Where did it go?

And I don't mean my tan. I'm well aware where that went ~ directly into the dumpster, along with my razorblades, as soon as December reared it's pale holiday head.

I mean January! Pardon the clee-shay, because I'm fairly certain everyone is saying this today, but January flew by like Justin Bieber on his way to the harem pants sale. 

Whew, so speedy. Run, barely-of-age "rapper," run!

JB, I bet even in penguin pants, you look less awkward than me.

With February a-lurkin', today I'm linking up with Ashley @ Dancing with Ashley for a month-end "Favorite Things" post! 

January Warm-Fuzzies
1. I got to spend a whole weekend with my best friend. And it. was. awesome. Y'all read all about it, but a blog post can't convey my actual happies. Erin is like a sister to me {Sorry, Broseph, you're really cool, but you know I always wanted a seester, too.} and getting to spend even a day with her is truly like my soul's drug. Er, I love you so much!

2. As evidenced there ^, I love red roses. Almost more than I love puppy fat rolls, and that's a lot. 

I also love having an amazing Glenn Coco husband in my life who brings me no-reason roses on a Sunday afternoon.

3. Scale of 1-10, how dramatic is it to say "this toner has changed my life!"? Because that's real talk, y'all. And by life I mean skin, and by skin I mean I don't look like a walking allergic reaction anymore. I have annoyingly sensitive skin that always has one huge zit but then is dry everywhere else. Super cool and super treatable. False. Basically, get this toner. Screw the Vitamin E ~ I'm 99% certain it's made from angels' tears.

4. This stink-nugget is my favorite every month. I mean, that belly... How could I not?

If you've been around here longer than a hot sec, you know this Buggy is my child. But what you don't know is the way she wiggles up to me every day when we get home from work and the speech bubble above her head says, "I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE FOREVER. THANK GOD YOU CAME BACK!" Or that she's an excellent guard dog and fiercely loyal to Glenn and me. To. A. Fault.  Or that she's almost five years old but still has sweet puppy breath. Maybe she's born with it; maybe it's Buggalline.
5. You, you, you, you, and YOU. You wanna know a fun fact about Southern Living, Our Way? This bloggy blog doesn't have followers. Nope, not a single one. This blog has READERS. And readers are my favorite thing in this wide whole world. I laugh with y'all, I cry to y'all, I share the snarkiest most random shit with y'all, and yet you still stick around! I have readers who come hang out here every day, actually reading my ramblings and leaving sweet comments that make my heart go thump-thump. Readers, reading. It's novel, really. Thank you, from the bottom of my snark-spittin' heart  :)
6. Those things up thar are favey and all, but this miiiiight just be my biggest favorite this month: One of my best blog friends, Erin, took a huge leap of faith and started offering custom blog design! {Well, it was actually last month, but her success is INSANE and she's designing bloggy blogs left and right!} Y'all, this girl is good.  And she's about to be even better to one of you! First, check out her amazingness...

And then you tell me ~ would you like a custom blog design by Erin??? Whoa now, don't nod your head too hard, you're liable to turn into a bobble-head!
As y'all are well aware, Rafflecopter and I aren't exactly friends. So to enter this giveaway for a custom blog design, be a pal and:
1. Follow Erin's blog here; 2. Leave me a comment telling me the name of your blog and why you chose it! Please put your comment in the below format, so I know you wish to be entered into the giveaway... 
GIVEAWAY ENTRY. My blog's name is Southern Living, Our Way - I'm Southern but far from a Belle. I love sweet tea and fried chicken, but prefer being healthy to looking like Mama June. I hear "over yonder" slip out of my mouth often, but everyone tells me my Southern accent isn't even noticeable anymore {sadface}.  It's Southern, but it's done Our Way!
Ya see? Rafflecopter ain't got nothin' on me. Enter away, y'all! And be sure to head on over here to check out more of Erin's beautiful designs!
Giveaway will run through Monday, February 4th, at 8:00 p.m. Winner will be announced Tuesday, February 5th!

Hold on to your pantaloons...

Because it's Random Wednesday, y'all!
Also because we're obviously back in Little House on the Prairie, wherein people wear pantaloons on the daily.

My brain is about as put together this week as Britney Bitch circa 2007, so don't say I didn't warn you.

