to be cleaned?"

Stanley: "No, I don’t."

Marsh: "OK, so do you understand why we have to ask some tough questions about this?

Stanley: "Well, sure I do."

Stanley added, "I’m aware of the incident that was reported. We reported to the insurance company for them to make a determination and investigate it."

Marsh: "And what did your investigation find?"

Stanley: "They haven’t completed that yet."

Marsh: "The family says they showed the condom to your assistant general manager, is that not true?"

Stanley: "Yes, it is. There was a condom there."

Stanley said she still works for Crescent Hotels and Resorts but would not reveal which locations she was in charge of.

Stanley said this case was an isolated incident and all rooms are cleaned before people check in.

CBS Atlanta tried multiple times to speak to someone from Crescent's corporate office in Virginia but no one responded to any of the messages.

tick tock, tick tock

2010-08-25T10:33:00.000-04:00

via

It is time for the Brownies to start baby dancing.

Do you all know what that means?

TIMED SEX, people.

We will be sex machines at least every other day.

Doc did mention that since Hub's spermies are so good, we could be sexing it up daily.

Timed sex sounds like a lot of fun, right?

I mean, it is.

However, getting to the fun part takes a lot of work.

We are an old married couple.

Plus how can you be romantic when you are reaching for Pre-Seed and telling the spermies to swim to the right towards my good tube!?

Oh and after, it's legs up.

However, I think I am over that part.

I should just light up a dobie.

I have hearing it works!

kidding! kidding! kidding!

Hispanics give me turrets

2010-08-20T08:00:00.001-04:00

So I’ve been busy hanging out with my kids before school starts—doing things that have nothing to do with Dora the Explorer or any of her cousins—and outside. Like, in nature with trees and grass and no air conditioning. I’m sure they’ve forgotten about our excursions already—those sweaty memories.

Then, I had to get ready for our neighborhood yard sale.

I hate yard sales. Just typing ‘yard sale’ makes me feel like a 72 year old woman who hacks up half a lung, then rolls her boobs back up into her bra every morning. I can’t stand looking at my own crap let alone getting up at 6am on a Saturday morning to go and pay a dollar for someone else’s crap, or waiting around for someone to pay a dollar for mine. But when I saw the sign at the end of the street advertising our annual community yard sale I figured it was good incentive to get rid of all the baby stuff in my garage.

I sat in my driveway, in the sun, for two and a half hours and learned a number of things about hard core yard sale shoppers.

I learned that when you ask $10 for a practically new, vibrating, classical music playing bouncy seat, a grown man will act like you just asked for his left testicle on a freaking diamond encrusted platter, and run back to his car all huffy and offended.

I also learned that I have turrets around Hispanics.

A Hispanic couple and their toddler were sifting through my junk, looking at some of G’s old dresses and baby toys. They spoke English and Spanish to each other and finally bought a dress and some inflatable monstrosity. I had spoken English to them the entire time and for some reason blurted out ‘hola!’ to their baby. Like how some white people get around me and suddenly they’re all ‘nah mean’* and ‘izzle’, and I’m like ‘dude, I’m from the suburbs’, and their all ‘word?!, ’ and I’m like ‘yes—are you seriously throwing up gang signs right now?’

I got all flustered like somehow I might have offended them and decided to follow ‘hola’ up with something equally unimpressive.

Me (referring to their daughter): Como se llama? (What’s her name?)

Man: Elisa

Me (in Spanish): …

Man: …

Me: Thanks for stopping by!

Marking that I was part Hispanic on my Census form was clearly for show as the mere notion of Spanish voice on voice action sends my language skills into narcoleptic fits.

Whatever. Next time I’ll skip out on nature with the kids and stay home and watch Dora instead.
She speaks like, 40 languages and folks always pay full-price for her crap.

Winner of the Doll Yourself Up Giveaway...

2010-08-18T10:30:00.000-04:00

Sorry we are so late in picking a winner, y'all. Life is busy!

The winner of The Doll Yourself Up Giveaway is...

Summer of Summer's Story!

This is fab news because Mrs. Summer has been having a really tough time with her health issues. I hope this make-up cheers her up!

Thanks to everyone for entering!

The 7-Year Itch

2010-08-02T08:15:00.001-04:00

The husband and I celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary a couple weeks ago while we were in Florida. I use the word ‘celebrated’ loosely as the mere acknowledgement of said anniversary went something like this:

Me: Holy crap, husband! Monday’s our anniversary.

Husband: Huh. You’re right.

Later, everyone was happy to remind us how old we were because we’ve been married so long, and how is it possible that we’re 30 and 31 years old and have been married for seven years. Quite simple: we were but fetuses when we got married.

I always thought the 7-year itch was some herpes adjacent gift —like, for your first wedding anniversary you’re supposed to get paper. (Lame.) And for your seventh anniversary you’re supposed to get…gonorrhea? Turns out—according to the Urban Dictionary, I may not too far off.

The 7-year itch:

It is the point when you have been together so long that you are tired/bored with your partner, but you have not been together long enough to have accepted the rhythm that is being in a relationship. Some people miss being single and would like a different partner. Other people just miss the freedom of being single and having no strings attached but they do not want another partner.

Luckily for the husband and I, we still actually like each other. Not just love each other, but genuinely like spending time together.

Besides, we’re both far too lazy to date--he'd rather play Wii golf and I’m pretty sure dating means I’d have to wear a bra on Saturday nights and leave the house.

The Doll Yourself Up Giveaway!

2010-07-28T12:50:00.002-04:00

Pieces

of us

Dolls!

This is just a photo of dolls. We are not giving this away.

via

With the help of our good friend at Dixie Lust, we came up with a neat-o giveaway for you all!

We also have lots to celebrate with a new addition to our little family.

We cannot wait for more appearances from lil' Smith.

Onto to the ~~free if you win~~ good stuff:

We all came together and discussed some of our favorite beauty products.

From the lovely Tiffany:

One MAC eyeshadow

Lavender Bubble Bath OR Pillow Mist

From new mommy Kristen:

Mineral Foundation

Maybelline Gel Eyeliners

Last but not least from Summer:

Essie Nail Polish in Lapis of Luxury (BUT you choose your fave color here)

NARS Velvet Matte Lip Pencil in Dragon Girl (BUT you choose your fave color here)

LE RULES:

1 entry - You better be following us, yo!
2 entries - follow and leave a comment telling us what product you cannot live without.
3 entries - follow, leave a comment AND blog/tweet/smoke signal about our doll parts giveaway!

Last day to enter will be...

Monday, August 16, 2010
@
Midnight!

Good luck, Dolls!

xo

A new doll...

2010-07-27T13:43:00.000-04:00

One of our beautiful dolls, just gave birth to one of her own!

Please welcome

SMITH DANIEL LAWLOR...

...into the world!

We love you so much, Kristen!

We are so proud of you.

Love,

Summer and Tiff

Schmere

2010-07-15T09:13:00.003-04:00

People ask me frequently about my makeup... what products I use, how to apply this or that. Embarrassed, I typically respond with my head hung low and tell them its usually a Cover Girl or L'oreal somethingorother. I feel like I should have a mile long list of Mac products to rattle off, but I don't. I don't give a flying shit about the expensive products actually and quite honestly, I'd prefer to spend what little money I do have on more important things like beer... or wine....

But that's besides the point.

I absolutely LOVE mineral makeup. I started off using the Bare Escentuals products from Sephora, at the suggestion of my two besties. Fell in love. Fell into addiction (no, not the nose candy). Spent way too much money.... And then, a miracle happened! Cover Girl, L'oreal, and Maybelline gave into the mineral game and low and behold, I was hooked.

Their products are solid. Seemingly equal to their more expensive counterparts. I have, through their cheaper price tag, perfected my makeup sitch after 20 years of shopping and attempts at finding my perfect matches and even more perfect applications.

But I come to you fine folks today in search of some suggestions.... I have a nemesis. And her name is that rat bastard bitch known as outer eye schmere. I have tried everything from bases, to pencil to gel liners, to liquid liners, to power application before applying, but haven't found anything that sticks. That stays with me through the day. The outer eye schmere just happens... all the time.

