Wake Up Call #5


Happy Monday friends! I am writing this week’s wake up call whilst I enjoy a cup of coffee and a nice breakfast in my comfy clothes. No school for me today! Thank you Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, for your words of peace and hope and righteousness, and for fighting for what is right.


I hope you enjoy this week’s wake up call, whether you are reading it at home or using at as a tool of procrastination at work. 😉


“Seals are beautiful creatures.”


“I feel like I need to rinse my nose out.” -Husband, after smelling a fart


Husband: How’s your nudie?

*Sister & I start laughing*

Husband: Is that what it’s called?

Sister: No. It’s a noodie!

*Laughter continues*


Friend A: (Describing the first time she used a Shewee*) I was afraid I was gonna pee all over myself so I took off all my clothes.

Friend B: Even your socks?

Friend A: Probably. But afterwards, it was the best moment, and I was looking around for someone to celebrate with. But I was alone.

Friend B: That was probably best.

*Shewee’s Amazon description:

  • The SHEWEE is the ORIGINAL female urination device
  • Allows women to stand to urinate without removing any clothing
  • Reusable and lightweight at just 50g – Material: Polypropylene (recyclable)
  • SHEWEE Extreme includes original unit, extension pipe, and storage case
  • Perfect for traffic jams, camping, dirty toilets, festivals, women in the military (NATO approved) and much more


“My hair was so greasy you could fry eggs on it.”


Sister, to someone she just met: I’m so glad you asked [to see pictures of my sister’s dog].

Man Friend: Are you showing her pictures of your grandma?

Sister: No!

Man Friend: Is it [friend’s baby]?

Sister: No! It’s Nellie!

Man Friend: That was my next guess.


“I wish Santa could body roll.”


Have a weird week everyone!

PS I got to play with these tiny hands yesterday, and it was so much fun. I really freaked out a man, not even on purpose. I’m thinking about investing in a pair so that I can continue to freak people out with them.


The Friday 56: Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

The Friday 56 is a weekly blog meme hosted by Freda’s Voice. Every Friday you share an excerpt from a book you’ve been reading.

Here’s how it works:

56*Grab a book, any book.
*Turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader.
*Find any sentence (or a few, just don’t spoil it) that grab you.
*Post it.
*Add your (url) post here in Linky. Add the post url, not your blog url. It’s that simple.

**Be sure to leave a link to your Friday 56 post in the comments!**


Today I’m sharing from Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. (I’m posting the original book cover even though the copy I have is the movie version; I hate when they do that.)


I’d known I was in for [a party] the moment my parents began dropping unsubtle hints about how boring and uneventful the upcoming weekend was sure to be, when we all knew perfectly well I was turning sixteen. I’d begged them to skip the party this year because, among other reasons, I couldn’t think of a single person I wanted to invite, but they worried that I spent too much time alone, clinging to the notion that socializing was therapeutic. So was electroshock, I reminded them.

Goodreads Synopsis:

A mysterious island. An abandoned orphanage. A strange collection of curious photographs.

A horrific family tragedy sets sixteen-year-old Jacob journeying to a remote island off the coast of Wales, where he discovers the crumbling ruins of Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. As Jacob explores its abandoned bedrooms and hallways, it becomes clear that the children were more than just peculiar. They may have been dangerous. They may have been quarantined on a deserted island for good reason. And somehow—impossible though it seems—they may still be alive.

A spine-tingling fantasy illustrated with haunting vintage photography, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children will delight adults, teens, and anyone who relishes an adventure in the shadows.

I’m reading this at school during SSR, and I am totally into it. The last sentence of the synopsis says it perfectly.

I love YA literature, even if my husband makes fun of me. But really, as a middle school teacher, I need to be current on it, so I can give the best recommendations to my students. Plus, sometimes it’s just more fun. 😉


The Lawful Brothel: Creating Sad Boys Since 2008

In college, I lived in an apartment with four others girls; we called ourselves/ the apartment “The Lawful Brothel.” Clearly, we were a fun group.