~       ~       ~
OK first, can we discuss Pretty Little Liars? If you don't watch PLL {or Pretty Little Sluts, as we call it in our house. Maybe that's mean. But definitely it's true.} I'm not sure I understand your existence, because it's the best acting on the Telly right now.

Ha, that's a joke. But regardless of how mediocre these ladies are at acting surprised {and happy. and in love. and sexually insatiable.}, I may or may not have big ol' girl crushes and treat Tuesday like a national holiday every single week. This season is ehhhhh at best, in that we haven't found out jack-shit. But then again, I guess that's pretty much every season, and I should stop expecting that Real A is just gonna walk out and be like "hey girl heyyyyyy" one of these days.
Also, I've been told by no less than five people that I look like Spencer. I'm so not seeing it, because sista-friend is hot to trot, and I'm not to not.
But, my girl crush rages on nonetheless.

Werk it, werk it!   ....Oh yeah, Spence, you too.

So besides drooling over Toby in his juvie hall do-rag last night {my campaign has started for Glenn to wear one. on the weekends, of course.} I spent last night psyching myself out for an appointment I have today with an ENT doc.

Fun fact about me: For the last two years ~ possibly more, because I've now been saying "two years" for about 5 months ~ I've had trouble hearing out of my right ear anywhere from 52-117% of the time. I had a bad sinus infection my senior year of college and since then my ear is all cloggy and my equilibrium is off and my breathing often echoes in my own head.
Just trust me when I say, breathing isn't so cool when you can hear yourself doing it. Soooo, hopefully this doctor can figure something out about why fluid decided its fave hangout club is in my inner ear.
I mean, my mom and I do have one theory. That we texted to each other at the exact. same. time.

And since there's not a single pretty way to transition from inner ear fluid to, well, anything, here's a transition........ end transition.

Southern Living, Our Way is now accepting sponsors!
After a lot of inquiries re: sponsorship opportunities on ze blog, I seem to have caught the colorful Passionfruit Bug. It's my mission in life to pimp out your blog, so I would be honored if you'd consider sponsoring my little slice of bloggy blog heaven.
Spots are limited so you get lots of lovin' and attention, and prices are cheap because, well, I seriously do just love y'all a lot. In less than 5 months, my baby blog has become a grown-up little lady, due in MAJOR part to amazing sponsorees who provided me wonderful opportunities. Now, it's my turn to do that for you! Clickity click click if you're interested!

And perhaps the most random thing of all today, is that I'm not only having a love affair with my Ninjy-chop blender, but also with mangoes. As in the fruit. As in, I ate one like an apple last night. {After slicing off the skin, of course, because there's about 1.84 million articles online about how mango skin is super fatal.} Are these even in season right now or was this thing likely faux-grown in a weirdo's kitchen windowsill?

Hey cutie, can I have yo numba? Can I have it? Pleeease?

Please tell me there's something normal about this situation.
Perhaps that a blogger took a selfie? I mean, that's totally normal.

And since my Shenanny Sami is off galavanting in the bellows of Tay-Has this week, being a fabulous Little Monster {and meeting Gangsta Lene and it's not even fair at all}, I'm guest posting over here today! The topic? Things Mean Girls taught me. Come on, you've gotta.

It'sa like-a... Judy-Chop!

If you can already tell me where my title is from, I applaud you and also invite you to be my best friend forever. My fellow Ninjita, if you will. 
We can even make bracelets!

However, if you have zero idea what I'm talking about, you need to watch this video before we continue. It's crucial to your existence and I promise you'll thank me.

Dead. Freakin'. Sexy.

OK, so, now that you're well-versed on how to throw your Skoal pack as a Ninjy star and also nunchuck a homie with an oh-so-harmless-looking gym class jumprope, we can continue.

As evidenced yesterday, I'm now old. Not old as in age ~ I'm 23, BeeTeeDubs ~ but old as in I don't mind a Saturday night filled with grocery shopping {and spongey spotted dick food} or a Monday night watching Jeopardy and screaming the answers like a maniac.

Oscar Wilde!

Smooth!

The South Side!

Shiiiiiit, I mean "What IS Oscar Wilde, Smooth, and ..... Ah forget it. Alex, you're creepy anyway."