Do you guys have any tricks for maintaining the perfect liner all day long? Maybe the only cure is moving out of South Florida in the summer... or more cowbell. Oh how I love me some Christopher Walken.

Traveling Circus

2010-07-14T08:00:00.000-04:00

We are currently on the road, headed south to a family reunion in that state in which humidity does evil things to my hair and I get caught in the rain without an umbrella at least once. Because what’s Florida without a random torrential downpour?

We are in the car—all of us, me, the husband, kids, and the Ikea portable potty that, hopefully, only G will have to use. I would drink heavily beforehand but, I can’t hold my alcohol and pee a lot. A valium and some earplugs would make awesome friends right about now.

And do you know what going to Florida means? It means I get to see these peeps:

I mean, really—she’s like the cutest pregnant girl ever.

She has also informed me that both of our ‘the husbands’ will be cooking hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill for us. I’m pretty sure neither of those are on the P90X nutrition plan, but give me the option of a semi-burnt hot dog and I’m game.

Also, give me the option of leaving both my babes with you for the rest of the weekend and I just might—talk about birth control.

HAHAH!

2010-07-13T13:56:00.000-04:00

This made me crack up laughing!

via

Oh! The House of Dolls will be having a giveaway pretty soon!

Here is a sneak peek!

HAHAHA!

We are still adding items to our little gift.

Have any suggestions what you would like to win?

unleash your libido

2010-07-07T11:02:00.000-04:00

Found this below article on TheNest.com.

I have to agree with just about everything they have to say.

I want the honeymoon phase to come back. :( Wahhhhh!

Not sure about their sexy solutions though. What do you think?

via

Here are some common culprits:

Your libidos are out of sync.
You’re supposed to be soul mates…so why is it that you want it slow and sensual at night but he wants it fast and furious in the morning? Well, guys wake up with high levels of testosterone and energy and crave sex first thing in the a.m. But at night, testosterone levels dip right when you’re revved up.
Sexy solution: If he’s never in the mood after dinner, grab him before you open the take-out. If you dislike a.m. sex, join him in his morning shower.
Long workweeks leave you both sapped.
His afternoon meeting ran late and he’s exhausted; your boss yelled at you (again). By the time you make it through the front door, your sex drives are MIA.
Sexy solution: Studies show that lovemaking boosts levels of brain chemicals that trigger desire. So the more you push past your tiredness and get busy, the more you’ll want to do it. You can start by trading five-minute massages (no, you aren’t too tired). Conjure up an erotic scenario -- research shows women who fantasize often have more frequent and satisfying sex.
The honeymoon is over.
Why can’t sex be as hot as it was during those 10 days in Anguilla? Was it the plush mattress? The sound of the ocean at night? Now sex feels like a letdown.
Sexy solution: Start turning things around when you’re not in the sack. Devote the weekends to reconnecting. Unplug from the world and fantasize about that sexy anniversary trip you’ll be booking in the Bahamas. Anticipation in itself can be a surprising aphrodisiac.
You’re trying to get pregnant.
When you’re in baby-making mode, sex can start to feel methodical, even frustrating -- especially if you’ve been trying for a while.
Sexy solution: Make the rest of the month (i.e., your nonpeak-fertility days) all about pleasure. For starters, zip your lips on the baby topic so your minds are clear and sex can be more fun. Your next steamy step? Try a new position or grab your partner for a quickie before you head out to a party -- everyone will wonder what that smirk is on your faces.

Sexy Back

2010-07-03T07:45:00.001-04:00

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes me feel sexy—which is nearly impossible right now as I write this while listening to Justin Bieber with my inlaws in the next room. (Nothing says ‘ravish me’ like a 16 year-old crooner waiting for his testicles to drop. Unless you’re talking about Joey McIntyre from back in the day—I’ll take that pubescent, high-pitched girl squeal any day of the week.)

When I was in college, being sexy was dressing in such a way I thought might get guys to notice me: cheap. (Yeah, I was a little insecure). You know those flammable mystery fabrics from Rave you tried to pass off as skirts and halters that may or may not get you mistaken for a hooker? Well, I didn’t go quite that far, but you get the picture.

Then, soon after the husband and I were married, I somehow got it in my head that sexy had something to do with $50 push-up bras from Victoria’s Secret and thongs that I had to pry out of my butt after every three steps in my sky-high FMP’s.

And now, 30 years old and after two babes, I’m trying to bring my sexy back and laughing at how wrong I was. The other night I accidentally put on one of the husband’s wife beaters and you know what? I felt sexy.

Like, really, really sexy. Not to mention, the husband loved it!

And wife beaters are like, five bucks for a three-pack—clearly, everybody wins.

Suck on that, bad economy.

So, what makes you feel sexy?

*images via weheartit

Moment of Silence for Cohen

2010-07-01T00:00:00.001-04:00

What: Moment of Silence for Cohen

When: Thursday July 1st from midnight to 11:59 pm.

How: Bloggers participating will post the Cohen banner (above) or simply post Cohen’s name in large letters on their blog.

Why: July 1st Megan and Brent will be holding Cohen’s memorial service. The moment of silence is an opportunity for Megan’s blog community to stand behind her and support her on this difficult day. Linking up will give Megan a chance to see the support at a glance.

Participating bloggers can Link Up on July 1st at Send Love To Cohen.

bubbles - not the monkey

2010-06-30T15:00:00.000-04:00

date
night.

How many people have them?

Are you the planner?

What is your ideal night out like?

I am totally into themes. I think they are the best thing since bacon.

I also love champagne and bubbles. In fact, at my husband's work party, kids were blowing bubbles and I ran over screaming, "BUBBLES" and stole some kids blowing machine. Maybe not but I would have.

via

Back to the date night. So, I got some champers, bubble bath, a bubble machine and put on some tunes. I made a nice bath and put the WHOLE bottle of bubbles in and asked my honey to slip on in! And boy did we slip. Next time I will only use half of the bottle! Oh well, I tried and we laughed.

So, I want to add some spice back into the marriage.

No more date nights at home eating spaghetti and watching Sportscenter.

Share with us some of your ideas!

What has worked and what hasn't?

Patty cake...

2010-06-30T09:16:00.010-04:00

SCENE: in my fabulous go-cart of a vehicle heading home from work.

Heading north on 15th Avenue.

5:40pm on a Monday.

I pass the Hustler store where Husband and I used to make pit stops after a few too many beers at happy hour. (We'd make our way through the toy section (you know, the one behind the curtain and velvet ropes) and giggle uncomfortably at the random boobie tassels and other accoutrements that graced the walls. Nothing spells romantical more than double sided wangs and rubber fists in all shapes, size, and colors).

I pass my neighborhood Publix store on the left, thinking to myself that I SHOULD stop to get something for dinner, but I prefer to go home and whine about the lack of food instead. Husband won't mind, I'm sure.

I come up to the light at 13th and apply pressure to the break, looking down at my dashboard, realizing that my check engine light is STILL on for the 2nd week in a row. Damn. I guess I really have to get an oil change.

I listen to some commercial about a sleep study and make a mental note at how envious I am of anyone that can go 4 straight hours without getting up to pee a few drops.

I look to my right and see a lady jogging. I am distracted by her black spandex gym shorts. They are gracefully accentuating the lack of good circulation in her thighs and the cottage cheese that has made itself a new home (no hate, I have it too) on account of her shorts being too tight.

I notice she's attempting her afternoon run in 95 degree heat with 239080958% humidity with her bulldog. Poor little dude. You know he's got to be thirsty!

And then, there they are... loud as day and as equally ginormous. Dog balls. And not just any dog balls. Dog balls the size of a Kansas. And not just hanging dog balls, but Guinness Book of World Record swaying dog balls.

Which got me to thinking...

Balls are disgusting. Our sonographer specifically snapped a shot of our little man's junk the other day. Why would she do that? I do not need to see his testicles. And I certainly do not need to see his testicles in 3d. I have years of staring at, wiping down, and cleaning those things ahead of me. I certainly do not need a picture of them.