A photo from my roommate’s 21st Pimps & Hoes birthday party. She was our pimp (center), and we were her hoes. (I angel-faced the brothel ladies in case anyone is uncomfortable being posted on my VERY popular blog.)

I don’t know if you’ve ever lived in a house with five girls, but the brothel is the source of some of my best college memories.

We loved sitting around the kitchen table chatting late into the night, making shower schedules, throwing themed parties, using penis straws in our beverages, snuggling up together watching movies, celebrating sexiversaries, and of course, each other.

The beauty of living with four other people was that there was always someone to talk to, no matter the time of day (sometimes, that was also the downside– everyone needs their quiet time). Early in the morning, you’d find me shuffling about making coffee; between classes in the afternoon, Kerry could be found in the living room watching a Sox game and doing homework; at dinnertime, Renee would be cooking something in the kitchen; late at night you’d find Jessica on the couch sewing or knitting; or when pulling an all-nighter, Mallory would be blasting some catchy song on repeat to get through it.

Shower Schedules

A fun tidbit about the brothel was our shower schedule. Undoubtedly, it’s difficult divvying up bathroom time among five women. There were two bathrooms in the apartment: one small bathroom downstairs in the tundra* where the single bedroom was, and a large bathroom upstairs where the two double bedrooms were. Being extremely intelligent ladies, someone came up with the idea for a shower schedule (it wasn’t me; this happened before I moved in). So, every quarter, we all sat down and arranged our bathroom schedule, which was split up into 30 minute increments in the morning. Because I was a night showerer though, I only reserved morning time once or twice a week. I had friends visiting once, who noticed. Turning to look at me worriedly they asked, “Becca, why do you only shower twice a week?” (I really wish I could find a picture of one of the signs. I feel like there was one posted at some point on Facebook, but I can’t find it. I just spent 10 minutes searching…)

*Tundra: 1. a vast, flat, treeless Arctic region of Europe, Asia, and North America in which the subsoil is permanently frozen; 2. the lower level of the lawful brothel in the winter. (Seriously, one of the girls kept a space heater in the downstairs bathroom.)

Themed Parties

One of the best things about the Brothel was our affinity for themed parties: in the two years I lived there, we had two toga parties, a mustache party, two New Year’s parties, an Alice in Wonderland party, a Jazzercise party, and an ABC (Anything But Clothes) party– to which I wore a dress made of hot pink duct tape and my roommate MADE, like weaved, a dress out of grocery bags. We did not mess around when it came to a fun theme.


You may or may not have noticed that we are standing in the same spot as the previous picture. That was the picture spot. 99% of group photos taken at the Brothel were taken in that spot.


The ABC party was probably one of my favorites at the Brothel. As previously mentioned, I wore a duct tape dress, and my roommate Jessica wore a dress made out of grocery bags– in which she looked smokin’ by the way (see below). Other outfits included: Target bags, garbage bags, caution tape, a robe, and a wrestling singlet. (I was going to say a wrestling “onesie”, but I’m pretty sure that’s what I called it the night of the party, and my friend yelled at me, so I looked up the proper name.)


The boy in the center was an honorary Brothel member. 😉

This was a party of trials and tribulations: Renee said she had never been sweatier than when she wore those garbage bags. The challenge I faced was in the bathroom. It was not possible to pee in my ensemble. We tried cutting little slits on the side of the dress, but that wasn’t very helpful. And at the end of the night, Jessica and I had to literally cut ourselves, well, each other really, out of our dresses.

“I’m really sorry, but you’re about to see my boobs.”

“Becca, we sleep in the same room– it’s not the first time.”

I felt horrible cutting Jessica’s dress. She had spent hours braiding the bags and weaving them together. She was a costume design/ technology major, so it was no surprise that Jess was best dressed at most (all) of our themed parties.