Those things have all been yelled as I write this post. {I should note that we DVR the new Jeopardy every night, and this particular episode is from November 23rd. 2012. I just watched a JCPenney commercial about their Black Friday deals on orthopedic shoes. For real, it's like they know my life.} 

I guess it's also almost time I yell for my nightly Mylanta, because I'm obviously 23 going on dinnertime-at-4:30-p.m.

But I'm now also old in that we bought a new blender Sunday night and I may have actually skipped-to-my-lou as we left Bed Bath & Beyond.

Y'all, this pretty is now a tenant in my house.

So is the guy who gave me the dozen red roses back there.
For no reason besides that he's wonderful. 

I mean, I've gotta have something to blend up my beverage for Prune Juice Pong, right?

Last year, within months of each other, both our blender and our food processor got too drunk on veggies and permanently passed out. 

Stank motor. 

Weird noises.

Blades I was worried were gonna fly off and Judy-chop Holly's nubbins.

It's her best feature, really.  So she hides in my closet to protect it.

But when you're a health fanatic and addicted to pesto like we are, you can't go very long without a working ninjy-choppin' appliance. So we bit the bullet nunchuck and finally invested in one of these Diamond Daves, and I already couldn't be happier.

If you've had a bad experience with a Ninja blender, don't be an asshole and rain on my parade by telling me. Just let me enjoy this moment of pure blended bliss.

Oh hey cray hair day.

The single-serve cup alone blended a clusterfuck of fruits and ice cubes right before my eyes in 4 seconds flat. I actually counted.

It even has a dough setting. 

IT EVEN HAS A DOUGH SETTING.

After the Failed Cookie Recipe of 2012, I'm quite sure this nugget has reinstated my faith in life.

Also, this baby is exactly 2 horsepower, which I'm assuming is like Black Beauty: The Early Years, which I'm assuming means it's mane-blowing-in-the-breeze fabulous, which I'm assuming means I'm allowed to do Pantene-like twirls and model poses as I use it.

So basically, I'm having a love affair with a blender/food processor/dough-mixing-phenom. And Glenn isn't even mad about it, which is so sweet of him. His only comment so far was on the noise of the thing, which is about a HIGH out of 10. Last night when I made a baby smoothie, he yelled,

"Alexa, I told you not to use the chainsaw in the house!!!"

So, there's that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm about to go throw an entire watermelon in this thing and see what it can do. 

P.S. ~ I just found out National Margarita Day is February 22nd. Just so happens that's a Friday and just so happens I was already planning Bachelor-style all-day date with my pillow the next day.  This purchase is become more serendipitous by the minute.
Ninjita, out.

I may or may not be an "adult"...

...in that weekends like this one make me do smiles.

Not that last weekend wasn't a blasty-blast, because it was. And it was drunken, and it was all my college self dreamed my post-grade life would be ~ still cool with a touch of alcoholism.

But this weekend, we relaxed and cleaned and cooked and wore pajamas a lot. And as ashamed as I am to admit it, it made my little heart go pitta-patta.

Actually, my weekend kinda sorta started on Thursday night, because I had a blate with two amaaaaazing fellow Charlotte bloggers! Y'all saw where I met Shug {Beth} a couple weeks ago and took exactly zero pictures, but this time we remembered to awkwardly ask the hostess to take one so there's proof we both exist and aren't Catfishin' each other. {Shug's on the right}

And in case you're wondering who the other adorable chica is, that's Meredith and she's engaged and we got to talk wedding for basically the whole meal, and it made me sappy-happy  :)

I was just a weeeee excited pre-blate.

And so now back to our regularly scheduled programming about a boring married couple... 

Ya see, sometimes Glenn and I do have big weekend events on the books, and this weekend was supposed to be filled with some of 'em. Friday night we were gonna go out with some friends to a Brazilian steakhouse downtown {I get feeeeesh, duh} where we'd eat our body weight in food and go home complaining that we're so full and act like total bitches even though Mom always said there's starving kids in Africa.

Excepppppt, the Weather Channel had his own plans. A-hole.

ughhh,fuckmesideways.

So neato. And if you know the South, you know that down here we don't know jack-shit about driving in snow flurries, let alone ice and sleet. Being a former Yank {Have I mentioned how glad I am I converted him? It might be the proudest moment of my life.}, Glenn knew he could drive in it, but he didn't trust the other people on the road who would be on their way to Food Lion for milk, bread, eggs, and lantern batteries. 