I had a friend once who absolutely loved her fiance's balls. She liked to play with them. Just for sport, actually. She talked about them often. She described how she would lay on the bed and have her fiance stand over her just so that she could play with them. And lets not even discuss how he allowed this to happen, so he's equally as disturbing of an individual.

I have balls growing in my stomach right now. And that kinda freaks me out. I can handle the whole wang thing. Penis? Yes, ugly on all accounts, but I can deal with the sight of that. But the balls thing? Its like a shriveled alien tumor threatening to kiss the ground or play patty cake with said Owner's thighs. Just sickening on all levels. Cover that mess up. Leave it at home and for God's sake PLEASE don't teabag me.

Perhaps while you all are diapering your dog balls for my sake, I should learn to speak in proper terminology for my soon-to-be son's sake. Nothing spells classy more than a mother allowing her child to scream balls or wang in public.

Now, if only I could find my maturity somewhere. I think I have misplaced it.

not really sure what to title this...

2010-06-29T00:09:00.000-04:00

it's late. 

my iphone passed out, hopefully to be revived tomorrow.

i am lost without it and smell of cat vomit. 

someone please save me.

oh and while you are at it, could you give me a wake up call in the morning?

6 am, please.

and now for your viewing pleasure...

...seen on the corner of 51st and Madison at 8:30 on a Monday morning.

Butter

Scotch

(insert dripping ice cream cone)

Cum

Taste

Yeah...

I, um, yeah...

just don't know what to say.

What's for dinner?

2010-06-28T07:31:00.000-04:00

3:07pm

Me: What do you want to eat for dinner? Try and think of something that lasts a couple days. I don’t want to cook tomorrow.

Husband: Okay.

We both continue to watch the ‘I love the Millennium’ marathon on VH-1. We watch a lot of VH-1.

3:42pm

Husband: Do you want some sort of pasta? We could have lasagna.

Me: No. I don’t really like my lasagna unless I make it completely from scratch and that gets all expensive and it’s a process and annoying. Besides, we’re going to have hamburgers on Saturday and I don’t want to eat beef three days in a row.

Husband: Oh.

5:01pm

Me: So, what do you want for dinner?

Husband: What do you want for dinner?

Me: I don’t know. I’m in one of those moods where I’m bored with everything we eat and I don’t want to cook anything and the kitchen’s a mess and getting on my nerves and I’d be happy just eating a bowl of oatmeal…

Husband (trying his best not to drive a Q-tip into his ear and straight through his brain): You can eat oatmeal if you want then. I’ll find something for myself.

Me: But then what are we going to eat tomorrow. I don’t want to cook tomorrow.

We both laugh at some comedian on VH-1 making fun of William Hung and ‘She Bangs.’

5:13pm

Me: I’m going to call my mom.

Husband ignores me.

Me: Ma, I don’t know what to make for dinner.

Mom: What do you have in the fridge?

Me: Nothing.

Mom: Then don’t you think someone should have gone to the store.

Me: Yes, but if I go to the store and don’t know what I’m cooking then I spend like, two hundred dollars on random stuff and still don’t know what to make for dinner.

Mom: Do you have tuna?

Me: Yeah.

Mom: Make a tuna melt and soup.

Me: The husband won’t eat that for dinner. He says he only likes soup when he’s sick. Besides, that won’t last two days. I don’t want to cook tomorrow.

By this point the husband has thrown himself from our second-story bathroom window in hopes of going spontaneously deaf. Or at least, he really wants to.

Mom: I’m sure you have noodles. Make a tuna casserole.

Me: We had that two weeks ago—don’t you think it’s too soon in the rotation to eat it again.

Mom: The rotation?

Me: Yeah. The meal rotation.

Mom: I need a valium for this conversation.

Me: So what should I make for dinner…we can’t eat beef because…

Mom: You have problems.

you name it, i have done it!

2010-06-26T08:00:00.002-04:00

When a woman wants a baby and it just ain't happening like she imagined, she can go to great lengths to find a way to MAKE it happen.

Things I have done to help my husband and I conceive a baby (besides the obvious - having lots of sexual intercourse):

1. burned incense in every corner of my house

2. practiced feng shui

3. did a fertility dance

4. chanted and visualized

5. baby yoga

6. prayed to st. gerard, st. anthony, jesus, god, mary and joseph

7. lit candles

8. did novenas for weeks at a time

9. acupuncture

10. worn charms related to fertility

11. bathed with soap shaped like a fertility goddess

12. visualized a gold, healing elixir surrounding my ovaries

13. stopped using nail polish

14. switched from low fat milk products to high fat milk products

15. ate lots of avocados

16. popped lots of Fertile Aid

17. drank FertiliTea

18. switched to organic shampoos and conditioners

19. stopped drinking caffeine

20. burned a fertility candle

21. went to an astrologist

22. up'ed my happy pills

23. believed, prayed, relaxed, stopped thinking about it

24. opened up my chakras

25. started collecting elephants

26. went on vacation

27. rubbed pregnant bellies (i even asked a stranger once - eeek)

28. read books

29. called out to my spirit baby to come down

30. did hypnosis

31. drank holy water and blessed st. jude's oil

32. temped and charted for months and months and months

33. hoped until i just about passed out.

I am sure I could come up with more.

Some of the things I have done are pretty darn funny if you ask me and are in my journal to be shared with my children, probably at their wedding. HAHAHA. Kidding.

Maybe one day, I will have a biological child and he/she will wear this ...

via

while I am sporting this...

via

and wearing this for my adopted child...

via

Until then, maybe I will just order this and keep hoping and praying...

via

Description

The leaves on this fertility bracelet represent a growing garden. Dream interpretation shows that a dream of lush foliage indicates fertility, spiritual development, growth or the potential for growth. Why not speed things along with this Fertile Garden healing fertility bracelet?

I truly believe every little positive thought makes a difference. That's why I created my fertility jewelry line.

Aventurine is known as the lucky stone with a positive influence over growth and fertility. It is considered a healing stone to soothe a troubled heart or calm distraught emotions. Irridescent czech glass leaves, peridot Swarovski crystal and silver elephant charm complete the look.The elephant has long been a symbol of love and virility. The elephant also symbolizes fertility because Buddha is said to be conceived when he entered his mother’s womb as a white elephant. Childless couples or those wishing to have more children should wear elephants on their person, or place elephant images in their bedroom to increase fertility luck. An elephant with its trunk up brings good fortune.

***

Now, don't go and get all sad. This post was supposed to be funny. I mean, did you read the things I have done????? I am definitely not a quitter and only a risk taker! And maybe a little crazy in the head.

Cankles

2010-06-25T09:30:00.004-04:00

In my last few weeks of going through this glorious process known as pregnancy, I have come to terms with some of the seemingly, ahem, foul side effects of carrying a child. I can handle most of it with grace.. Okay, grace might not be the best terminology. More like bitching and complaining and seeking out sympathy from a Husband who chooses to grab his "fat roll" while comparing his 6 pack with my bowling ball (by the way, his fat roll is a millimeter of extra skin flowing beautifully over a well tanned, toned, and disgustingly gorgeous stomach).

Unusual moisture, from every orifice of your body? Check. Areolas big enough to be the next NASA Space Center Launch pad? Fine. Getting punched from the inside out? You betcha. I can handle the zits, the massive stomach, the comments from strangers about how I must be carrying at least a few in there... But this whole water retention thing is what is starting to get me.

Perhaps this is a signal that the end is near. Or maybe its just giving me an opportunity to garner some empathy for the big girls out there. I feel your pain sistahs! Fat footed girls unite.

WTF has happened to my feet? All those asshats who tell you to watch your salt or keep your feet propped up are going to get bitch slapped by my massive dawgs. No amount of holding back on the salt and vinegar chips is going to fix this. This is just South Florida, 8 1/2 months pregnant, in 97 degrees with 100% humidity.

I'm just praying that delivery will bring me, not only a beautiful son to love and adore for all eternity, but also bring back my 5" red patent leather stilettos. Oh how I miss you!

Bitch on patrol

2010-06-18T08:56:00.001-04:00

Okay, absolutely nothing to do with

marriage, motherhood, but it sure is madness.