Sexiversaries & Penis Straws

And perhaps you read the word “sexiversaries” earlier, and thought to yourself, “Did I read that wrong?” and then you read it again and realized it did indeed say sexiversaries. At the brothel, we annually celebrated each of our sexiversaries (i.e. the day you lost your virginity). Because why not? We usually celebrated with some sort of phallic dessert, penis straws*, and I think one time there were condoms blown up like balloons.


Sexiversary penis-arranged cupcakes

*Penis straws were not reserved solely for sexiversary celebrations. We used them on many other occasions as well: parties, and well, whenever we felt like it.



All in all, becoming a brothel member was one of the best decisions I ever made. Were there arguments, annoyances, mishaps, and broken mirrors? Yes. (The broken mirror wasn’t actually the fault of any brothel member though; it was a casualty at a party.) But there was way more laughter, hugging, eating, and overall loving in that apartment than I’ve seen pretty much anywhere else– because brothel love was not contained to only the five of us living in the apartment, but also to our previous and honorary members, and all of the people we loved and welcomed into our weird and wonderful home.

Sadly, Jessica and I no longer share a room, Kerry doesn’t leave Potbelly cookies on my kitchen table, and I don’t worry about killing Renee through my use of peanut butter; there are no more pictures in “the spot,” there’s no shower schedule, and these days, I don’t use penis straws on the regular. Instead, the brothel reunites as often as we can, and we drink beermosas and gossip, and it feels like we are sitting around the kitchen table again. ‘Cause that’s what brothel love is.


Sorry ladies, no angel faces here. We look normal and grown up.

Wake Up Call #4

This is a tough Monday for me and many other teachers out there. Back to school today after winter break!


But please don’t be one of these people:


Or I’ll start ranting and raving about being a teacher, and you’ll say, “Oh, she’s an angry teacher.” K. Thanks.

So, I think we all need a good chuckle. You can make it through today! 🙂


Looking back, this wake up call is a little dirty. Enjoy. If you’re easily offended or don’t find sex or poop funny, maybe skip this one.


Me: Can I try your Man Balm*?

Husband: Yeah! I like it ’cause it’s minty. Put a couple layers on!

*Husband got his own chapstick, called Man Balm, from my mom this year, after he used my chapstick on our way to an outing. He came out of the bathroom and said, “My lips are all shiny! Why are they shiny?”


“When boys have to pee and poo, do they stand to pee, and then sit down? Or, do they sit the whole time? When [man friend] went to the bathroom this morning, I thought of that.”


“When you guys were standing behind me, talking, I kept farting.”


Friend A: I don’t think I’ll have sex ever again.

Friend B: What?! But you have a new vagina!*

*Friend A had a baby. Things were sewn up.


“That was good– it tastes like a secret!” -Friend, after taking a shot


“You look like Voldemort.” -Friend, responding to Snapchat filter


About last week’s Wake Up Call:

Me: What did you think?

Husband: It was good. Short and sweet.

Me: Yeah, I only post like six or seven each time.

Husband: Yeah, it’s the perfect amount to read while you take your morning shit. Eyes widen. That’s exactly it!

Cliche New Year’s Post

I know, I know. We all hear the same thing every time the New Year rolls around:

New Year, New Me. What a year! Cheers to new beginnings! Look at all the great things that happened to me this year. Get me the hell out of 2016. 

Etc. But, I’m a sap, and I can’t help but reflect on some of the things that have happened this past year. And, I know I’m a little delayed, but I just got home from vacation over the New Year.

I promise not to ramble on too long.

First of all, there was so much out there about 2016 being a shit year. Yes, lots of shitty things happened both publicly, and in my own life, but there were also some pretty awesome things. Check out this video to see some of them.

Now, personally, I got married this July. And it was the best week of my life. We had a destination wedding in Riveria Maya, Mexico. And it was my husband’s idea! When he first suggested a destination wedding after we got engaged, I said hell no. But, when I realized I could wear whatever dress I wanted to, I came around to the idea–yes this is really what started to turn my thinking– and I am SO glad that I did. Being on vacation with all of my favorite people was something I will never forget. Plus, I got to marry the hunk of a man you see below. He is truly the best thing that ever happened to me.