On that note, why are these the things we stock up on when we think there'll be snow? THE POWER IS GONNA GO OFF, THEREFORE DISABLING YOUR FRIDGEDAIRE. 

So instead, our Friday night was this+a movie.

Have I mentioned that I don't even like pizza, I just like the toppings? For real, give me a slice of cheese pizza and I'll happily pass, but give me anything covered in a weird assortment of veggies, and it's like I'm now the starving kid in Africa, all scarfy-nommy.

Our Saturday was equally exciting in that Glenn went to the bar to get dinner and beers, while I went to Target and did grocery shopping {aka - spent my whole paycheck on toiletries I don't need}. Really, we party harder than Katy Perry in a relationship with pre-yoga Russell Brand.

It was exciting that apparently the staff at Buffalo Wild Wings now knows Glenn, meaning by association they know me, meaning by association I might get free beers.

He gets many more candy canes than Gretchen Wieners.

Y'all, tipping well is just the right thing to do. I was raised to tip well, as was Glenn, and as a couple we are always very generous to our servers when we go out to eat. Really, I will gladly tip you 35% or more. Unless of course you're in the foulest of moods, treat me like a nuisance when I ask for silverware {how dare I not want to eat my mashed potatoes with my fingertips}, and I suspect your may or may not have dipped the tip of your wiener in my fettucine alfredo.

In that case, you might get -7% and also a little present in the mail from me.

Oh look, honey, it's MICROWAVEABLE! Thank heavens for modern conveniences.
Also, this makes me hate the world.

Seriously, people, this is a thing. On the grocery store shelf. Two miles from my house. Comforting.

This post is going nowhere besides the fact that I feel you truly care about my boring weekends, as well as me opening your eyes to things like alfredo-sauce-dipped wiener and spotted dick sponge pudding. Excuse me while I clean up my projectile vomit.

But, I'd bet your bottom dollar this is the only post today in which you'll find those two lovely subjects.

Snaps for me.

And snaps for you if you can count the number of times this post says "wiener." It's a true phenomenon they've allowed me to keep this blog public.

P.S. ~ Big things are happening on the bloggy blog this week, so y'all come back now, yahear?

Sundee Social

If you're Southern, you'll understand Sundee. If not, bless your heart.

What is your ideal way to relax?
Putting on the comfiest pajama pants I own {they're fleece and have Labradors all over them... I know I just shocked your face off} and sinking into the couch with some hot tea ~ is it totally obvious I'm trapped in an 84-year-old's body?
Bonus points if Hollybug is lying at my feet relaxing, too  :)

Where is your favorite place to be?
Since 2011, Glenn and I have had some super shitty rental/living experiences, and now, for the first time, are living in a house we absolutely LOVE, so I actually crave being home with the loves of my life. Specifically, I love our big ol' comfy King bed on weekend mornings.

Who do you consider your biggest role model?
That I know in real life: my grandmother, Gran. She's the strongest woman I've ever met and she's still grabbing life by the horns every single day, no matter what obstacles have been thrown at her.
That I wish I knew in real life: Ellen DeGeneres. Seriously, she's just the most amazing person.

What does your life look like in 3 years?
In a perfect world, I'm Mommy to a little bean who I'm lucky enough to hang out with as a SAHM every day, and Glenn's the sexiest dad in the entire world!

If you could go back and change one decision, what would it be?
For a while I would've said Glenn and I would've eloped! because wedding planning wasn't something I thought I could do, but turns out I was a pretty relaxed bride {read: thank god for my amazing wedding planner} and 5/12/12 was the party of a lifetime!

What is your biggest accomplishment in life thus far?
Keeping this bloggy blog alive! For years, I was too scared/self-conscious to even start a blog, though I stalked tons, and I'm so glad I bit the bullet {with a leeeeetle push from my mom and Glenn} and just started writing. I've met the most incredible women whom I'm so lucky to call my friends and I'm ridiculously happy to come to this space every day and connect with y'all! Basically, thanks for being awesome.

We have fun around here, y'all. If you're new, I hope you'll grab a drink and stay a while!   {Honeymoon 2012}

Just Letter Be

Happy Friday, y'all!

