Friday, May 20, 2011


Well my friends, I held my breath and took the leap overe to Wordpress. Come visit the new Mommy Undressed at
Thanks for all your suport:)

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Wordless Wednesday

Summer is just around the corner
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Friday, April 29, 2011

Divorce and Children

Divorce sucks. There's no other way to put it. It just does. It's messy. It's emotional. It's heartbreaking. It's a complete pain in the ass. Day in and day out you search for every avenue to take that will do the least amount of damage to your wallet and still stay sane. You stay awake at night wondering where you went wrong x amount of years ago when you married that person. I mean it was supposed to be forever right? I mean that's what the story books tell us. Big happy family, with minor bumps in the road because no one is perfect, and happily ever after. You wake up in the morning resenting the person who 'did you wrong' and ruined everything. You spend your day trying to figure out how to 'make them pay' for everything they did. How dare they mess up your happily ever after! How dare they 'do this to you'! And that's how it goes day in and day out for what seems like an eternity. You're full of spite and rage. You want to take it all out on them and make them learn their lesson for ever even thinking of hurting you. It's natural to do this. It's healthy to go through all these stages because one day you'll wake up and suddenly realize that you just survived all this. You just came out on the other side a stronger person. Pat yourself on the back, you just over came quite a feat.

Like I said its natural to 'hate' the other person involved in your divorce. And yes, I said healthy as well. And its hard to over come something like the heart ache that comes from divorce. You want to take it out on every person around you. All too often though, those people around you happen to be your kids, and that's not fair. I'm not talking about not fair to you, I'm talking about not fair to them. No one should EVER take out their divorce agressions and anger on their kids. It's not their fault and they shouldn't have to pay for your pain.

I have two kids, very young kids at that, and they are extremely impressionable. They pick up on the strangest things you could ever imagine. And that's why I'm hyper sensitive about anything I say to and around them concerning the donor. There are times when I wish he would slip on a banana peal and fall into a ditch, and I'm sure there are times when he wishes I would get hit in the face with a frying pan. That's ok, its natural remember? I've sat around with friends talking about all the bad things that went on during my marriage and all the crazy shit he and I have said to each other since I left him. I've come home in tears and shaking because I've been so hurt or angry because of things that have happened between us. I've screamed. I've kicked. I've melted into a heap of snot and tears on the floor. But the reasoning behind all this is something that my kids may never know, not until they are much much older at least.

I don't bad mouth the donor in front of the kids. I'm sure I have once or twice by accident (I am human after all) but never to them. I'm also sure they pick up on the tension between the two of us when we're 'passing the kids off' to each other. But for the most part I'd have to say that being apart and dealing with the kids together is probably the best we have ever worked together as a team on. I don't know if its because we both come from divorced families or we've both come to realize that being mean takes a lot more energy than being nice. All I know is that day in and day out I smile when my kids ask about their dad, and I get them excited to go see him. I'm not his biggest fan by far, but I still remind my kids that mommy and daddy love them very much even though we don't live together any more.

My biological father was abusive to my mother when they were together, and then he was a dead beat dad. I didn't see or hear from him from the time I was 2 until I was 20. That's 18 years living with a woman who had been abused by a man who had supposedly loved her. She was angry with him. She hated him. And I'm sure there were times she looked at me and saw him in my eyes. But she never once let on to any of that. When I would ask where he was she would just smile and come up with some excuse that never pointed a finger at him. As I got older she told me bits and pieces of what she had been through with him, but always followed it with, "Now don't you go basing your opinion on your natural father with what I've told you. You have to come up with that conclusion on your own if you ever get to meet him."

And that's what I did. Long story short, I found out he was dying of cancer and I made my way to him (with my mother believe it or not). And I formed my opinion of him. Not a bad one. When I met him I learned that everyone has their flaws, some more than others, but that's how life is. A flaw doesn't necessarily make you a bad person, and because you once had that flaw doesn't mean you will continue with it. As humans we have the ability to learn from our mistakes. I believe my biological father did just that and was genuinely sorry for everything he put my mother through. I made amends with my biological father before he died. I told him I understood and it was ok. I forgave him.

I believe that because my mother was so amazing through my life when it came to him i was able to forgive. And it was her attitude toward the whole situation that has given me strength to do the same with my children. Like I said, divorce sucks and yes, people get hurt. But its our attitude toward it that shapes our children's attitudes toward it. You as a parent have no right to sit there and turn your kids against the other parent. I don't care how hurt you are. You're the adult. It's your responsibility as the adult to act mature and not make your children the victims of your divorce. It's your job to sugar coat it as much as possible. You may have been abused physically/mentally, you may have been cheated on, you may have just gone separate ways. But there is absolutely no reason for you to sit there and use your kids as ammo. Get over yourself and all the bad things that happened and teach your kids love and forgiveness.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

The Situation Room

The White House has this really COOL room called The Situation Room where all the cool shit goes down. This is the place where Mr. El Presidante does his business (not the #2 kind). Business like controlling the ENTIRE US from this one room! Friggin' cool!
Picture it, 8am Monday morning, the President rolls up after smoking his menthol cigarette with a large gourmet coffee that your tax dollars paid for. He struts in with his entourage down into the Situation Room! He means business, this is an entire country we're talking about! Let's get this shit started and protect some people already! Boo-yeah mother fuckers, we've got a constitution to uphold!