That, of course, was the biggest event of the year for me. But I also did a lot of other wonderful things: All of the fun stuff leading up to the wedding– the shower and the bachelorette party; trips to Nashville and San Diego; numerous yogi adventures; the Justin Beiber concert (no shame); sporting events– Hawks game, Sox game, & Notre Dame game; became a friend auntie; celebrated the love of numerous couples; and, I even married a couple–no, not like polygamy; I was the officiant!

Not to mention all the other fun, less notable days. I am truly a lucky girl, and I am surrounded by some of the best, most loving, supportive, and all-around awesome people.


Of course, I had my share of drops in the roller coaster of 2016. I don’t want to dwell on the negatives, but for one, we lost my aunt suddenly  at the start of 2016.


My Aunt Theresa was funny, kind, wise, and full of life. I know I am not the only one who misses her all the time. She was a dear friend to many, and touched the lives of each in a way that will never be forgotten. She once made me cut off the head of a shrimp, and she was so proud once I finally did it– following a lot of shrieking and hand flailing. At her memorial service I shared a eulogy including that anecdote and some of my favorite things about Aunt Theresa, and also the following:

For someone so tiny, her memory leaves a large imprint, not only on me, but on all of you here, too. We each have our memories to keep Theresa alive in our hearts.

My aunt stays alive in my heart and in the hearts of all those who loved her.


Like I said, it doesn’t do to dwell on the negatives, so back to something positive from 2016: I started this adventure! I haven’t figured out where it’s going just yet, but thank you for reading and sticking around while I do. For now, it’s a place where I can write. And that’s all I need it to be right now.

I promised I wouldn’t ramble on too long, so I’ll wrap it up here. There’s no New year, new me for the Married Cat Lady in 2017, but I do say, cheers to the new adventures this year will bring, and all that I can learn from it.


The Friday 56: Under The Harrow

The Friday 56 is a weekly blog meme hosted by Freda’s Voice. Every Friday you share an excerpt from a book you’ve been reading.

Here’s how it works:

*Grab a book, any book.
*Turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader.
*Find any sentence (or a few, just don’t spoil it) that grab you.
*Post it.
*Add your (url) post here in Linky. Add the post url, not your blog url. It’s that simple.

**Be sure to leave a link to your Friday 56 post in the comments!**

This week’s Friday 56 comes from Under the Harrow by Flynn Berry.

Every year for Christmas my husband goes through the top books of the year and picks a few to buy for me. This is one of them.


The body of the missing woman I heard about on the day of Rachel’s death was found this morning in the River Humber. Nicole Shepherd. Divers were in the river examining the posts of the bridge at Hessle, which is overdue for repairs, and they found her body in a sleeping bad weighted with breeze blocks.

Here is the synopsis from Goodreads:

When Nora takes the train from London to visit her sister in the countryside, she expects to find her waiting at the station, or at home cooking dinner. But when she walks into Rachel’s familiar house, what she finds is entirely different: her sister has been the victim of a brutal murder.

Stunned and adrift, Nora finds she can’t return to her former life. An unsolved assault in the past has shaken her faith in the police, and she can’t trust them to find her sister’s killer. Haunted by the murder and the secrets that surround it, Nora is under the harrow: distressed and in danger. As Nora’s fear turns to obsession, she becomes as unrecognizable as the sister her investigation uncovers.

A riveting psychological thriller and a haunting exploration of the fierce love between two sisters, the distortions of grief, and the terrifying power of the past, Under the Harrow marks the debut of an extraordinary new writer.

I just read this book while we were on vacation, and I really enjoyed it. It was a page turner; I wanted to find out what happened, and never felt like it was being dragged out, as some suspense novels can feel. And, when I thought I had it figured out, I was pleasantly surprised to find out I was wrong. I always feel a little let down when I can figure out the ending too easily.