I definitely judge a book by its cover.

(I also brush my teeth in the shower

because I'm too lazy, but that's neither here nor there)

Take, for example, this chick...

Jillian Michaels.

Doesn't she look like a raging bitch?

I hate her and I don't even know her.

She could be sweeter than a cupcake,

but I'd never give her the time of day

because she just looks like an asshole.

Bethenny Frankel

Those jowl bones are lethal weapons.

They kinda make me wanna break out my cheese grater and go to work.

I'm just sayin.

Miley Cyrus.

Gums. Gums. And more gums.

And someone please give girlfriend a throat lozenge.

She's got a prepubescent boy lodged in her throat.

Lindsay Lohan.

She makes me feel dirty, even fresh out of the shower.

Just the site of her makes my skin itch

and reminds me of a double wide after a category 5 hurricane.

Scarlett. My nemesis.

You MAY have the best boobs on the planet.

You MAY also be married to my Husband.

But no matter how much of a nice person you are

or how down to earth you try to make yourself seem,

I loathe you.

Do you find yourself hating on people you don't even know?

Maybe simply based on their appearance or their tacky accent and jaw line that requires a hard hat?

Today's post brought to you by the exhausted, sleep deprived, hormonally challenged, 8 months pregnant and miserable, and wanting some sympathy, but sure ain't gettin it at home because someone is too busy with school work / radio shows / youtube clips / and scratching his balls - i'm talking about the dog of course. I'll be return to my regularly scheduled sweetness in 2017.

anyone out there????

2010-06-15T11:53:00.001-04:00

{via}

We want to know about you!

Let's start with these questions and feel free to let us know what else you want to tell us about Yo'Self!

We will then answer these same questions in the next post for all of you to enjoy. :)

1. Are you married? If so, did you have your dream wedding? Everyone also says that something will go wrong. Did something take a turn for the worse? Your cake fell over, you pee'd your dress?

2. Ok, for the non-married folk. Since we don't like to leave anyone out. :) Tell us about your dream wedding and if you have no desire to get married, then tell us about a party that you would love to have thrown JUST.FOR.YOU.

3. When we were little, we all had an idea of when we would get hitched, have kids, buy a house.

Did your plan work out?

Hearts and Butterflies (hah),

K, T, S

"The Dolls"

Yo mans

2010-06-14T07:38:00.000-04:00

So often on the blogosphere and on the interwebs you find women complaining—complaining about their kids or their jobs, but, most frequently: their man.

Trust me, I get it. I’ll be the first to admit that, though I love them to pieces, sometimes my kids and husband make me crazy. Like, straight jacket asylum crazy. The kind of crazy that had me roasting marshmallows over an electric burner for some makeshift s’mores and funneling them into my mouth without even really tasting them.

That, ladies, is a crime against nature and all things chocolate and marshmallow. And further proof of the crazy.

So, I thought instead of being stank or sarcastic about the breadcrumbs said husband left all over the counter after making a sandwich, or the dirty shower I asked him to clean three weeks ago, I’d say something nice—list some of the things I love about my mans…

- He never expects me to cut the grass. Ever. This is awesome on so many levels—the main one being that I never have to cut the grass.

-He looks like this with his shirt off. (Yes, this is me pimping out my husband’s chesticles for the sake of a few more web hits. I’m okay with it.)

-He’s the best father ever. He is a human playground, has his ‘hair’ brushed, and gives his daughter flowers for Valentine’s Day. I could not have asked for anyone better.

-He is one of the kindest people I have ever met.

-He lets me be me. And this is a nod to the kindness thing because, trust me, I’m not an easy prize.

What are some of your favorite things about your man?

fight for your right to .... BE FERTILE!

2010-06-09T11:55:00.000-04:00

Hey Dolls!

I thought today would be a good day to talk about fertility and how sometimes the stork gets a little lost. Not sure all of you know my history. I kind of have this thing were I can create beautiful little babies but then I lose them. Or they just don't stick (literally) around too long. Read all about it here. Right sidebar, yo.

Anyway, so BFF, Alex sent me the below blog post by Constance Marie. Then not 10 minutes later, so did one of the Dolls, Kristen.

Our paths have been very similar and when I sent this to my husband, he agreed we should bring up this implantation thing with NYU. When we make the appt, that is.

It is a sad, frustrating, anger-filled, lonely journey but it will work out. I have hope.

Summer

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

From People Magazine Online:

Constance Marie’s Blog: My Fertility Fight

It’s been a whirlwind three weeks with celebrity blogger Constance Marie — we’ve met the family, gone “into the trenches,” and learned all about cloth diapers.

This week, the actress — who lives in California with her fiancé, yoga instructor Kent Katich, and their 16-month-old daughter, Luna Marie — tells PEOPLE Moms & Babies about the long fertility struggle that eventually ended in the conception of her baby girl.

Courtesy Constance Marie

OMG! Ladies, I am so overwhelmed by your cloth diaper support! I was the only one in my mommy group who was doing it. I felt like an oddball but now, not so much! Thank you.

I also want to mention that I designed a blanket for the Bundled in Hope Campaign, which raises money to give blankets to kids in need. If you can, please check it out and bid away! Thanks mucho!

This week’s topic: My fertility journey. Oy! It was so long, but so worth every second, because at the end of it, I got my sweet little Luna Marie. I always knew I would have a family, but I just didn’t know how I would get there.

I never felt ready to have a baby until I was about 37 years old. I knew I always wanted kidssomeday, but I needed to be “ready,” ya know? Emotionally, physically, mentally, financially, etc.

Plus, my mother had me when she was 18 — I didn’t want to repeat that. So, like any smart girl I was always careful. As girls we are told every day, “Don’t get pregnant! Be cautious!” As if just standing next to a boy would knock us up! Right?!

But then, somewhere in our lives that all changes! It goes from, “Make sure to not get pregnant!” to “Oh man! I gotta hurry up and get pregnant!” Honestly, I wish we had a visible meter that would just DING and announce, “It is time to get serious ladies!” That biological clock is a force to be reckoned with.

I do wish I had started earlier, but I never thought I would have a problem! I had read how a lot of women were having kids later in life. I was healthy, in good shape and Latina! I mean come on! We are supposed to be muy fertile right?! For sure it was gonna be easy! Wrong.

When I turned 38, Kent and I decided it was time. We were thinking “Yea! We have to have lots of sex!” And by nine months in, it was, “Ugh, we have to have lots of sex!”

My doctor suggested I have some blood tests done and go to a specialist for a test called ahysterosalpingogram, which I can only describe as a combination x-ray/pap smear. They inject dye into your fallopian tubes to see if there’s a problem. Sounds like fun right? Um … no.

The test did not go well. His diagnosis: blocked fallopian tubes. I was shocked! All these years I had been trying not to get pregnant and I had blocked tubes! What a waste of a lot of birth control right?! I was so shocked and sad. I would not be able to get pregnant naturally.

My gyno suggested I wait a bit and then go for a second opinion. I went to see a different specialist that I nicknamed “Mr. Sunshine.” He was patient, sweet and calm. This time — I kid you not — he injected the dye, it just flew up the tubes and presto! Like a frickin’ miracle, they were fine! I didn’t question it — back to lots of sex! I was on a mission! This time I bought an ovulation kit and I became a pro at peeing on a stick.

Courtesy Constance Marie

After a few months I was pregnant! Kent and I were in shock! Wow! At seven weeks we went for an ultrasound to see and hear the baby’s heartbeat. As we eagerly looked at the monitor, we grew silent. There was no baby. Words cannot express how sad we were. That was a horrible day.

The only thing I had to hold onto was that years earlier a friend of mine had shared her pregnancy journey with me. She told me that she had gotten pregnant three times and that each time, it didn’t work out. She was very matter of fact about it. She knew it was just part of the process when a woman is older. That friend went on to have two beautiful girls. I loved her somuch for being honest and sharing that story with me. I needed hope.

Once more we got pregnant! Once more, it did not work out. Another horrible day.