That's what I'm talking about, that's how shit should get done on a Monday morning!

So yeah, about that. That's not 100% how it goes down in my house on a Monday morning. Yes, my house is white and although I am not the president, according to Foursquare I am the mayor of the Redneck Palace. That has to count for something right? Like yeah, duh, of course it does. So there it is, Monday morning, not quite 8am more like 5:30/6 o'clock. I'm just barely awake, depending on the coffee intake. I stop for a moment remember my days of being a smoker and go to wake up the kids. Great, now there are 3 zombies in the house. But there is NO WAY those 2 are getting coffee! I don't have a death wish.

Milk: check!
Cereal: check!
Kids are occupied: check!
It's now time for a some mommy time!

I slowly walk down the hall to the bathroom, I step inside and slowly close the door. *holds breath and waits* Still quite, good to go. I sit down on the toilet and *ahhhhhhh*. Time for some Angry Birds.


WTF was that?!?!?! A stampede comes down the hallway and the bathroom, which was just seconds ago a personal battle against those damn pigs that just won't die, has now become..........The Situation Room. The kids council takes their place in their assigned seats (Pheobe on her pink frog potty and Theo in the bathtub). And the Monday agenda is presented to the Foursquare mayor of the Redneck Palace mommy.

"Who's picking us up from school?"
"Pheobe told me that I can't bring anything for circle time."
"Toe say me no eat cereal."
"I don't want to wear underwear today."
*tandem moon shine*
etc, etc, etc.......

And I sit there answering questions thinking I should have brought my coffee in with me.

"I'm picking you up today."
"You can bring one thing to circle time, but that's it."
"You can eat all the cereal you want lady bird."
"You have to wear underwear because you're not good at wiping your own butt yet."
"Pull your pants up, no moons during the day."

Then I explain the routine for the rest of the morning. Get dressed, put coats on, grab lunch boxes, get in the car, bring BF his coffee at work, go to school. Everyone is on board and ready to go! Ready, break! I then try to hustle them back out the door so I can wipe my butt in peace without someone saying, "Ewwwwww!!!!" Right kids, because me wiping your butts is so much more glamorous.

And that's how it goes down in The Situation room here at the Redneck Palace. We get shit done, literally. I'm sure the President would be extremely jealous if he new just how fabulous it is in my Situation Room. I'm sure y'all are jealous too. It's ok, I live the high life, I'm use to people wanting all that I have. Here, have a tissue. You too can be this lavish if you really try.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Your Psychopath Girlfriend

I'm not going to lie to you people, I am in some serious fucking frigging pain right now. I'm pretty sure my body was hijacked around 9am this morning. My day started great. My kids were like little angels running around with halos on. We were all up, fed, dressed, and out of the house by 6:45 (a new record). We stopped by BF's work to bring him coffee and for me to get my good morning kiss (this is how couples who see each other an hour a day get they're quality time in). This morning BF even picked 2 trumpet flowers for me that I took to work and put in a little paper coffee cup on my desk. We've covered the whole classless thing before. When I got to work my "boss" even bought me breakfast! Seriously, today started out as a major win! And it was a Monday no less!!!

Then it eyes started to well up. I want nachos. BF said he loved me and that pretty much did it. My day went to crap, because that obviously makes sense. Right? I mean that should send every girl into complete grump and bitch mode. Right? I want nachos. Come to find out those would be the magic words to send me into hyper space all day, every time he said them I melted into a heap of snot and tears and mystery.

So there I was, wondering why BF telling me he loves me I want nachos was sending me into emotional despair, when all of a sudden I had to pee. (Men, I know how much y'all hate menstrual talk so to avoid reading about blood and tampons you might want to take a beer break right now...also, can you grab me one while you're at it?) And I pee, like God intended us all to do, and there was God's little cruel joke...yup, blood...lots of it. I want nachos. And in typical Monday fashion I realize that I forgot to put on underwear this morning. Yes, forgot. And now I'm bleeding, as God intended, like a Criminal Minds victim. Let me just say, I am so thankful that, despite inflation and rising gas prices, restroom tampons are still 25 cents because there's no way a maxi pad is going to stay put without underwear in my Walmart leggings.