I could see some people disliking the narrator’s voice, but I think she sounded real– a little neurotic, maybe, but understandably so.


Wake Up Call #3

Happy Monday! This week’s wake up call is being posted from sunny, beautiful Punta Cana! Cheers!



“He was such a dork… you just kept getting weirder and weirder, and then when the cat came, I knew I had to like him.”

-Friend, about Husband


Me: When have I ever played it cool?
Husband: Never. Not once.


“Do you feel like your [Kentucky Derby] hat is an invisibility cloak? ‘Cause I do.”

–Sister, with creepy smile


Alone in an Uber on my way home one night, I found myself making small talk with the driver:

Me: We just got back from Mexico, actually. I got married there.

Driver: I used to be a dancer there.

Me: Like at a resort? Cool!

Driver: No like at a club.. you know?

Me: Oh my God, like a stripper?!

Driver: Yes. Would you like to take my phone number?

Me: Oh, no! I don’t think my husband would appreciate that.

Driver: You can give it to your friends.

Me: No, really, that’s ok. *in my head* Oh my God. Get me out of this car.
*Texting my girlfriends* MY UBER DRIVER WAS A STRIPPER IN MEXICO!!!

Text from Friend: How do you know this??


Husband holding a brand new baby:

Looks up, smiles, “She’s holding my thumb!”

Baby sticks her arm out of the blanket.

Eyes wide open, looking around for mom, “I think she’s hot in this blanket!”


At the Shedd Aquarium with some girlfriends, watching the penguins. Most of them are snoozing, or standing around. But there is one lone penguin swimming back and forth in the water, seemingly showing off for the spectators.

“That one is definitely Becca!”

(We named her LaTonya. She was magnificent.)

Me: Do you wanna go to the Roosey fight at Katy and Martin’s on Friday?

Husband: (Laughing) Roosey? If you mean Rousey, sure. I don’t know who the f Roosey is.

Me: Whatever, you knew what I meant.


“I didn’t do anything consistently for a year, except breathe.”




The Friday 56: Small Great Things

Stumbled upon this via A Kernel of Nonsense’s Friday 56 post, and I love it!

The Friday 56 is a weekly blog meme hosted by Freda’s Voice. Every Friday you share an excerpt from a book you’ve been reading.

Here’s how it works:

*Grab a book, any book.
*Turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader.
*Find any sentence (or a few, just don’t spoil it) that grab you.
*Post it.
*Add your (url) post here in Linky. Add the post url, not your blog url. It’s that simple.

**Be sure to leave a link to your Friday 56 post in the comments!**

So here’s my first Friday 56 post, from Jodi Picoult’s newest, Small Great Things. 



Adisa waggles her fingers, a shocking shade of hot pink. “Why do we keep coming here? I hate this salon,” she says, her voice low. “They don’t look me in the eye and they won’t put my change right in my hand. It’s like they think my Black is gonna rub off on them.”

They’re Korean,” I point out. “Did you ever think that maybe, in their culture, neither of those things are polite?”

I’m not very far into the book, but I can tell already it’s the kind of book that rattles
you a bit. And I don’t think it was an accident that she published this book this year.

Here’s the Goodreads synopsis:

Ruth Jefferson is a labor and delivery nurse at a Connecticut hospital with more than twenty years’ experience. During her shift, Ruth begins a routine checkup on a newborn, only to be told a few minutes later that she’s been reassigned to another patient. The parents are white supremacists and don’t want Ruth, who is African American, to touch their child. The hospital complies with their request, but the next day, the baby goes into cardiac distress while Ruth is alone in the nursery. Does she obey orders or does she intervene?