I tried the holistic approach, doing research on toxins that could impede my getting knocked up. I eliminated coffee and fish from my diet. The pesticides in coffee and fish, as well as the mercuryin the latter are considered possible contributors to birth defects in fetal tissue. I also stopped drinking out of plastic bottles, because the plastic releases a toxin called Bisphenol A (BPA), a known hormone disruptor. Lastly, I did a few cleanses. I was not kidding around!

We decided to get even more serious. My doctor suggested Clomid, a drug that helps a woman produce more than one egg each cycle, along with the most common type of Artificial Insemination, Intra-Uterine Insemination (IUI). We did this about six times! One of the times, our substitute doctor — because of course, I only ovulated on major holidays and weekends, especially Sundays — spilled the specimen all over the floor! Dammit! After all of Kent’s hard work! Then he had to the nerve to say he wouldn’t charge us!

So far, none of this was working. I was getting tense. I was running out of time and knew I needed to bring in the BIG GUNS!

In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) was our next step. I asked around and my friends suggested the rock star of the IVF game, Dr. Richard Marrs. I LOVE this guy! I started a regimen of injections — Yes, I injected myself. Eek! — plus meticulously timed sex. Romantic right? Not so much.

This did not work.

Then we upped our game. Major hormone injections helped me to produce up to 13-18 eggs each cycle — that will bloat a girl! — that they would then harvest like I was a frickin’ orange tree while I was under anesthesia. I was nervous but trusted Dr. Marrs.

Afterwards, they would take my egg and thin the outer layer — because it had grown hard and bitchy over my 38+ years — and Kent’s sperm and introduce them to one another. When they weren’t looking, they’d SHOVE them together! When they formed an embryo, we would wait to see how it developed, literally calling in every day to see how our lil guy/gal was doing. When it had developed far enough, it was time to be put back in my uterus.

Courtesy Constance Marie

I also included acupuncture into this method because it has been reported to increase the ability of the embryo to implant into a uterus.

We did the IVF process two times. Each time, my odds looked so great, but each time it did not work out.

At this point, Dr. Marrs started to realize that something was wrong. I was able to get pregnant naturally but because the fetal tissue wasn’t great quality, the baby wouldn’t develop. Now they were putting in the A-team embryos and still nothing! I had eight embryos left, so Dr. Marrs started thinking outside the box.

He believed that the IVF medicines were messing with my own natural implantation process. That part I could do fine on my own, so he decided that we should freeze the remainder of the embryos and just wait, allowing my body to clear out from all the medicines/hormones and get back to normal.

Me? I did not like this concept! I was panicking and feeling pressed for time. I wanted that baby NOW. But who was I to argue with an IVF rock star?

I detoxed, relaxed and cleaned out mentally and physically. Whew! During a regular ovulation cycle two and a half months later, we defrosted a few of my little popsicles and put them in the oven, followed immediately with acupuncture. To ensure implantation, I literally laid down on the couch for two days until one of those little buggers took hold.

And take hold one did! One little embryo survived the embryo ice age and implanted! That little embryo was and is little Miss Luna Marie, the love of my life!

I cannot tell you how depressing, frustrating, difficult, sad, lonely and just plain crappy the whole process was. However, I can say that I would do it ALL OVER AGAIN! As I sit here listening to those little puffy pickle toes running upstairs and screaming “Mama!” while I sit here and type away, I can tell you that it was all worth EVERY minute!

That is my story, as condensed as I possibly could. I hope it is helpful to some of you who are just beginning or mid-process, or maybe you can forward it to a friend. Just know that you are notalone. We women need to support each other!

My last thought — if you want a family, it can and will happen! One way or another!

Courtesy Constance Marie

sex on tv

2010-06-07T11:38:00.000-04:00

hello ladies.

sorry that i have been MIA as of late.

too much of everything all at once.

****

let's talk about sex on tv, shall we?

husband and i decided that we should start watching True Blood.

WOW. Soft porn on HBO.

We, of course, started off with Season 1.

As we are watching, we notice this girl that is getting sexed up doggy style.

Mr. B says, "She looks familiar".

Summer says, "She sure does but I am not sure what I've seen her in."

Well, ding ding ding, it hits me.

We KNOW her and well.

She is married to Mr. B's really good friend.

We knew she was an actress but no had clue she had a feature role in 3 episodes.

Needless to say, it was a bit uncomfy knowing we just saw our bud's wife naked and sexing it up on the boob tube (literally).

However, more power to her! She's a darn good actress.

I was little jealous of her, being I am a semi-retired actress myself.

Oh and I don't think we will let them know we just watched her on TV.

In the boudoir: I'm too sexy

2010-06-03T09:27:00.003-04:00

(Note: I do these 'In the boudoir' posts over at my place. They are snippets of conversations that take place between the husband and I in our bedroom. They are also further proof of my rampant ridiculousness.)

On Memorial Day, the husband and I were sitting in bed, in the middle of the day while rain poured outside and the babes were napping. The husband was doing work on the laptop. I was supposed to be doing work, but was reading GQ instead.

Me: Hey?

Husband: Yeah?

Me: You want to make out?

Husband: Are you serious?

Me: Yeah. I shaved my armpits and everything.

Husband: Oh…

Me: Uh-huh. See.

I raise my arm to reveal a newly shaved pit.

Husband: I believed you.

Me: They were pretty hairy. It was kind of gross. Not like you could braid it or anything, but still.

Husband: If you’re trying to make out, this isn’t helping.

Me: I just want you to fully appreciate the gesture.

Husband: I do.

Me: Oh, and I finally cut my big toenails. My parents were like ‘whoa!’ when they saw them.

Husband: Mmm...

Me: So, are we making out or what?

Husband: Not at all.

Things that would give me a headache if I didn't already have one

2010-06-01T15:24:00.001-04:00

-The babes and I did some shopping—just a little trip to the Mecca of uber cute yet economically awesome stuff known as Ikea. We go there almost as much as we go to Target because those tricky Swedes were all ‘I think we should build an Ikea less than 5 miles from Tiffany’s house. She’s a student with a credit card. This should be awesome.’ Indeed it is. Except when G refuses to use the bathroom before we leave the house and plays the little girl who cried ‘Mommy—I gotta go pee pee!’ three times only to sit on the toilet and laugh, sans urine, each time.

-Then we went to Target. After 15 minutes of loading the cart with crap I didn’t need G cried pee pee again. I may or may not have entertained the idea of letting her pee on herself as sweet revenge. But, alas, I’m 30 and she’s 3 so I’m pretty sure that makes me the adult and to the toilet we went. Again. After 5 minutes she finally peed and happily flushed it down the toilet along with my last shred of sanity.

-The kids were hungry when we got home. I gave them wheat thins as a snack. LB decided to barely chew said wheat thins before swallowing and projectile vomited them all over the kitchen floor. Twice.

-I forgot to get the one thing I actually needed at Target: paper towels. Awesome. I used one of the husband’s t-shirts instead.

-Each child managed to spill every glass of everything I gave them. I’m pretty sure the husband’s shirt is skipping the wash and going straight to the trash.

-I think I just got my period.

I'm speechless and wet

2010-06-01T10:00:00.002-04:00

I do recall a little post I did on vanity being kicked out the window (with my precious Miller Lite) during the 40 glorious weeks of baking a little mini-me. But as I am entering my 30th week of this epic battle, I am even more convinced that Husband is going to leave my ass for some 20 something brunette with perky attitude, a bubbly spirit, and boobs that aren't on the losing end of a battle with gravity (or fighting for east / west dominance).

Recent discoveries that have left me speechless include:

Snoring. So loudly that I even woke myself up and chuckled at the dinosaur sounds protruding from my teeny tiny nose.
Chaffing. Big ole red marks on my inner thighs.
Kankles. Nuff said.
Abundance of fluids leading to snot rockets, swollen everything, and boogers. Tons and tons of boogers.
Discussing farting and pooping on the delivery table over tacos. Ironic, no?
Restless leg syndrome. No I'm not nuts and yes, I cannot sit still. Eat me.
Schveating. Not just sweating. But sweating taken to the 10th power and multiplied by 6, and divisible only by the number of required changes in underwear in a given day.
Looking at nipple cream and discussing the how to's with Husband in ear shot (and looking at maternity underwear meant for tyrannosaurus rex, I might add).
And while we're talking underwear, realizing that you now require an XL in order to properly stuff your ass cheeks into said garments. I discovered Victoria's secret and its apparently anorexia.

