no. i didn’t get a boob job for christmas…

February 7, 2014

maruja (1 of 1)

contrary to my new, 2014 curves, both up north and down south, i did not get breast implants for christmas.

i was pregnant though.

a week before christmas hunkiest and i saw two pink lines on the drugstore purchased test….6 tests if i’m to be honest….the skeptic in me needed to be sure….the overacheiver in me needed the affirmation….hunkiest was overjoyed and relieved…elated that our family was growing; alleviated he was now off the hook for that stella mccartney fold-over tote i had been expecting under the tree…instead we were expecting our christmas present in august.

last week in an ultra sound i was told there was no baby.

no specific reason was given to us; the doctor said my body made a decision for me my “mind might not have been able to make.”

i was prepared for this; told people, when i was unable to keep my exciting, happy news a secret, “now, it IS early, and i AM 37,” as if i was steadying them and me for this inevitable, stinking event.

i cannot lie and tell you that there isn’t a part of me– an unhinged, irrational part, the subdivision that shows up late at night questioning logic and serenading golden retrievers, who sometimes wonders if maybe i jinxed myself into this mess.

i won’t lie, this stings; packs a little more spank as time progresses.

banan (1 of 1)

i ride on the swing-set of glum and good. mostly good, but i never know when a case of the sad will set in.

yesterday i bit into my banana only to discover its less than ripe constitution. i went from composed to crumpled up on the kitchen floor in a matter of seconds.

mr. banana it’s impolite to deceive a girl with raging hormones. there are some things in this world we need to count. bananas are one of them! 

produce aside these days sometimes i can taste sorrow even in an ice cream cone.

i know it will pass, and it’s not all of the time.

each day is a little sunnier; even when the raindrops fall outside.

girl scout cookies help.

as does knowing house of cards signed on for a third season; february 14th can’t come soon enough.

jeans (1 of 1)

my boyfriend jeans have officially broken up with me.

{i still sport a 13-week pregnant body; once i get my on head straight, god/the universe and i will be having a roundtable discussion on fairness.}

there’s a denim rinse in a santa claus cut i’ve been courting online, so keep your fingers crossed for us.

beasts (1 of 1)

it’s hard to be heavyhearted with these two faces administering round-the-clock-care to me.

it also doesn’t hurt that i have the greatest parents on earth.

my friends and my colleagues, although my co-workers ARE my friends and pseudo family; these people have been sick with compassion and support. it’s like they can’t help but ooze out all this love and gooey kindness from their pores, and it just drips and spurts everywhere, all over the people in their life, lately me, making the world a better place–really you guys need to get this checked out by a dermatologist. it’s almost gross.

you all know who you are, and i am nothing without you.

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and of course, my husband, you oily-bohunk you.

you really do make all those bradley cooper’s and ryan gosling’s look like scrawny, stay-in-the-dugout, third-string players. love is not a strong enough word for how i feel about you.

for us, yes, it is a private time, and i’ve been hesitant, and on the fence about sharing my story, but i believe when life delivers meals you didn’t order, bites that feel like shards of glass when you swallow, it always helps to know that someone else has had to wolf down a similar, barbed chunk, and yet lived, laughed and loved to tell about it.





happiness is…..

September 19, 2013

“a table, a chair, a bowl of fruit, and a violin. what else does a man need to be happy?”

~albert einstein


last week i received a text asking me how i’m “dealing with all your {my} sadness.”


for a bit i was sure the sender had mis-sent his message.

sadness? not me. not here. not in these new peach & blue tennies.

sure there are less than let’s be braggy circumstances in my life; but don’t we all have bad-hair days best kept covered under a baseball cap?

 things and events, blissful or depressing, are not who i am, what i believe in, or how i treat others.

i can’t change the people or circumstances around me, but i can change how i respond to them.

and lately i my response has been “happiness.”

when i really open my eyes, happiness seeps in like the sweet, home-made cookie aroma from our local bakery; inebriating and undeniable, my smile and gratitude can’t be suppressed.