Ruth hesitates before performing CPR and, as a result, is charged with a serious crime. Kennedy McQuarrie, a white public defender, takes her case but gives unexpected advice: Kennedy insists that mentioning race in the courtroom is not a winning strategy. Conflicted by Kennedy’s counsel, Ruth tries to keep life as normal as possible for her family—especially her teenage son—as the case becomes a media sensation. As the trial moves forward, Ruth and Kennedy must gain each other’s trust, and come to see that what they’ve been taught their whole lives about others—and themselves—might be wrong.

With incredible empathy, intelligence, and candor, Jodi Picoult tackles race, privilege, prejudice, justice, and compassion—and doesn’t offer easy answers. Small Great Things is a remarkable achievement from a writer at the top of her game.

I can’t wait to dive into this book on my flight tomorrow! Has anyone finished it yet? What were/ are your thoughts?

Hooray sports! Do the thing! Win the points!

I am not a sporty person. I don’t really like watching sports. Anyone who knows me, knows this fact to be true. But I do like hanging out with people, eating snacks, and drinking for sports.

However, in my day I did play softball– in which I received the Sportsmanship Award. I was/ still am very proud of this “You are not good at this sport, but you’re always happy and nice to everyone” trophy. It still sits in my parents’ garage actually. I won’t let them throw it away.


I was also a cheerleader in high school. But I was actually good at that one, so it’s not a very fun story. (And don’t be one of those “cheerleading is not a sport” people; do you see the things cheerleaders do these days?)


Do you see this? I could never do that.

But the true reflection of my sporting abilities lies in a story I tell my students every year before the Big Game (a volleyball game the teachers play against the police department to raise money for St. Baldrick’s): my 6th grade volleyball story.

I went to a very small Catholic school 4th through 8th grade. All of my friends played sports– basketball, volleyball, and/ or softball. I had already jumped on the softball train, and although I was terrible at it, I really enjoyed it because we had fun and everyone was nice to me, even though I sucked.

So, I thought I would join my friends in playing volleyball my sixth grade year. I even went to a volleyball camp over the summer to prepare! Now, in our very small parish, you did not have to try out to play on any of the sports teams, you just signed up. So I did.

Everyone else who was on the team had started playing in third grade, and thus had three years of playing under their belts. I decided over the summer that I was going to play. Additionally, we didn’t have real gym classes; we only had gym once a week, and I don’t think there was any set curriculum. We usually played kickball. Therefore, I had never learned how to play, nor had I ever played before I went to the volleyball camp.

Needless to say, I was also horrible at volleyball. This comes as a surprise to nobody, I’m sure. Alas, the story does not end here.

At our first practice, we started by standing in a circle and bumping the ball around. I missed it on most of my turns, while everyone else hit perfectly each time. Then, we practiced setting the ball, which I just could not seem to do. Rather than lightly bouncing up and down like all the other girls’, my ball seemed to just fall forward every time I touched it. And then, the net. Trying to get that ball over the net was just plain embarrassing. And again, all these volleyball goddesses had no problem; they’d been doing this for years.

To make it worse, our 6th grade team was combined with the 7th grade team because theirs wasn’t big enough. Which meant I was humiliating myself not only in front of my grade level peers, but also the girls in the grade ahead of me– the older, cooler, 7th grade girls. For shame. I trudged home after my first practice and vowed to become a better player.

After school the next day, I practice bumping the ball against the side of our house for ten minutes, until I got bored and went inside to play the Sims.

I walked into our next practice feeling a little timid, but hopeful for some improvement on my end. I had dedicated a solid ten minutes to improving my skills.

Shockingly, I was no better than the previous day. After we finished our warm up bumping and setting– at which I performed about the same as before– everyone else started walking over to the net, and I started to follow until my coach– who we’ll call Mr. Mean– called out to me.

“Rebecca, you need to go over here to this wall and practice bumping. There’s nothing I can do until you get better!” He said this in front of everyone. I was mortified. There is nothing more humiliating than being a twelve year old girl, singled out and embarrassed in front of all the cool (mean) girls.

