The Friday Diary: Let's Make Brownies and Watch Steel Magnolias

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Listen

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Letters

Dear 17 Year Old Check Out Clerk at Fry's, you asked me the other day how the goatee you're growing makes you look. I think the answer is in the question.
Dear PMS, this week you were responsible for me eating two cheeseburgers {both doubles}, a whole pan of brownies, crying through 6 episodes of Parenthood, crying in a Filiberto's parking lot, and probably upwards of three temper tantrums. We are not friends.
Dear Weather, you're so schizophrenic lately. You're 80 degrees one minute, 50 the next. I just don't know how to feel about you anymore.

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Read



I finished Empire Falls this week. It was good. Long, but good. It is one of those books that when someone asks what its about, you don't have any idea how to answer them, because its not about a specific identifiable event. Its more just a snapshot in time of the life of a man who runs a diner, is getting divorced, and raising a teenage girl. There are a lot of characters, each one more complicated and interesting than the last, and even though the story really is about the one guy, you hear it from the perspectives of several of the people in his life.
I love that.
Its a good book to read when you're feeling lazy about reading, because you can pick it up, read a few pages, put it down for weeks, pick it back up and be so hooked you have to finish it right. now.
If you haven't read it, go get it.

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Adopted

We got a kitty on Sunday. Her name is Wednesday and she is the best thing since Banana Nut Bread and coffee. I love her to pieces, and to be honest I was expecting to just be OK with her at best. She's just too adorable.
This also completes my November goal, which means I need a new one...suggestions?

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Pinterested



40 free, downloadable vintage map printables. You can find all 40 here. 

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Stubborn

I may or may not still have my Christmas tree up. The good news is its fake and probably won't burn the house down. The bad news is its never coming down.

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Funny Shit I Saw







In conclusion, I'm off today and will be spending my time taking Wednesday for her check up and not changing out of my pajamas.

Happy Friday.

Notes From a Hormone Casserole

True story: when I was in high school-actually all the way up to when I got pregnant with Jack, I proudly boasted to never having experienced a single PMS symptom. No bloating, cramping, cravings, mood swings, acne or exhaustion. I also told other women who complained of heavy, long, painful periods that mine were "short and sweet! about 3 days long and hardly any cramps!" It's truly a miracle I was never shot.

After having Jackson, everything changed, and while I won't go into detail, I will say this: I was out of my damn mind and I do not talk that way anymore.

Can we just all agree for a moment that PMS is one of the worst experiences on the planet?

I mean I'm sure being water boarded would be worse, but I'm not convinced it'd be that much worse. I think part of what's so terrible about PMS {Mad Cow Season as I call it} is that it effects everybody. Once my body has been taken hostage by hormones it's no longer just me who suffers. 

It's my kids, my boss, my boyfriend, and generally anyone who stands between me, my yoga pants and an extra large pizza with a side of 9 lbs of chocolate.

DARK CHOCOLATE DAMN IT OR I WILL TYPE IN ALL CAPS FOREVER.

Seriously.

It's like a frat house Hell Week up in this house, and no one gets out without suffering a little bit right along side me. I could probably write an entire post just about things I've cried about whilst PMSing.

And whats terrible is that every month I think I must be going crazy. I think I am losing my mind, developing Alzheimer's, becoming bi-polar and developing a binge eating disorder and anger management problem, all at the same time. When all my symptoms become too anxiety inducing, or after I have an emotional meltdown of epic proportions {sorry Bill] I inevitably glance at a calendar and realize "Oh right. It's Mad Cow Season. Better order a pizza in advance for when I get off work and make sure Netflix has some chick flicks I wanna watch" 

Somehow, PMS sneaks up on you. Like once it's over you forget it ever happened and totally believe it will never happen again. Kind of like childbirth and hangovers.

One minute you're this ovulating sex pot who just wants to crawl all over her man and ride him like Sea Biscuit, and the next you're a weeping, screaming, binge eating puddle of yourself on the floor asking why nobody loves you and there's never any oranges.

Sometimes it makes total sense to me that women stayed home in the 40's and 50's. I mean back then they still knew so little about common ailments {evidence: they prescribed cigarettes for constipation-true story from my Nana, circa 1957} that they probably thought all women became possessed by some kind of devil for 1 week a month, and then bled him out the following week.

Which isn't all that far from the truth I don't think.