By 9:30 I was pretty sure my body had been hijacked by uterus eating aliens. I want nachos. By tomorrow I would for sure be giving birth, through my belly button, to some gray sharp toothed alien with a bad attitude and a hunger that would cause it to eat me, my children, and 2 cats. Do you think they like nachos? Because I'm not sharing. So this explains it all. THIS is why I feel miserable every time BF says I love you and I suddenly can't stop crying. And so my day goes, complete with shedding a tear for the earthworm and nematode I had to dissect in biology class.

By the time I got home I was an emotional wreck. Complete and total WRECK! I just sat there on the couch with BF staring into space. At this point I'm pretty sure BF thinks I'm a complete psycho. By the time he went to bed (30min later) I had tears streaming down my face and can't breath. I want nachos. And you know what? BF sat there completely exhausted from 17 hours straight of work and listened to every crazy thought that zipped out of my mouth. He looked at me with concerned eyes and stroked my hair as I crumbled in front of him. He held me when I doubled over in nonsense tears and told me it would be ok. I went off on a hormonal rant and he sat there selflessly being exactly what I needed. I still want nachos.

I have to say that I am the luckiest hormonal bitch girl around with BF in my life. I know he's modest and doesn't like it when I 'call him out' but its true. He gets me. He understands or at least makes it seem like he does that I just need to have that emotional break down and then everything will be alright. So thank you BF for being that rock that I need so often once a month. You may not think so, but you truly are a selfless amazing person with a huge heart, and I am beyond lucky to be able to hear you say I love you every day. Thank you for every thing you do.

Love Always, Your Psychopath Girlfriend Me

P.S. I settled for Flavor Blast Goldfish crackers in stead of nachos.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Hog Tying and Smelly Feet

There is a rodeo in my house every morning. At 6:35 the gate flies open and Pheobe runs down the hall with me hot on her tail. Once in the living room I wrestle her to the floor to commence taking off her pjs and change her diaper. This whole process all too much resembles trying to hog tie a calf. I'm still waiting for my gold buckle. I've got it down to 30.2 seconds. She squirms and kicks, screams and hisses. Once her pjs are off its time for the diaper change while she does her best impression of an alligator death roll. Done! Win! i rock this shit! And away she goes yelling "Nakie!!!" as she streaks down the hall once again. I scoop up her clothes and take off after her.

Let me just tell you, it is NOT easy to dress a 2 year old who is in perpetual forward motion without feeling like you might accidentally strangle her with the neck of her shirt. It's about this point when I start going over the story I'm going to use when I end up having to call 911. "Well you see, I just got the shirt over her head when she took off like a bullet..." Then I suddenly remember that BF would probably be the one picking up the 911 call. "Baby," I would say "It happened". No excuse necessary, he's seen the whole process before.

But somehow, every morning, she survives and my future in prison is put at bay once again. She is fully dressed and we are heading out the door by 7am. Once we are all in the car we head out and head south to the daycare. Everyone is dressed I think I forgot to put on underwear, again, fed I forgot my egg samich on the counter, and ready. About a half mile from the daycare a sock goes whizzing by my head. And then another one. "Stinky feet!" Great. Thank you Pheobe. I look back and there she is, after everything we just went through, shoes and socks off with her pant legs pulled up above her knees waving her feet around.

The rest of the drive is spent pretending to smell her feet declaring, "I have never smelled anything so horrible in my life!" And so our mornings go, in a twilight zone of hog tying and smelly feet. I swear tomorrow I am super gluing her shoes to her feet.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

If I Get Kicked in the Balls.....A 4yr old's perspective

So there we are, as we usually are at dinner time, sitting around the dinner table...eating. Surprise! Normally dinner is spent strong arming and threatening to beat  the minions into eating at least 1/3 of their dinner. And that's about it. Nothing exciting. Usually more exhausting than anything. So there we are, still, trying to eat when Theo looks up at me "Mommy," he says "when someone kicks you in the balls do they kick right here?" *points between his eyes* *silence all around* And so the conversation begin

ME: Um, you mean your eye balls?

THEO: No mommy, your balls! If you get kicked in the BALLS do they kick you right here? *points between eyes again*

BF: *commences spasms*

ME: Well, not exactly.

THEO: But if they kick you in the balls it's right here. *again pointing between his eyes*

ME: *prays to God* Please God don't let this be happening now. He's only 4 and I'm totally not ready for anatomy lessons. I swear if you make him ask me about the birds and bees next I'm going to come up there and kick you in your holy bits. With all do respect.

THEO: Mommy! Balls! What happens when you get kicked in the balls????

BF: *turns back on conversation with increasing spasms*

ME: *deep breath* Your balls aren't on your head.

THEO: Huh?

ME: Your balls are by your penis.

THEO: My penis?!?!?!?!

BF: *spurts out violent giggles*

ME: Yes, by your penis. *holding back junior giggles* They're part of your penis.

THEO: My penis has balls?

ME: *oh good lord, I can't handle this.* *giggle* *I can't believe how many times I just said penis* *giggle*

THEO: Why?