My Favorite Doll

2010-05-26T09:34:00.006-04:00

Can you all indulge a little bit of sap? And not of the maple syrup variety, more of the ‘I’m going to gush about my kid because it was her birthday’ variety. You could try pouring that on your pancakes but three year olds tend to be a little runny and that would just ruin your brunch.

And somehow we’ve ended up in a creepy Hannibal Lecter area.

G turned three on Sunday. Three short years ago I was lying in a hospital bed feeling like my anus was about to explode as I pushed her into existence. I was disgustingly fat and had pregnant face so those pictures won’t be seen by the internets, but I will share a little of G’s three birthdays.

Her first birthday, sitting in the rocking chair I painted for her.

And her first birthday cake.

Birthday number 2—she had a random 102 degree fever and she was napping with my dad.

Her second birthday cake.

Her third birthday party a couple of weeks ago—we had lunch and cupcakes with her playgroup friends. She was incorrigible and that’s why there are no actual pictures of her. Apparently age three is worse than two. Awesome.

Her cake on her actual birthday.

And this is on the way home from another little girl’s birthday party last week. She fell asleep on the way home, wearing her new sunglasses—upside down, of course.

Fear and Time: a guest post

2010-05-21T10:00:00.004-04:00

This lady is one of the Dolls IRL bff's. Lets call her Hannah Belle. She has asked to remain deliciously anonymous. Anonymous because it makes her mysterious and delicious because, well she is. Thanks ladycakes!

Today was a fan-tastic day! I mean – quite fantastic! I woke up to the sun shinin’ with a good lookin’ blonde in my bed (of the two-legged variety!) (BTW – get your mind out of the gutter – nothing that good happened last night—that’s not how I roll…) and then made a big breakfast—eggs, fresh pineapple, toast and coffee. I checked a few emails, then showered — I went to get dressed and grabbed the wrong pair of brown slacks off the hanger – whata ya know!? The slacks that have been too small for me since my “winter hibernation” began not only fit – but fit nice and loose on my hips. “Holla!” I stepped out the door pretty much elated thinking the day couldn’t get much better. But, then I found a new “secret” parking lot on campus where my permit is valid super close to my office and there was exactly one spot open. Score! “This is it – this is as good as it gets today,” I said to myself. During a noon meeting, I had to give a presentation and it went extremely well. This was a major accomplishment as this group is tough (I nearly cried after my first presentation to this group of students, faculty, and staff at a highly selective university). Then, as I left the meeting, I received a text message from that gorgeous blonde telling me that he would be at my house tomorrow morning at 9:15am to take me on a plane ride.

Yes ladies – I said plane ride. Now, y’all may be taken on dates like this a lot, but for me this is a revelation. After shooting him a text back, my boss came into my office and offered me a raise and full-time appointment. I am not kidding. This was my day. When I got home – I was thrilled to learn that my mother’d picked up my dry cleaning and dropped it by which is awesome because I’d forgotten about it. So, what do you do after a day like this? If your me, you sit out in your courtyard, admiring your blooming flowers (and ignore the weeds), drink an ice cold Bud Light and wait for that blonde to call.

So, yeah – today was great – better than great! But instead of reveling in the glory of one good damn day – I find myself focusing on another emotion – fear. I’m fearful that I’m kidding myself – I’m fearful that this isn’t real. I’m mostly fearful that this feeling won’t last – and afraid that I don’t know how long it may. I find myself so fearful of losing the feeling of today, that I am not actually enjoying it.

It actually feels much like the fear that accompanies disappointment, disaster and otherwise depressing events. It struck me to feel the same sensation whether good or bad – fear of how long it would last. Maybe not for you – but for me – this is some sort of control thing. I am afraid that I can’t control how long it will last and that scares me. I thought about the feeling I get when my world falls apart, when I’m so low and I don’t know how long the feeling will last. When I’ve had a nearly opposite day than today – I’m fearful of this low feeling and mostly, fearful of how long it will last. “WHEN will it get better? When will I no longer feel this way?” I don’t know and I hate that I don’t know.

I suppose the point I’m trying to get to is that – in either of these manic moments, there is something to be learned. In either case, there are things I cannot control, but I DO have the ability to think about how I’ve gotten into the mix and remember and know that – either high or low, things will eventually balance out. I find it easier, almost, when I’m “low”, if you will, to dissect my emotions and to remember – to recognize the things that I could have controlled that contributed to either the high or the low. “When will the bottom fall out?” “When will all the good fortune wither away?” These feelings are all about fear and time. Sometimes your world falls apart. Sometimes it all falls together too. I suppose all I can do – during these times filled with anxiety – is to accept it for what it is, be thankful, know that it will end – and – when it does, to know that I will be okay. For now, I’m going to enjoy the ride…

The Institution--remix

2010-05-20T08:52:00.005-04:00

(Because I'm lame and the somewhat creative part of my brain has taken a leave of absence--this a repost from my blog. It still makes me laugh though. Yeah, I laugh at my own jokes.)

I’m talking about the institution of marriage.

During a healthy three hours of procrastinating via the internets, I came across the question ‘would you marry you?’ to which I laughed and answered ‘only if you paid me.’ Although I’m pretty sure that might fall somewhere in the same plane as prostitution, only with far less compliance and genital irritation.

Because really, I’m annoying. I can also be seen rocking the urban, homeless chic look, complete with du rag, hoop earrings, and a velour track suit that may or may not be covered in spit up. I also have mad nagging skills and correct people’s grammar mid sentence. It’s adorable.

So later that night I asked the husband, ‘would you marry you?’

(The husband is in the kitchen; I am in the family room)

Husband: Like, if I were a girl?

Me: Uh, I guess.

Husband: I’m just trying to understand the question.

Me: I mean, what difference does it make if you’re a girl or not?

Husband: Because I’m marrying me.

Me, growing agitated because impatience is yet another endearing quality: And you think that

would make you gay? It’s the same thing if you were a girl—you’d be a lesbian.

Husband: I know I’m not gay. I’m just saying.

Me: You’re making this hard.

Husband: Well...

Me (an old episode of The Girls Next Door is on): Eew! Why would you want to be next to your sister’s vagina?!

Husband: Wha??!

Me: These girls are twins and they’ve got the one girl posing with her face all close to her sister’s vagina.

Husband: Are we still talking about if I would marry me?

Me: Their boobs are almost touching…

Husband: Because I think I would…

Me: It’s like incest or something…

Husband: I’m flexible and get along with just about anyone…

Me: That pose makes her look like she’s pooping…

Seriously, I’m a catch.

Got Milk?

2010-05-19T09:00:00.005-04:00

You know what's awesome? Leakage.

I hadn't thought much about my boobs (well, other than the fact that they're FABULOUSLY huge right now). I see them every morning. I gasp at the ginormous size of my Frisbee golf discs that some like to call areolas. Seriously folks, the sand dollars have now moved up in rank and should be considered professional level. Someone, please tell me they stop growing... Bueller? Bueller? Anyone? No? Allllllrighty then.

But what I wasn't expecting was the leakage. In my feeble attempt to relieve a nip-itch in the bathroom yesterday, I discovered some wetness going on INSIDE my bra. Did I accidentally draw blood somehow in the midst of doing expense reports? Maybe I inadvertently drooled on myself.

Upon further inspection... the nips... the nips are leaking. Colostrum to be exact. Yeah. I kinda thought this only happened after you birth said child. But apparently this 'ish can come at any time in the 2nd or 3rd trimester.

Sweet! Not only am I now the proud owner of double d's with an areola superiority complex, I am able to battle pirates with my colostrum guns, hidden beneath the surface of my too-tight maternity tee shirts.

Pregnancy is some weird shit, man.

Happy Birthday Doll!

2010-05-18T09:05:00.002-04:00

Happiest of birthdays and bestest of wishes to one of the original dolls, Summer.