Today I'm co-hosting a linky-doodle-do with Lisette @ Northern Belle Diaries for Week 1 in the series "Letters to My Former Single Self"! This week's questions are 

What did you think about dating and relationships when you were little? 

and 

What do you think about them now? 

{Also see Friday Letters at bottom of post.}

Welp, it's a doozie, but there are definitely a few differences in my lovergirl thought process between the time I was Prez of The Pigtail Playhouse and my now-married, "grown-up" self. 

{Numero Uno of which is: Growing up sucks, but you don't realize that 'til it's too late. Coo Hwip.}

First of all, little Lex, you were adorable.

Hi, Piglet {and on into the pre-teen years},
Grown-up Alexa here, poppin' in to let you know not to trust Disney movies. For real, it's that simple. They'll hype up every notion you have of what romance is supposed to be like, and when you live in a ranch-style instead of a castle, you're gonna be a teense disappointed.

You expect that when your Prince delicately kisses you, little lovebirds are going to string satin banners around your heads and shower you in flower petals.
Reality is that sometimes kisses mean morning breath and teeth bumping; too much tongue or not enough tongue. Disney characters don't have saliva... humans do.

You expect that every boy you like will hold the restaurant door for you on dates, pull your chair out at the table, and open the car door so you can coyly enter without flashing the whole parking lot your hoo-ha.
Reality is you're a Southern belle, so you should expect this! Your Pa still does it for Mimi, your Dad still does it for your Mom, and damnit you better marry a man who will always do it for you!

Plus, you've got your hands full with double Easter baskets.
It's called "practicing for shopping." Someone's gotta help ya out! 

You expect your man will have one of those plastic "credit card" things that he uses to take you on lavish vacations around the world and y'all will relax romantically on the beaches of Fiji.
Reality is lazy weekends at home, cuddling on the couch and catching up on your DVR, are often far better than sand in your ass on the beach and chasing seagulls away from your sandwich. {You're terrified of birds, remember?}

You expect that you'll never fight with your significant other, like ever.
Reality is wise up, kid! Fighting is an essential part of any serious relationship, and everyone does it. EV-ER-Y-ONE. And don't let them tell you differently, because if they say they don't fight, they're lying.
The key is to fight well ~ fight about the issue at hand, and then drop that shit like a hot potta grease. Fight about the present and then move on to the future.

Chica, you'll learn a lot in the eighteen years before you meet your husband-to-be. And then in the 2.5 years he's your boyfriend, you'll learn even more. Then the almost 2.5 years you're engaged? WHOA, those life lessons are about to knock you square in the nose like a punch.
Take them to heart and let them shape you.

Because that day you marry the love of your life ~ Everything, and I mean everything was worth waiting for that "I now pronounce you husband and wife" moment.

It may not be Disney's kind of magic, but fairy dust is totally overrated and I hear it can give you Pink Eye.
~       ~       ~
And now I've gotta do a quick link-up with The Sweet Season+Friday Letters, because I have a SUPER important letter I must write to someone besides my toddler self today...

Dear Belly Button: We need to talk. Although it's gonna be a very one-sided conversation, considering I need to apologize to you and you need to just sit back, listen, and forgive me.
No, this isn't about the piercing thing again, the one that left a permanent little hole above your existence. I still miss my dangly bling and wish I hadn't gone all "I'm grown up now" that night and taken it out. No, no, no, this apology is about yesterday...
AND HOW I GOT CRUMBS IN YOU.

Like, this shit happens in my life, y'all. I've told you before that it's a big awkward clusterfuck of ridiculousness around here, and you didn't believe me, but now you have no choice. On Thursday, January 24, 2013, at approximately 8:07 a.m., I got crumbs in my belly button. Crumbs that were subsequently stuck there for two hours and I had no flipping idea. Ya see, yesterday morning, I ate a "Jammy Sammy" for a breakfast snack, which is like a healthy, organic, kiddie version of Nutri-Grain bars. AKA - crumbly as shit. I ate it standing up, naked, in my bathroom, as I got ready for work. And as I fed myself, apparently my belly button got its own little set of noms for the day. You're welcome, weird, now-useless wannabe hole in my abdomen.