BF: *now almost all the way to floor with laughter*

ME: Well.....*fuck*

THEO: *confused look* Why would someone want to kick me in the penis?

ME: *crickets*

BF: *pretty sure he's going to die of laughter*

ME: *looks at BF* Ok smart ass, you have a go at it! You're the one with the penis, not me.

BF: Theo, if you get kicked in the balls you get get kicked in the ding ding.

THEO: *look of bewilderment* Oh.

ME and BF: *done* *laughing so hard we're almost crying*

THEO: *Obviously even more confused, gets up and walks away*

So there you have it. I'm a 31 year old mother of 2 and I can't even have a conversation about penis' and getting kicked in the balls without dying of laughter. I'm so mature.

Wordless Wednesday

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Tuesday, April 5, 2011

I Took The Pledge

I've been there, I've been bullied on my blog. When I first saw it I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Almost like you felt when your first 'love' dumped you in high school. So I did the first thing that came to me, I turned to Twitter. I was nervous at first. The bullying had also spread to Twitter at one point, but this was my blog we were talking about. To me it was like walking into my house and smashing my tv in front of my kids. My blog=my happy place.

So there I was, about to tweet it out there....let my tweeps know what had happened. And it was amazing, up sprouted support from my tweeps all over my timeline as well as a few who 'stuck up' for me on my blog. It was an amazing feeling. But I knew I didn't want it to happen again. But it did. Two more times by the same person. I ended up ignoring her and she went away. This was 4 months ago. I still dread logging on some days, afraid that 'Truth Speaker' (obviously an anonymous name) will be there lurking somewhere in my poor blog's comments.

I took the pledge because I don't want this to happen to other mommy bloggers. We all make mistakes and none of us are perfect. And we put that out there in the bloggosphere, all our mistakes and all our flaws. It's those things that make us......well us. And help us connect with other mommies so we don't feel alone, not to get bullied. So take the pledge and stop the bullying! Take a stand mommies!

Bringing Sexy Back

I feel sexy. Really sexy...well 99% 90% of the time. So my boobs have a bit of a sag and my nipples no longer point straight ahead. I have a bit of a foopa and a slight jiggle in my hips. I even wake up some mornings shocked to find that my mother's thighs took over mine. But I really do feel sexy. I love every curve of my body(especially the ones created by my minions). I think I even feel sexier than I did in my 20's. I come to work/school and I get complimented on how good I look. My boobs still have admirers! *gasp* Win!  Even my ASS gets a compliment here and there! *yikes* Double win! Most importantly, I get home to a BF who looks at me like he wants to rip my clothes off and touches me as if I were a fine piece of crystal. THAT makes me feel sexier than EVER!!!

So what does make a woman sexy? More importantly what makes a woman FEEL sexy? These are the questions that overcame me one evening when I was drinking heavily feeling exceptionally sexy. So I put it out there to all my tweeps and feeps  fbeeps um, Facebook people. I asked the men, "What makes a woman sexy?" and asked the ladies, "What makes you feel sexy?" The following is a list of responses I got.

Ladies First (obviously):

*nothing, seriously nothing...well maybe vodka.
*shaved legs
*always wearing pretty underwear
*high heels
*high heels in jeans
*being pregnant
*doing my hair and make-up

Men (neanderthal grunt):

*wearing my FD t-shirt
*can hold a conversation
*as long as her bones aren't sticking out we're good
*when she makes the first move

Ummmmmm, so.......obviously women are superficial drunks men don't know what they're talking about. I mean what's more sexy that a drunk woman in heels with her VS underwear on backwards?!?! You men have such a warped sense of sexy. Confidence? That's so 90's! And besides, confidence only comes after a glass of wine or 5. Let me put it to you this way, I put on BF's FD t-shirt the other day. When he got home he told me to take it off as well as the rest of my clothes while I was at it. Obviously a fail. So the next day I wore a dress that hugged my curves while I batted my eyes at him and used my best pick up line "nice shoes, wanna fuck?" Again I was told to take my dress off as well as the rest of my clothes while I was at it.

To further prove my point the next night I had a glass of wine or 5 and stumbled strutted around the house in my heals which I discovered the next day didn't even match. He told me to go to bed already, which I did. I then passed out cold laid there in bed in my pretty VS underwear as he resumed playing Black Ops on the Xbox.

So there you have it, men obviously have no idea what they're talking about and we wouldn't listen anyway. So ladies, hold up your vodka bottles, put on those heels, and do your hair and make-up all pretty like because tonight we're sleeping alone and waking up in a puddle of drool making babies!!!!!