it’s the little things; the wee, sometimes superficial, but nonetheless mirth-producing facts in my life that keep me in a coffee cup runneth over state.

here’s a look at where i’ve found happiness this week:


happiness is a manicure and pedicure.

my last visit to the nail salon occurred in 2012, so my fingers and toes were third-world country neglected.

happy be me when the producers of my last shoot offered, suggested, “forced” me to get my nails done on their bill; double win.

my go-to polish is always “naked state of mind” by mary jo matsumoto….it’s the perfect beige/pink combo bite, and it lasts forever.

stay tuned for more mary jo matsumoto praise. her new fall bags are out, and they’re a must buy!


my hands were a little trickier. i succumbed to the gel OPI manicure because inadvertently, even if i’m put under anesthesia and covered with cement in the spa chair, i will find a way to smudge my hands.

these OPI gels have stayed shiny and chip free now going on two weeks.

afterlight (3)

happiness is having breakfast food for dinner.

like i wrote last week, i can’t stand eating breakfast…but that doesn’t mean i detest breakfast food {the good, unhealthy kind, that is.}

last sunday night my mom prepared a breakfast feast at six o’clock at night; buttermilk pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon & sausage.

she even made “veggie” style sausages {ugh, don’t look at the ingredients} for me so i could complete the requisite dunking of my links in syrup…

afterlight (4)

happiness is a home cooked meal.

sometimes you just can’t beat beasts under foot, pajama bottoms and messy hair in a bun at the dinner table.

and last but not least:


you are happiness, my sweetheart readers.

what is currently tickling your happy button?

shut the fridge!

August 5, 2013


welcome to my new series, “shut the fridge.” just like medicine cabinets, i believe one’s refrigerator is a magnifying glass into their soul, psyche, and secrets. 

to be honest, the idea of photographing my fridge this morning took some courage. did i really want to publicly showcase the stockpile of condiments this family has amassed over the year{s?}

hunkiest’s bbq sauce collection alone is smithsonian worthy.

and yes my hoard of bloody mary mix isn’t exactly the vision of low-sodium living.

and let’s not forget this is also my mother’s fridge too. iowa born and bred, she’s never met a best food’s mayonnaise jar she didn’t make out with.

so here’s a closer look into our recess of heart aka “the fridge.”

the good

the g00d.

 especially in the summer, we are jam-packed with fruit. i eat on average 2 peaches, 1-2 pears, 1 apple, and strawberries every day.

at least.

yes, at least.

most of the time it’s in its full, whole form, other times i vitamix it with my pro-greens powder or various green vegetables around the house. but fresh, organic produce is a non-negotiable not just because i like how it makes me come off more gwenyth paltrow’y, and it’s the kind of thing we blog bitches are supposed to say these days, but also because i REALLY do feel like dirt when i don’t eat my fruits and vegetables.

boring but true.

the bad

the bAd. 

 personally i think frosting is one of god’s greatest gifts to man, second to sons of anarchy.

 my mother loves to buy frosting.

even better, she buys this sugary, diabetes-inducing topping, and then bakes a weekly cake, for her beloved-son-in-law, which is frosted to perfection.

this week she recreated the famous mastro’s butter cake, only with a lemon, frosted twist.

and thus is why i’m on an effing spin bike for three hours on a sunday morning.


the nutZo. lemme fess up…all that “produce”??? yeah, well those apples aren’t shoveled in all naked and pure, like some anne geddes cherub in a cotton blanket.

to be honest i’d speculate more nutzo than apple gets consumed in one sitting.

the apple serves really as my utensil to scarf the nutzo down.

i forever curse you raquel perry for your nutzo/katie introducing ways–not everyone needs to get along raquel!!

so again, welcome to “shut the fridge”…

many thanks to a certain bambi-eyed, 10-year-old sweetheart, who gave me the name for this series when, last night at dinner, in disbelief at an adult story, i, obscenely started to yell:  “SHUT-THE-FU—-“…and she gleefully interjected: “the FRIDGE!!!!!!!”

monday happy to you m’loves. are we friends yet?

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