That's really all there is to the story, besides my everlasting puzzlement as to how Jammy Sammy crumbs ended up in my B-squared.
There's a picture I took, just for posterity's sake, in case one day I become a spokesperson for warning others about the crumby dangers of Jammy Sammies, but you don't get the pleasure of viewing that today.
Also, I told Erin this short n sweet story yesterday, and her response was that she about pooped her pants laughing so hard. So, there's that.
Glad my BB woes can entertain the masses  :)
~       ~       ~

Next week's Letters to My Former Single Self link-up question:

What did you think about dating and marriage the year before you met "the one?"

Rules:

Grab a button

<a href="http://www.northernbellediaries.com/2013/01/letters-to-my-former-single-self.html"><img border="0" src="http://i1276.photobucket.com/albums/y469/NBelleCreations/Buttons/letters_zps92bbdd0d.png" width="200"/></a>

Thanky!

It's Thursday {Yo, Captain Obvious, wazzup!}, so let's do a little thankin', shall we?

1. I'm insanely thankful for every single reader of this little ol' bloggy blog! Y'all left the sweetest comments on yesterday's post, and even made me feel OK about my Chairperson position on the Itty Bitty Titty Committee {Some of you are lifetime members, too ~ who knew?!} and the squawky stems that carry my little body around.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, for being so awesome and putting up with my crazy  :)

2. Thanks to everyone who voted for Mr. Moose in the CH2 Magazine photo contest! He's eternally grateful.

And oh so handsome!

Unfortunately, Mooshu didn't take the top prize this year. They haven't tallied the final votes, but I believe he lost out to a huge and stately Great Dane named Milo ~ I guess it's true: SIZE DOES MATTER.

In Moose's defense, Milo's male model pic was him standing so statuesquely on the sunny beach with a scarf wrapped around his neck. Clearly channeling Bachelor Sean.

And remember how I promised that of those lovelies who voted, I'd choose one lucky winner for a $10 Petsmart/Petco gift card?

Congrats to Sarah & Floyd!!! I know Floyd's stumpy paws are the ones that clicked "Like," because he runs the TBC household, so pick him out something nice, Mama! {Be on the lookout for an email from me soon.}

3. Thank you, Glenn, for being a hot husband. Seriously, we're gonna make model babies one day, all thanks to you.

Behind-the-scenes of our relationship: As a joke, I always tell Glenn he's "the best husband I've ever had!" I don't know how it started, I think I was out of it one day and he cutely asked, "Am I a good husband?"
Well, he is, and if someone were to cook me a meal and ask if it was good, I'd say something like "Best salmon I've ever had!"
So I guess that just felt fitting in the husby sitch, too.
Orrrrrr I'm just a total weirdo. Perhaps... yes, that's it.

4. Ellen DeGeneres, thanks for existing and inspiring!
Seriously, y'all, Ellen is my idol and I look up to her more than I do most role models in my life {except for you, Mom, because you're the bestest!}.
I DVR Ellen's show every afternoon and watch it right when I get home from work, while cooking dinner. 97% of the time she makes me laugh so hard I cry, the other 3% of the time she makes me cry so hard I laugh.
Never have I seen a person so giving and willing to help others to ensure she leaves this world a better place. She's comfortable in her own skin and I've learned more life lessons from her than anything a professor could've taught me.

She's also GORGEOUS! Prettiest baby blues I've ever seen.

5. This week especially, I'm thankful to know there are still bloggers out there who aren't in this hobby for the giveaways, the follower count, and the "name in lights" effect. I'm even more thankful I get to call some of these ladies my close friends.
I don't know about you, but I started blogging because {1} I'm a writer at heart and work out my stresses via tap-tap-tappin' on the keyboard, and {2} I was lonely in this big new city, with my husband as my only friend {although he is THE BEST friend ever!}, and hoped blogging might make me feel connected to something, anything.
Good lord, has it! Though non-bloggers probably feel it's bizarre ~ for example, my mom recently asked if I knew what Catfishin' was, and to be necessarily wary ~ the friendships I've formed with ladies I've never met in person are unbelievable and have fulfilled me more than I ever thought possible.
Thank you, friends. You know who you are.

6. Every day, I'm thankful for this nugget who calls me Mommy.
{Yes, she totally talks and actually says, "Mommy." Don't doubt me.