May this new year bring you an abundance of love and may all of your dreams come true.

We love you.

...I see the cuteness doesn't change with time...

Guest post: Wedding Day Beauty Don'ts

2010-05-13T15:10:00.000-04:00

A guest post from Leah! Welcome to the dollhouse Leah.

When planning my wedding, I didn’t put a ton of thought into ME. Specifically, how my make-up would look, how my hair would be, all that girly stuff. I just figured that I'd hire some professionals and they would take care of making me look my best, right? Wrong. I had a fabulous time planning the fun details of my wedding. Like having robin’s eggs as favors so everyone could rock the robin’s egg lipstick! I served milk out of martini glasses along with my cake. Now these were the details I cared about.

Robin's Egg 'lipstick' (wedding was the day before Easter)

Milk served with cake

Let’s start with my skin… I have that super light Goth, pale, almost translucent blue ‘porcelain’ skin (as my mom calls it.) I have avoided wearing shorts pretty much all of my life because of the mockery that comes along with this, but there’s no real way to get away from a white or light colored dress at a 'traditional' wedding. I have tried tanning beds in the past, but always burned and/or came out smelling like fried chicken, so I didn’t want to chance this on my wedding day. I was too cheap to pay to be airbrushed, so I got good old $10 Mystic tan. The tanning place made me watch an informational video before going in, but nobody told me about exfoliating the crap out of my skin and not showering for days after it is sprayed.. I Mystic’d on Thurs. morning, took a shower Thursday night, and another shower Friday night before my rehearsal dinner. Things were going well until the Saturday morning of my wedding. I woke up and the ‘tan’ was peeling off in crazy round discs. Not like a sunburn peel, imagine if a crocodile shed only one scale at a time. Being downtown in an unfamiliar city, I didn’t know where to go or what to do about this, so my mom literally ‘swirled, tapped and buffed’ Bare Minerals on my entire upper body after my wedding dress was put on. I kept my veil on the whole night and prayed nobody hugged me too hard or that I sweated even one drop because those minerals were on their way off.

A little help with the skin please!

Next, my hair. At the time of my wedding I was a lovely shade of blonde. I had fantastic bridal portraits done and felt great about my hair trial. I went in to my local salon a few days before I left town for my out of state wedding to my normal hair stylist Paris. She always did great highlights and I knew I had nothing to worry about… or so I thought. I arrive and Paris informed me she had exciting news, she was pregnant! She said she was only a few weeks along and was experiencing some nausea off and on but was doing well. I thought nothing more of her ‘delicate condition’ until she took out the chemicals to apply my highlights. As soon as she began mixing she started coughing. Before I knew it she dropped the mixture and ran to the bathroom to throw up. Unfortunately, the bathroom was directly next to the chair I was in and I could hear hear the up-chucking. Gross. But I had a wedding I had to look good for and my 2 inches of dark brown roots needed to be fixed stat. So Paris came back, seemed better, and began painting on the highlights. But 2 more minutes into it, down went the mixture, she ran away and more sounds of puking. I did feel a little bad for her, but these were the most important highlights of my life. I paid big money for a photographer to capture me looking my finest. And my hair is a major part of the look. Somehow Paris finished my hair and set me under the dryer. The poor girl sat in the chair next to mine and put her head down on the arm rest. I got my highlights finished, they looked good and headed out of town. Well remember those showers I discussed taking earlier? When my Mystic came off? I don’t know the chemistry of highlights, but mine didn’t ‘set’ and the blonde Paris added mysteriously washed out so I was left with my 2” of dark roots. The stylist at the salon in the hotel refused to recreate the amazing up-do she had previously done for me and said we had no time for doing highlights on my wedding afternoon. Apparently the style (below) wouldn't 'work' with roots like I had.

Bridal Portrait Hair, hey it was the style back in 2005 and I loved it.

Too bad the style didn't make it to the wedding.

The hotel stylist combed my hair straight back and left creepy Little House on the Prairie style tendrils a’la 1983.

Lastly, my make-up. I used to sell Mary Kay and not that it makes me a ‘pro’ but I know a little about make-up and it's correct application. The salon where the stylist performed my Laura Ingles Wilder up-do had a make-up artist on-site. Like I mentioned, it was an unfamiliar city, so I just had the make-up artist on staff at the salon in the hotel do my make-up. Again, we had a trial for my gorgeous bridal portraits, and not to sound agist, but the woman was at least 95 years old. I am not exaggerating. But she did a good job, chose really cute rosy pinks for me and I looked darling for my bridal portraits. Fast forward to my wedding day. I guess we all have ‘on days’ and ‘off days’ and I truly believe for this poor little 95 year old it was an ‘off day’ for her. Of course she didn’t remember what colors she used on me before, and I didn’t know nor did I have a bridal portrait stashed in my pocket. So because she “couldn’t remember” she “guessed” yes, GUESSED at what color make-up I should wear on my wedding day. I won’t go as far as to say I looked like a street walker or anything that extreme, but the colors did not look good. I looked kind of like one of those little girls on “Toddlers and Tiaras” you know? Like it was just too much and all wrong. Between the bare minerals application on my back, and steaming my own wedding gown (oh, I forgot to mention it got crazy wrinkled between my bridal portraits and wedding day 3 mos later) I didn’t have time to reapply my own makeup. According to my sister (who was watching in pure horror the entire time my make-up was done. She opted to do her own) my make-up did ‘fade’ and by ceremony-time it looked okay. But it was a very scary (as in me looking in the mirror and being scared of my reflection) couple of hours prior.

Awful hair, make-up and skin.

Me putting on a smile b/c I was getting hitched!

The wedding turned out gorgeous, everyone had fun (minus the drunks who had milk after beer. Its milk, then liquor then beer have no fear, not the other way around). So it all turned out okay. But brides to be, please remember to plan how you will look, bring pictures, write down make-up colors and maybe interview a couple people before committing to who will be in charge of your style on your big day.

Fugly baby syndrome

2010-05-12T09:06:00.000-04:00

Vanity is a bitch. But I am just as guilty of it as anyone else. The only difference is that I'll admit it (albeit, in this forum, but I'm still admitting I'm vain).

I was always known as the skinny girl. Leave it to a back alley nurse at Planned Parenthood post college to discover that my thin frame was a result of a severely underactive thyroid. Before you start to throw stones (or hit your unfollow button), I understand how "good" I had it. Being a size 2 and 5' 8" isn't such a bad thing. Until you realize that you're infertile and subject to all sorts of weird jitters, sleeplessness, hair loss, hot flashes, and bruising worse than a peach. I liked being thin, but I hated feeling sick all the time.

A lot your own personal appearance rules are chucked out the window when you're carrying a body inside your body. The logistics of that is quite ridiculous and if you really think about it, its creepy. I'm currently growing a penis... and balls... that are not mine. And I think my lungs are pushed up somewhere near my collar bone at this point. But, I digress.

I have come to understand that I am no longer the skinny girl. Its okay that I'm not a size 2. I actually don't even really care about the fact that I'm now officially outweighing my Husband by at least 6 or 7 pounds. Or buying size XL gym shorts. What of my love handles? Who cares. I'm making a kid! A kid that I've wanted for years and struggled to conceive.

But what happens when my precious angel is finally born? Of course I have the rational fears about if he's healthy, if he has all 10 fingers and 10 toes, if he's perfect in every way. Every mother does.

But does it make me a bad mom if I'm also worrying about if he's an attractive baby? Come on folks! You KNOW you've seen some fugly babes out there. Ones that scare your uterus into submission for years to come. The ones that, by all means should be cute considering the genes of their parents, but somehow managed to hit every branch of the fugly tree on the way out. OR, even better... the beautiful children that leave your mind boggled.... how the hell did this beautiful creature come from THOSE two beasts? Admit it, you know you've thought about it....

I feel like a real asshat for even being concerned about such trivial things, especially considering the journey we've been on to make this miracle baby. But, I think its a normal thought for parents, right? Or am I just Captain Asshole? Do you know any genetically blessed couples that have somehow managed to produce a mutant ninja turtle?