Disclaimer: BF and I are NOT making babies, its physically impossible and quite frankly a horrible horrible idea. We've done enough damage to the world already by procreating in the past and producing way too many offspring with other people.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

I Found MY Word

I did it. I found my word. That one word that describes me and all that I am. It took me a while, but I found it. I've been looking for this word for a few years now, i just didn't really know that was what I was looking for. I kept thinking that I was trying to find myself, to reinvent this new being who suddenly found herself a mother, wife, and now soon to be divorcee. I kept saying, "That's it, this year I'm going to reinvent myself and figure out my purpose." Simply saying that I was a mother or a wife wasn't cutting it for me. It didn't have enough 'umph' behind it. Yes, I proudly gave birth to 2 children without any pain meds and did the whole SAHM thing. I also selflessly supported a military husband as he was called away at all hours of the night. Then as my marriage fell apart I dove into school, but then still a word like 'student' didn't seem to fit right either. The right word just kind of lingered on the tip of my tongue waiting to spit itself out like a watermelon seed.

So what was it? What was this word that I was searching for? My days of playing the tuba in a jazz band were over. I was no longer a 'musician'. My days of riding and jumping horses were over. I was no longer an 'equestrian'. Even my days of serving my country in the Coast Guard were over. I wasn't even a 'sailor' anymore. So what was I? What is it that puts ME apart from everyone else? What word describes me now? Rome is 'sex'. New York City is 'ambition'. Yes, i consider myself sexy, but I am by no means Rome. And my ambition shines through with my drive to graduate college, but I am far from New York City.

So I sat there in my living room tonight, surrounded by piles of laundry wearing my boyfriends pajama bottoms (which he may never get back) thinking about MY word. What word I define. Then it hit me. Every day I sit in an office talking with other military veterans. I listen to their stories about their girlfriends, bills they have to pay, war, and friends they've lost. I stand behind my friends and family 100%. I love fully and hurt fully when love has left. I have steady patience when it comes to waiting for what I know is right. Even when my children are filled with evil and start talking in tongues I can't imagine my days without the joy they bring me. I enjoy being that shoulder to cry one, that friend you need, the supportive girlfriend, mommy. I let people in and people let me in. I'm that smile you need at the end of the day when nothing seems to have gone right. My arms are always open to hold someone when they hurt.

I love to love. I love to give people my heart. My heart has been broken in so many ways I've lost track. Drop kicked, cut, punched, and shattered. But my heart is what defines me. I always manage to pick up the pieces and put my heart back together better than before. It's my heart that sets me aside from other people. It's my heart that has always stayed true to me through all my ups and downs. It's my heart that keeps me forever looking at the positive in things and the people around me. That little beating machine in my chest is what helps me to love fully, honestly, and without reservation. It's my heart that defines me. It's my heart that has helped me find my word. That word that I am the dictionary definition of.

I know that I'm a ball breaker and that I believe in tough love. I don't always tell you what you want to hear and my mouth often runs faster than my brain but I know what I am deep down inside. I. Am. Heart. I will use my heart to love you with everything that I have and to help you love yourself. That's it. that's my word. The word I am the definition of, I am heart.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Wordless Wednesday

Mommy's Sexy Time
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Friday, March 25, 2011

Conversations with The Donor

This morning I was tweeted this awesome picture of me by @ScreenscapeS as a super hero. (my favorite one at that)
I was proud so I threw it up on Facebook for all my non-tweeps to see. And who do you think the first person to comment on the picture was? Ah yes, you guessed it, The Donor. And so began the friendly banter that made me chuckle for an hour this morning.

The Donor: You realize that superhero's power is to drain the life force and consuming the energy and power from anyone she touches right? He turned you into Rogue from the X-Men.

Me: I am aware of this. You're the one that takes pleasure in calling me the Connecticut Killjoy so Rogue seems oh so appropriate don't you think? Kind of along the same lines as the favorite spider.

The Donor: When you put it like that then I guess yes, it would be appropriate. Rogue is kind of a gay tat but the widow will be inked on sometime in April. Julie's name and now the Connecticut Killjoy tribute. I swear I'm going common law from here on out! No more tributes. Good thing I can't have anymore kids.

Me: So glad I can be the inspiration for such a tribute. You're welcome. And yes, good thing on no more kids. Whew!

The Donor: Yes yes! Like I said, common law from here on out. No more tributes. I figured you took five years of my life and spawned my babies so something was in order to get inked. Another chapter closed.

Me: ‎*slams book down and cracks open a beer*

The Donor: Blue Moon preferably.

Me: Ummm, you don't like beer. Remember?

The Donor: I like Blue Moon. That's just about the only beer I don't like.

Me: You mean "Do like".....nice to see you're expanding your horizons past Jack Daniels. Proud of you.