Studies show that pets can help us live longer, happier lives, and if that's all I ever learn from science, I'm all set, because I know it's fact. Bug doesn't care if I've washed my hair, am wearing the same pajamas for 7 nights straight, or am a cranky bitch from a bad day at work.
She nuzzles that cold wet nose into me and I absolutely melt, and am certain I'll have her to thank for when I'm super old and crazy and raising hell in the nursing home.
I can see it now: "Wet nightgown contest, anyone?!  What about some medicine cup pong? Woohooooo!"

And if you're reading this, thank you. My life is more full right now than it's ever been, and I feel blessed, healthy, happy, and whole. That fulfillment is thanks in large part to sweet readers who lift me up daily and remind me that LIFE IS GOOD!

In the words of Ellen,
Be kind to one another.

Wanna Hug It Out?

Or perhaps an embrace, if you will.

And today we're not talkin' about embracing your "hubs" or yo mamma or that weird lady at church who wants to "give ya some shugaa."

Instead we're gonna chit-chat about our "flaws." Those bitchy little things that nobody wants to talk about, but eventually you've gotta just look 'em in the face and say,

"SCREW OFF. My hair may be frizzy and my knees bony, but my mom thinks I'm cool!"

And now that I mentioned it, let's talk about the first flaw that I've finally come to embrace in my life.

I was born with cool, fine, straight hair, but circa 2003, hormones said hey girl heyyy and kinked my shit UP, with a lotta bitta frizz for good measure.

Wasn't hair in my armpits and no-no zone enough? Oh noooo, you had to go messin' with my luscious mane, too. 

Engagement pics ~ my hair started completely straight.
Then face curls made their awkward appearance...

And so I did what any 14-year-old in the new millenium would do ~ I bought an ionic hairdryer, a Chi straightener, and started waking up an hour earlier so I could fry the shit out of my hair on the daily. The oh-so-worth-it {sarcasm} work took my hair from this... 

100% au naturale

To this...

Sleek and long, sure.
Worth the arm pain and the sweat and tears and hair all over the shower walls because it was D-E-D dead?
I mean, not quite.

So in the last few years, I decided it just wasn't worth it and I started being a wavy-haired crunchy granola girl {sans dreadlocks}. And the first time Glenn saw me with my hair curly?

HE. FLIPPED. In a good way and thought my naturally wavy mane was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
WABAM. More air-drying it is!

My legs resemble poultry and it's emburrrrassing.
Or at least it was. Y'all, I've got chicken legs.

As noted here, I tip the scales at a whopping 98-100 lbs., and that's after Thanksgiving dinner. So, naturally, my body fat is about as low as the chance that J.Simps and Hottie Lachey are gonna get back together {I'm still crying about it... Nick, she knows it's tuna now; will you please take her back?}

I was always self conscious about my scrawny legs, and got snarky comments about it all the time when I was a cheerleader in middle and high school, wearing a shorty skirt.

"You're liable to snap in half like a twig!"
"They're so long and skeeeeeeny!"
I'm not mentioning your stumps-for-legs; so wtf?

But then one day I realized ~ my thighs have never freaking touched. Meaning they don't chafe. Meaning life is pretty awesome and my legs are kinda cool when they're bony and you can see all the veins. Yum.

So, thanks, Mom and Dad, for the great genes and the Chafeless Lifestyle. I'm really enjoying living it!

And back to how Glenn is the best guy in the world ~ he's not a boob or ass man... He's a leg guy. Bow chicka wow-wow.

And speaking of boobies...
Because when aren't we speaking of boobies?

I'm about as blessed in the chest as Chaz Bono. Maybe less.
Definitely less.

Weeeetle theengs.

Actually, this may be something I never fully embrace, but at least I know I can always get hilarious looks when I take a 34DD back to the fitting room and ask the clerk if it comes in a bigger size, just in case.

Also, my back and shoulders feel just fine, thanks.  :)

I have moles, but I'm not MOLEY MOLEY MOLEY MOLEY.
I actually hate the word mole, because it sounds hairy and that's gross.

I was born with a little freckle front and center on my nose that has grown as I've grown and is now two tiny moles side by side.

