My fella turned 30 yesterday, and this means that I got to spend all weekend doing what he likes to do, which is mainly eating and then proceeding to work
My fella turned 30 yesterday, and this means that I got to spend all weekend doing what he likes to do, which is mainly eating and then proceeding to work
…I have a confession to make. I’m scared. I don’t like talking about myself, and over the last year or two I’ve gotten increasingly uncomfortable writing about myself. Maybe I’ve
“Them” is ne’er do well bureaucrats, and “us” is, well, us. The bloggers, Facebookers and online dwellers of the world. For more information on why the Internet is on strike
Hello, dear ones. I have not written to you in over TWO weeks, a fact that greatly shames my little writerly self. Not that I haven’t been writing stuff, just
I don’t give myself credit for wanting to be pretty, or if I do, I blow it off as a foolish fancy, something I will never achieve. Sure, I like
I’ve officially fallen for fall, y’all. I love cozy sweaters, I love the Pumpkin Spice lattes, I love the drizzly gray mornings and the tall boots and the feeling of
I’m not a very good cheerleader. First of all, I’m the least flexible person I know, I can’t jump and I would more than likely get hit in the head
It’s been quiet ’round these parts, because I haven’t known what to say lately. It’s not that life has handed me lemons and I’m out of sugar (and thus can’t
I asked on my Facebook page what you all want for a shopping post (since lately, I have been the slackingest blogger-face in all the lands) and EVERYBODY wants boots
I wrote this for Real Simple’s Simply Stated blogger contest. I didn’t win, but I thought I’d share my story with you anyway. “Howdy, ma’am!” He hollers, pushing himself off