My face turned beat red, and my eyes started to sting. I walked over and took the ball Mr. Mean was holding out to me, and went to my corner of the wall to practice bumping. Alone. While everyone, literally everyone else, went to practice by the net. I spent the rest of practice trying to hide in plain view.

As soon as I got into my mom’s car afterwards, I started bawling.

“What happened? What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?” My mom asked, shocked and confused.

“Mr. Mean made me practice by myself…” *gasp*sob*gasp* “He said he couldn’t help me unless I get…” *sob* “better!” I put my face into my hands.

My mom was fuming, “WHAT?! He said that to you? What did you have to do?”

I explained what had happened at practice, about being called out, being humiliated, and being sent away alone.

“I want to quit, Mom,” I told her. “I never want to go back. It’s too embarrassing.”

Now usually there was a rule in our house: if you start something, you have to finish it. If you start taking gymnastics classes, for example, you don’t have to continue doing them, but you have to go to all the classes until the session is over. However, my parents made an exception this time.

I remember listening to my mom call Mr. Mean and explain that I would not be returning to practice. He must have asked why, and she said, “Why? Because she was humiliated in front of all of her friends!” Silence for a moment. “I don’t care about that. I care about the emotional state of my daughter. Not everyone is a talented athlete like your daughter, [insert Mr. Mean’s first name]. What should be acknowledged though, is the interest in learning, and having fun. They are in sixth grade. This is parish volleyball, not the Olympics!”

I felt satisfied that my mom had yelled at Mr. Mean, but still embarrassed about what happened. I knew I would have to tell my friends, but I would rather do that than face another minute at one of Mr. Mean’s practices.

Plus, I still got the shirt with my last name on the back, since my parents had paid the sports fee.

In the end, I learned a valuable lesson: don’t play sports with balls. And, I learned that I am good at a lot of other things: reading, writing, cheerleading, singing, dancing (sort of), and most importantly, being a good, kindhearted, and accepting person.

The only sport-like maneuvering I do these days is yoga. And guess what? I’m really good at it. I can balance on one leg or my arms, I can bend my body, and I can lay really still and forget about all the crap around me.


And like I said before, I’m also good at eating and drinking for sporting events, so I think it all worked out for me.

My sister bought me this shirt for Christmas, and I can’t wait to wear it to my next sporting occasion.


Wake Up Call #2

Merry Christmas (yesterday)! Here is this week’s Wake Up Call– hopefully you’re reading this from home in your jammies, still full from Christmas goodies.



Me: What does PHAT stand for? Is it an acronym? Polar, hot-ass, titties?

Husband: Pretty hot and tempting, Bex.

Me: Oh yeah, I feel like I knew that.


Grandma: Ice in your wine?

Me: Yes, Grandma, I’m a classy lady!

Grandma: That’s amateur…


Me: I’m taking over pinching and poking, since my cousin obviously doesn’t know how.

Cousin: Yeah I do! *Points at son and winks*


“My sister is beautiful inside and out.” -Rachel, on a date.


Discussing “The Freebie List”* with my husband:

Me: Eddie Redmayne is officially on my list.

Husband: What if you met Eddie Redmayne in real life? Would you actually have sex with him?

Me: No! But I’d let him kiss me.

Husband: Where?

Me: On my lips. My mouth lips.

Husband: Ok, you can kiss Eddie Redmayne.

Me: Ok, you can motorboat Emily Blunt. Or Penelope Cruz.

Husband: No, not Penelope Cruz.

Me: I thought you loved her!

Husband: Yeah but she is almost 50.

Me: Someday I will almost be 50!

Husband: Yeah, but I will also be that age.


*If you do not know what The Freebie List is please watch Friends Season 3, Episode 5.


Sister: I was just parting my hair and a piece was on the wrong side, and this was my exact thought: You belong over there [other side of the part] my little butterfly.


And for the finale, this group text gem from Mexico (which may only be funny to people who were there, so I apologize):



That’s all for now! Stay tuned for some actual writing this week. 😉