And so the conversation ended. What did we learn from this kids? Lets recap:
  • I, like Rogue, drain the life force out of people. Win.
  • I will live on in flesh art in the form of a blackwidow spider. Win again.
  • My vagina spawned the last of The Donor's seeds. Yet again, win.
  • The Donor and I have something other than our spawn in common, we like Blue Moon. Win?
  • The Donor has expanded his drinking vocabulary. Ummmm, win......?
  • A guy I work with just whipped out a HUGE bag of dark chocolate!!! I win so hard y'all are sobbing in the dust.
That is all, I have dark chocolate to nom on;)

P.S. Special thanks to The Donor and his guest appearance in this blog post.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Brandi in the Raw-One Classless Bitch

For those of you that know me personally know that this past year has been nothing short of interesting. Perhaps one of my favorite most interesting moments was when I was called 'classless' on Twitter by another user. I saw this on Twitter and immediately jumped and thought, "Classless???? Who the fuck are you calling classless???? Bitch." I think I proved her point with that thought alone. After my knee jerk 'classless' reaction i started to look at it in a comical way.

This tweet was put out by someone who rates quality of life in diamonds and probably eats with REAL silverware, not the Kmart special I picked up in college back in the late 90's (which I still proudly use today). Again proving her tweet to be correct. So there I was, laughing at my Kmart silverware while sitting on my Bob's Discount couch in my Target t-shirt and Walmart underwear. Again exuding my classy status. "I need a list," I thought "of everything that makes me 'classless' in white color society." And a list is exactly what I made. So here it is for all of you, a list of Brandi in the Raw and everything that makes me 'One Classless Bitch'..........and also a pure goddess in my eyes.

1. I live above an old run down gas station, complete with pumps and a sign.
2. At the ripe old age of 31 I still rent apartments/houses, I've never owned.
3. I drive a poorly financed 'old man brown' Chevy station wagon.
4. I have been known to lick the bottom of a Doritos bags to get the last of the crumbs.
5. There is absolutely NO rhyme or reason to the decoration in my kid's rooms. NOTHING matches and most of it is hand me downs.
6. ALL of the frames in my house are from Walmart or the Dollar Tree and probably are held together somewhere with duct tape and/or super glue.
7. I cut my kid's hair, with no formal training what-so-ever. Therefore they often look like ho-bo children. And no, I'm not afraid to use a bowl!
8. The inside of my car looks like its been through Hurricane Katrina. No joke, its a disaster. My next car will be different. I've said that before
9. I don't really dust all that often. I hate it.
10. I don't use paper towels. Haven't had them in my house for almost 3 years, with the exception of a breach of security a few months ago.
11. My dinning room table is a hand-me-down from a restaurant in Maine.
12. The chairs around my table are older than I am. They are from the house of my junior high crush when his parents had a 'moving yard sale'. My mother bought them for me as a joke, partially because he wouldn't go to my 8th grade prom with me.
13. My daughter often looks like the Wild Woman of Borneo because I don't brush her hair every day. (I choose not invoke Lucifer based on a snarl created by sleeping.)
14. On any given day both my children look like they just crawled out of a dumpster.
15. It is physically impossible for me to keep my house in a state of tidy-ness.
16. My wardrobe is from Walmart, my kid's wardrobe is from various thrift stores.
17. My idea of fine jewelry is anything from Walmart over $50. BTW, you can get some pretty expensive fun shit from Walmart.
18. I live from paycheck to paycheck.
19. On hot days in the summer I wash my kids in the backyard using a spaghetti pot, shower fluff, and soap....while they're naked.
20. As a family we enjoy Pants Off Friday and parade around the house in our underwear.
21. I use old butter tubs as tupper wear.
22. 'My' glass is a mason jar. I drink all my cold drinks out of it.
23. If my bra matches my underwear it is a complete and total accident, and only happens once or twice a year.
24. I use the words twat and cunt on a regular basis.
25. I enjoy videos of things getting blown up/shot.
26. I have my very own deer hide that my Dad gave me. I asked for it one Christmas.
27. I have had a LOT of sex in my life time and I don't hide that fact.
28. I am VERY open about EVERYTHING.
29. I'm a ball buster. If you have toothpaste on your face I'm going to tell you that your boyfriend has bad aim.
30. I burp.
31. I fart. In public. And then I giggle.
32. I taught my kids that farts=funny
33. I hang out with the guys and help them pick up chicks.
34. I tell it like it is, flat out, the non-fluffy version. If you suck, I'm going to tell you that you suck and why.
35. I tell racist/religious/sexist jokes. Not because I'm racist/religious/sexist, but because they're fucking funny!

