Quote from my sister


I recently got together with my brother and sister. While discussing resolutions, I complained that all great writers are insane. I’m just slightly neurotic. Their answer. “Do more drugs.”


I got one chance to talk to her and it went a little like this.


I got one chance to talk to her and it went a little like this.

“You probably don’t remember but I sent you an email because I couldn’t get pregnant and I think you are amazing and you are my idol and can I hug you.”

Act like you’re good at it


Copernicus cooling off in the Northwest heat wave

Tonight did not disappoint. A reading filled with win that only references of Wil Wheaton, Pegasuses (pegasi?), Six hour marathons of the Tenth Doctor, and Neil Gaiman could accomplish. After two lorazepams, an hour waiting in line after a tearful (on my part) story,  I finally got to meet my idol Jennifer Lawson.

I bumbled my way through introductions and made a half way coherent attempt at a sentence. (To be recreated later.)

Best part, I got to hug her. I have been hugged by The Bloggess. Or strangled, because as we all know, A HUG IS LIKE A STRANGLE YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED YET!

I’m probably not as cuddly as Copernicus

One of the scariest and most exhilarating moments I’ve ever had.

There have been several times that I have wanted to get out there and meet these people who have inspired me. So many should have’s, tucked away to haunt me. But not this time. I got my signature and I got my hug and for one moment I got the attention of a person I hope to be like.

I couldn’t contain my excitement upon meeting her!

Technology is the bane of my existence sometimes or I am just a f-tard.


This post is brought to you by John Mayer. And some guys illustrations. And a lot of blood apparently. Weird.

I had this great post about a question I have for the writers of True Blood. I was curious how, if Jessica’s hymen grows back every time after she has sex, and if vampires have these insane healing capabilities, would Hoyt get stuck in Jessica while they were having sex? 

So I took out my voice recorder and said, “Hymen, sex, Hoyt, Jessica.” 

I placed it back into my bag and promptly forgot about it, until as I was leaving the library with a stack of children’s books I ran into the door with my purse, (which is an often occurence) the stupid thing went off, on top volume, 

 “Hymen, sex, Hoyt, Jessica.” 

I glanced around trying to make it look like I didn’t know where the sound was coming from and hoping that the scary librarian with the yellow hair would assume it was some punk kid from the school across the street. 

Voice recorder, note to self, person talking, douche nugget

Note to self, I am a douche nugget


When I looked up voice recorders I found this. I don’t know what it has to do with voice recorders but I secretly want one, just wear around. I totally thing have a thing for hats and this would really add to my collection. 

Not just for Easter anymore!

Way to creep everyone out there!


This post is brought to you by Meg and Dia.

I am obsessed with true crimes. Especially ones that involve serial killers. I love serial killers—not in a killer groupies, marriage in a prison chapel way. (He hasn’t returned my letter.) No I’m simply fascinated about the psychosis behind a killers mind. What drives them to kill and how a person can look so normal and be burying young boys under his house ala John Wayne Gacy.

 In the Pacific Northwest we have a lot of serial killers; Robert Lee Yates, Gary Ridgeway. Kenneth Bianchi was convicted of the murder of two girl in Bellingham. My sister, Toby Tyler actually lived in Ted Bundy’s house in the U-district of Seattle. I devour books about true crimes. I have read almost every book Ann Rule has ever written and obsessively watch shows like American Justice and City Confidential. A few years ago Mr.’s parents got me Time Life’s collection of True crime stories. I religiously watch CSI, (Except Miami—I want to go Gracie Lou Freebush on his ass.)

Mr. always jokes with his friends that if he goes missing they should question me first and I’m all Hello!

One, the spouse is always the first to be interrogated and two, I would totally get away with it.

Okay, so I’ve officially hit an all time creepiness factor here. I think it’s time for me to shut up.

The perfect night


This post is brought to you by Florence and the Machine.

The day is finally upon us. We have made all the preparations and this night should go without a hitch, er well actually, there is one kind of hitch that is perfectly acceptable.

Cantante and I have gotten our outfits, courtesy of the sixteen year old who eyed us unappreciatively at Nordstrom. We even got our make up done in the MAC counter by Cruella DeVille while listening to French trance music. I was a little apprehensive, the last time a MAC girl gave me a make over I looked a little like Brittney Murphy in Spun.  I ended up looking okay but Cantante looked a little like a hooker and were not talking Julia Roberts hooker.

Nordstroms, New Moon, Team Edward

Bitch Please, He's my Edward


I hold on to certain items for a long time in the hopes that perhaps I would pass them on to my daughter that hasn’t been conceived yet. Because that is a great way to spend my time. I have the scarf a friend gave me when I moved down to Arizona with the Hubby. I have the tank top I was wearing when Hubby proposed. The shirt from No Doubt with Cantante. Toby Tyler’s Alpha Chi Omega bid day shirt. Sentimental things, for a sentimental person. And now I will add to my collection the Eclipse night. Because it’s that big. As my little brother (The Mon) hates when I say, “Shit just got real.”

Yes, we're twins with fabulous hair.

So now that we have our killer outfits we are going to arriving at 6:30 to watch Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse all in a row. I can’t decide if I want to smuggle a turkey sandwich or a meatball sub in my Betsy Johnson mega purse. (Don’t worry I took out the dead body.)

We’ll fight tooth and nail to get three seats together since Momma Mia wants to meet us for the midnight showing after her second nap of the night. I have been training to be a Kali fighter in case some bitch gets all up in my grill over Team Edward/Team Jacob.
 Although I haven’t yet contact the Guinness book of World Records, I am fairly sure I am the worlds fastest pee-er. It’s a gift really. I have all my bathroom breaks planned out.
  1. When Jacob and Bella walk on the beach, because really, we already know that shit, man.
  2. Any time during New Moon. Okay maybe not.
  3. So that gives me When Mike, Bella and Jacob go to the movies. (As long as I’m back by the time Jacob calls Mike a Marshmallow)
Outfits courtesy of Brass Plum. Bitches.

Reagan told me to Just Say No

I am a preschool teacher. On average we are a tame bunch. All cute and sing songy. A few years ago, I worked with a really sweet girl who married young and had two small boys. At some point of her marriage she decided that she didn’t actually want that kind of life. So she did the only logical thing there is to do in that situation. She went absolutely insane. We aren’t talking about quirky cute crazy. No, she went Britney Spears on us. She left her husband and two boys, began to come to work in a pink wig.
When this occurred, my friends and I tried to figure out what her deal was. Was she simply a case of a girl who married too young? Or perhaps she was on something. That got me thinking. You never hear about some one on heroin anymore. What ever happened to the grandeur of heroin chic?

Cocaine looks just like tank tops.


Instead we have the ugliness of other drugs. Instead of Kate Moss we get Amy Winehouse.   

You know you want to hit that


After time has passed I can say with all certainty that she was indeed on something. High on life, I think not. Especially when she started working at a bar wearing a school girl costume and shamrock pasties. A look that I not matter how time passes, I don’t think I could ever pull off.

Sure you can trust me with your children!