Oh, and we didn't forget... KATIE! You are the big winner winner chicken dinner of the giveaway! Send us your info: ourhouseofdolls@gmail.com

on how infertility is like getting an A for effort but a D in homework

2010-05-11T00:00:00.065-04:00

(a guest post by emily b.)

the thing is...infertility leaves me feeling like i've been duped. do you know? i mean, i sat through years of health class videos scaring the crap out of me. if you even think about kissing that cute guy in algebra...bam. pregnant. i don't know about you but i was under the impression that it was easy for everybody to get pregnant. and i don't remember anything in those videos about hsg's or sperm count tests. iui or ivf. it went something like when a man and a woman love each other... i must have blocked out the part about when a man and a woman love each other and have to go in to the doctor's office on a saturday and then something about a speculum. did you miss that part too? tell me you did.

so it's an odd blend of feeling naive. and a bit purposeless. and also determined as hell. like, how am i almost thirty and just learning this stuff? and by this stuff i mean all of the intricacies of sperm meet egg and etc. all of the intricacies of basal body temperature and cervical mucus and how everything means something even when it doesn't. and how after awhile everything seems to be moving by and around you so quickly you can't even think a whole thought without it having something to do with am i or am i not pregnant? even on day 5. even on day 19. even when you get your period the day before mother's day and you're like f this.

this is some of what i have learned so far. i have a feeling it is the tiniest tip of a most daunting iceberg. and what i really want to know is...do these credits transfer? what classes am i going to have to take next semester? and will this eventually warrant some sort of graduation party? (or is that what the baby shower is for? hm..) :)

Moo Moo Goo Goo

2010-05-10T10:33:00.006-04:00

have you ever googled yourself? i have. i did it this am - googled that is.

why? well, i wanted to see if my blog was attached to my name and well, i got more than i bargained for.

did y'all know that i am a porn star?

yup.

Summer Maiden Name and Summer Married Name are both in porn.

just delightful.

this means that these broads have names like Lynn or Mary and decided that MY NAME(s) would be sexier.

barf.

did you know i have a club?

yes, the girl that wants to birth/adopt a child more than anything in the world, has a club.

VOMIT!

let's move onto Summer Married Name, shall we?

a few of her movie credits include:

A Thousand and One Erotic Nights Part 2

Every Woman has a Fantasy 2

Sexual Outlaws

so, Summer B is also into porn.

i am not sure what to think about this nonsense. part of me is embarrassed. part is concerned someone will think it's really me and well, i don't want my future kiddos seeing this smut.

Image of Summer Brown...

Moo Moo's are sexy hot, yeah!

I Doo Doo Love Mama

2010-05-09T12:30:00.001-04:00

Some of the best things about motherhood are the laughs—nothing beats a little girly laugh or a little baby laugh. Put the two together and its like the most beautiful shrieking, gurgling music.

One of the other best things will be reminding my children of the vomit inducing pain it took to squeeze them out when they’re older and asking me for things.

On mother’s day last year, my home was stricken with a 24 hour stomach flu and I laid in bed eating saltines and drinking Gatorade between trips to the toilet with vomiting and explosive diarrhea. I was also 8 months pregnant. Obviously the most awesome mother’s day ever.

I’m glad to report that this year, things are sooo much better.

To all the moms, present and future, I hope you have the day you so deserve—and that diarrhea has nothing to do with it.

A guest post from Tits McGee

2010-05-07T08:10:00.007-04:00

Greetings from Pregland, guys and dolls.

My name is Ashley, aka "Mrs. Prepperoni," and I am oh so excited to be guest posting today

at the House of Dolls!

So let's get right to it, shall we?

Boobs.

Knockers.

Melons.

Titties, hooters, funbags, sweater cows, torpedoes, bazookas, chesticles, headlights, jugs, aaaand tatas.

The new bain of my existence.

I remember back in seventh grade when my friend Michael watched the class president walk across the school library and swoon "Katie is stacked."

Most girls probably would have felt something like jealousy or longing, hearing one of the cuter boys in class talk about another girl's physique with such admiration.

Not me.

Katie could have her boobs and the underwire bra that came with them. I was just fine as a cardholding member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee.

Those days, new friends, are over.

Nine weeks into pregnancy and my perfectly normal 32 C's have become something grotesquely enormous. Not. Cute. And let's not even talk about the nips.

Actually, let's. Let's talk about the nips. Let's talk about freaking dinner plates sitting on top of over-inflated punching balloons. Gross.

So imagine my shock, horror, and disgust when I went to my first prenatal appointment nary two weeks ago and my doctor said "...and those will continue to grow" while checking for lumps. (I guess that's what she was doing. If not, we've got another thing to discuss in 3 weeks.)

WHAT?

Just how big do they need to be? And why so soon?? And what the shizzz is in there anyway???

Is it already milk? Doesn't that stuff have a shelf life? (Heh heh... shelf.)

At this rate, I'll be told NOT to breast feed, for fear of smothering my baby in bosom.

I'm over it.

And so is my husband, because he doesn't even get to touch them lest I punch him in the face, because the milk or fat or freaking tequila my body is making to fill them with is making them hurt like a beyotch.

And so I write this final plea to my breasts, on the off chance that they're frequent readers of the Dolls. Please. Give me a frickenfracken break.

It was nice to meet all of you!

no pedicure needed for this.

2010-05-05T20:00:00.000-04:00

can anyone guess what this is a picture of?

what in the the world am i doing here?

come on...take a guess!

give up???

the answer: this is what fertile/infertile creatures call keeping the swimmers in.
besides having to stay in bed and still for 30 mins to an hour after baby dancing, you should also lift your legs up in the air to MAKE SURE those spermies stay put or at least get where they need to go (to your precious eggie).

one time i started out like the above photo but as time passed, my legs grew tired and fell down near my belly. i was then crotch to the ceiling & sleeping.
yup, sleeping in the spermie position.

oh and there is also this lovely product we get to use. you see, us baby dancers cannot use regular ole lube because it kills spermies, so we buy...PRE-SEED. get it?
(who the hell thought up that name?)

just a hint, please remember to pee pee/empty your bladder like they say in the gyno's office BEFORE you get your Pre-Seed on and BEFORE you begin to aim your toes towards the heavens.
trust us, it is pure hell to hold it in.

happy baby dancing to all and to all a good night!

The Blind Side (minus Sandra + a little vajayjay)

2010-04-30T11:30:00.001-04:00

I have mastered an art. Its true!

I am capable of things that would make most women shudder at the thought of.

I feel like superwoman.

Mom, MIL, family, and otherwise...... stop reading now.

...

.....

......

I'm serious. I told you to stop reading. You'll regret it.

...

....

.....

Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you...

...

....

.....

I'm now using a mirror to check for the linea nigera, as I cannot even see the underneath side of my belly. I do hope I can maneuver the next 14 weeks without getting it. So far, no stretch marks, so maybe I'm in lucky.

yep, that's my actual view

I also cannot see my ladybits. Okay, its not like I want to look at it, inspecting it for the blue twinkie syndrome. But its a little strange to not be able to see something that you can normally catch a glimpse of any damn day of the week. Does it look different? What's happening down there? Perhaps I'm sprouting something weird. Are there any small children living in there? OMG, I haven't shaved in weeks and didn't even notice.

Its bizzare. Its strange. Its kinda gross.

But I am skilled ya'll! Despite the lack of regular, ahem, grooming attention, I am a skilled blind shaver. Its impressive. Like seriously, if there were an Olympic shaving competition, I'd win the GOLD. I want to go running into the bedroom, pridefully show off my shaving abilities, post shower. Although, I don't think a man could fully appreciate the shear joy that comes from perfectly groomed lady bits. Let alone perfectly groomed ladybits done blindly.

So, instead of updating my Facebook status with "Kristen shaved her vagina blindly without drawing blood" and bringing further embarrassment to my family and friends, I thought I'd humor you lucky folks with my story.

And now, you officially know more about my vagina than 99.82765 % of the people I know. How's THAT for a good Friday?

For you Mommies out there, what did you end up doing when it came time for you to join the Blind Side?
Oh, and for goodness sake ladies... get your comment on and enter the giveaway!