So that's what makes me 'classless' and who I am. I'm a complete mess and I love it! I am so happy and comfortable in my skin. I may have taken the long way to get to where I am today but I wouldn't change that for the world. Those people who call me classless never get past the dirt, cat hair, and farts to see the fact that I proudly served my country for 7 1/2 years where I stopped drug runners, illegal fishing boats, kept our waterways safe, and shaped over 700 individuals into today's Coast Guard. They don't get to see that I actually attended a college prep school for all 4 years of high school where I directed full length plays, sang in a choir, got awarded a music scholarship, made honor roll, made the junior Olympic team for Nordic skiing, worked on the school magazine, and mentored junior classmates. They don't get to see that as a single parent I put myself through 2 years of college while making the Dean's List, got invited to join the honors society, and finally graduating in May. And most of all, they are so concerned with judging other people, they don't get to see how amazingly supportive and loving my family is and how happy we are because we're not concerned with how the world sees us.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Wordless Wednesday

Elvis is always watching you at Silly's.
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Friday, March 18, 2011

The Devil Wears Pigtails Turns 2

It's official. 2 years from this very moment I was walking up and down hills and all over the back roads of Branford, CT because I didn't want to be pregnant anymore. I was done. This little girl 'critter' had been sitting on my sciatic nerve for the past 6 months. Get this friggin' kid out of me!!!! That night contractions started and the next day she was here.

On her way out she caused enough damage to require 26 stitches, internally and externally. This is why I say that I gave birth to a cheese grater. Every since 10:19am on March 19, 2009 little miss Pheobe Lee has been on her own time schedule with a bit of a diva attitude. She has screaming fits that break windows. She throws tantrums that land her in the middle of walkways. She has a tendency to attempt to beat her brother Theo up. There have been times when I'm pretty sure she's talking in tongues and growling. She is my little demon, aka: The Devil Wears Pigtails.

But so often I catch her rocking her baby dolls, tucking them in, and telling everyone in the house "Shhhhh, baby sleeping." She's the queen of snuggles and kisses. And she idolizes her big brother Theo, mimicking his every move. Every day she has a new facial expression and new words in her vocabulary. Every day she is an amazement to me. And tomorrow she will be 2. The years will fly by faster than I care to think about, and I'm sure the temper will be tamed and she'll do great things. But one thing's for sure, she will always be my Devil Wears Pigtails.

Happy 2nd Birthday Pheobe Lee! Mommy loves you.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Friday, March 11, 2011


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Poopy Puppy

I once again find myself dog sitting.....willingly. Not sure how this happens. I can't stand dogs much in the way that the old bag down the street can't stand children. I mean, they're ok for short periods of time as long as you can give them back. And by short periods of time I mean no more than 5 minutes. Dogs smell like shit stink. Especially when they chew their toe nails (btw, I dislike feet). The only thing worse than that smell is wet dog smell. Related: The dog came to my house started raining......yesterday. Did you know that dogs have to poop outside to avoid poop paintings by toddlers? Well they do, which means I have to walk this dog outside, in the rain, an ungodly amount of times a day 2 or 3 times a day.

This morning I take said dog out for a walk so that he may relieve himself on some poor un-expecting trees and sign posts. We pace a small section of sidewalk (in the rain) and add more liquid to the surrounding trees. Lucky them. As I was about to have enough of this rain and urine business, said dog gives a big oak a loving look. He circles the tree to size it up. He sniffs up and down the bark. He pees in several spots. He then proceeds to back his hind end UP the tree as if climbing it backwards.

Once the dog is practically perpendicular to the ground he commences to poop....and poop....and poop......and poop. All the while trying to stay with his butt up the tree. I was pretty sure this dog pooped out a small cat. I had to do a head count of my three cats once we got back inside to ensure they were all, in fact, still alive. A look of accomplishment came over the dog's face once he was done doing whatever it was he was doing. I have to wonder if this look of accomplishment for being able to poop up a tree while perpendicular to the ground or for the sheer amount of poop that actually came out of a 15 pound dog. Perhaps I will never know.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Wordless Wednesday

Because I always cry with a duck in my mouth.
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Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Wordless Wednesday

Some day they'll be butterflies
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Friday, February 25, 2011

The Geography of Women

One of my beautiful sister's sent me "The Geography of Women" and I couldn't resist putting it up here to share with everyone. I would like to add one thing before you read on, I LOVE being Spain!!!!


Between 18 and 22, a woman is like AFRICA ;

Half discovered, half wild, fertile and naturally beautiful!

Between 23 and 30, a woman is like EUROPE ;

Well developed and open to trade, especially for someone of real value.

Between 31 and 35, a woman is like SPAIN ;

very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own beauty.

Between 36 and 40, a woman is like GREECE ;

gently aging but still a warm and desirable place to visit.

Between 41 and 50, a woman is like GREAT BRITAIN ;

with a glorious and all conquering past.

Between 51 and 60, a woman is like ISRAEL ;

Has been through war, doesn't make the same mistakes twice,and takes care of business.

Between 61 and 70, a woman is like CANADA ;

self-preserving, but open to meeting new people.

After 70, she becomes TIBET ;

Wildly beautiful, with a mysterious past and the wisdom of the ages, an adventurous spirit and a thirst for spiritual knowledge.


Between 1 and 90, a man is like IRAN ;

ruled by nuts.

The End

Friday, February 18, 2011

Wonder Woman Spin Transformation and Lasso - First Season

Funny thing is, the same thing happens to me every time I spin. It's the oddest thing.

Friday, February 11, 2011

For The Love Of Poop! Starring 'The Ghost Poop'

My whole life I have had this weird fascination with poop (and general bowel movements). It's no secret, you've read my blog. This fascination has been handed down to my children........and is evidently contagious because my boyfriend has since joined in. And I'm not just talking about his pledge to try to keep my children away from the bathroom so I can finally poop for the first time in 3 days. I mean he has become outwardly excited about major bowel movements. It all started with him giving these creative names to some of his babies poops:

Tiger Stripes: There's so much in there that when you flush it streaks the bowl, resembling the markings of the mighty jungle tiger.

Dry Dock: You do this in the toilets of your enemies. It leaves evidence of your 'visit' for a longer period of time than scent a lone. It is a difficult poop to perform let alone master. It was explained to me that the trick to this poop is to poop right as the bowel is emptying thus 'dry docking' your 'ship' on the inside of the bowel. I consider this a thing of epic awesomeness!!!! This may or may not be why I love my boyfriend so much.

When I am in a bad mood all he has to do is mention one of these two poops and I am immediately lmao and feeling better. Like I said, this may or may not be why I love him so much. Now on to "The Ghost Poop".

A few weeks ago BF came out of the bathroom with a look of distain on his face. He looked confused for a few seconds and then lit up like firefly!
BF: You HAVE to blog about the ghost poop!
Me: The what poop?
Me: ???????
BF: There you are, sitting on the toilet.
Me: *shakes head and snickers*
BF: You 'feel' it come out.
Me: *closes eyes and crinkles nose*
BF: You 'hear' it hit the 'feel' the water hit your ass. You even 'heard' it come out.
Me: *eyes water from holding in laughter*
BF: You wipe, and there's proof that you pooped.
Me: *cheeks filling with giggle gas*
BF: You get up and look in the toilet and THERE'S NOTHING THERE!!!! Nothing. Except toilet paper!!! Butyoufeltitcomeout. Youfeltthewaterhityourbutt! BUT THERE'S NOTHING THERE!!!!! It's a GHOST POOP!!!! *takes a Ta Da! stance*
Me: Bwahahahahaha!!!!!!!

I'm not sure which part of this whole conversation got me laughing more, the idea of a ghost poop, the excitement in his voice, or his overall expression of excitement throughout his ENTIRE body. All I know is that the poop fascination has officially spread to my dear sweet BF, so much so that I now get notices when a ghost poop, or other phenamenal poop, has occurred. He needs to create an app for that.

I really do consider myself lucky to have found someone with an equal admiration of bowel movements.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

The Toilet Alarm

I'm almost entirely convinced that there is an alarm installed on my toilet that alerts my children every time I sit down. This is especially anoying seeing as how I am woman and HAVE to sit down all the time (and no, I don't use the hover technique in my own home). And no, I don't have penis envy. I like the fact that I can get turned on (extremely turned on) and not a single person can tell. Anyway, I digress. Back to where I started, there is an alarm in my toilet. Let me set the scene for you:

Maine character: Frazzled Mommy with a distended belly caused by solid waist retention because her children refuse to let her use the bathroom.

Villans: 2 young children. Boy, 4 yrs old (horns have been shaved off) Girl, almost 2 yrs old (horns hidden in her pig tails)

The scene takes place in the bathroom on and in front of the toilet.

Time: 6:45pm EST

Mommy notices that the villans are quietly (volume level just below howling) playing in the playroom and decides to slip away to the bathroom to finally relieve herself of solid waist retention.  Once over the treshold of the bathroom she pauses to listen for a change in behavoir in the She slowly approaches the toilet. Turns her back to the toilet and pulls down her pants slowly.  The villans continue as they were. She eases herself down onto the seat,


Mommy jumps up in horror! Silence. False alarm. She eases herself back down onto the seat.


Up pops mommy once again. Again, silence. Damn it.

Third time is charm, mommy tries to sit down again.

No dice. Blood curdling screams emerge from the playroom once again. This can't happen again, mommy can't hold it in any longer. She reaches to the right with her Go Go Gadget arm, closes and locks the bathroom door. Almost immediatly a stampead of foot stemps commence down the hall toward the bathroom. Mommy almost thinks she can hear growling and the villans talking in tongues. Suddenly there is pounding on the bathroom door and a chorus of cries and "mommy"s coming from the other side.

Mommy simply puts her hands over her ears, rocks back and forth, and poops as if nothing else is going on.

Five minutes later the cries and pounding are still going on, but mommy has finally had a successful bowl movement. She stands up, flushes, washes her hands, and slowly opens the door. The villans stop abruptly, look up at mommy, giggle, and run away.