I used to despise it.
Makeup artists have actually tried to wipe it off.
Dermatologists have suggested I remove it, "but insurance won't cover it because it's strictly cosmetic." Then why are you being a bitch about it?
Sometimes my glasses irritate it if I've been wearing them for too long.

But then my senior year of high school, I had senior portraits taken. Now, those airbrushed things never look just like you, I know that.
I mean, I wasn't ashamed to ask them to erase my stray eyebrow hairs and touch up that monster zit that made a surprise visit.

But something about the picture we received just wasn't Alexa. And it took quite a few looks for Mom and I to realize ~ they'd edited out my nose freckles MOLES. That picture now hangs in the upstairs hallway of my parents' house, and likely forever will, and every time I look at it I'll touch my little brownie and remind it that I love it and want it to stick around.

When we got that portrait back, I decided I was gonna own this imperfection, along with all of those other things that seem so big to us too often, but really, we're the only ones who notice them and give two shits.
{I also happen to have a blue ~ yes, blue ~ freckle on my ear and every doctor who's ever seen it asks if I've had it checked and/or want it removed. No thanks, in my head I'm like an anomaly and I'd like to keep it that way.}

So ladies, what flaws have you embraced instead of erased?
Even if one of your boobies is a C and the other is a AA, I'll still love ya!
I just won't send you a Victoria's Secret gift card for your birthday, because I'm not that cruel.

And that's a fact!

First and foremostly, if y'all don't know my Wino Whit, meet her now, because she's awesome. Secondly, if Whitney says Link up, I say Send me some HTML, biatch. Similar to how when she says Yoga pants and wine, I say How tight and fill 'er up.
It's just that I kinda love her. So when she suggested this great "The Facts of Me" link-up, where we blawgers jot down random shit about ourselves that we presumptuously think people care about, I was all aboard faster than I was on the Hot Mess Express this weekend! Choo chooooooo!
Y'all, prepare yourself to be hit with some factoids of epic proportion. I'm TERRIFIED of birds Sad, hilarious, and awful all wrapped into one. I got chased by a goose when I was three, and then had a bad encounter with our national Wingman when I was seven-ish. Recipe for disaster. Birds are twitchy and unpredictable, the smell of wet feathers is nauseating, and their beady eyes make me wanna punch something. And then they also wanna take my food, and Alexa just doesn't share noms. Once at Disney World, a bird swooped near our table and I almost spilled my entire beer across the table ~ directly onto my MIL's lap... Screw you, avian assholes.
Insomnia is a total bitch, who happens to really like hanging out with me. I'm pretty sure she and Ambien are in cahoots, and I'm trying to break up their friendship, STAT.
I'm ridiculously proud to have my B.A. in English Lit. And I'll call you and yo mamma out on grammar all day errr day.

Nerd alert.

I don't use any makeup or products that have been tested on animals. Burt's Bees, Yes To Carrots, and Paul Mitchell are a few of my favorite "kind" brands. I made the decision to switch to all cruelty-free products last year after seeing article after article about animal testing labs {If you have a weak stomach and a big heart, just take my word for it. The pictures hurt my soul.} and not being able to fathom contributing to such a practice.  My Buggins appreciates it, too!  :)

"Gracias, Mommy! I give kisses as thanks." Also, she speaks Spanish?

I hate costumed "people." I was once so scared of the mall Easter Bunny that I escaped my Mimi's clutches and hid in the clothing racks of the nearest JCPenney, shaking like a cray leaf. I also wrapped my four-year-old self around the under-table pole, stripper style, at Chuck E. Cheese's once, because that mouse is more terrifying than Michelle Obama's eyebrows.
I'm extremely routine-oriented. I can't get into bed unless I've gone through my whole nightly routine. Even when I'm wastey-facestey, I still somehow pull my shit together and wash off my makeup. Crusty morning eyes ain't so hot.
On that note, I gag at the word "crusty." But not as much as I cringe at the word "panties." And don't even get me started on MOIST. Excuse me while I go vomit up my meals from the past five days.
I'm a closet adrenaline junkie. Skydiving will happen before I pop bambinos out of my hoo-ha, and I also wanna drive 200 mph on the German autobahn in a sleek car I could never afford. Like, ever.
I'm obsessed with my teeth. I drink everything through straws in order to keep my pearlies white. And I also have receding gums and sensitive toofies, so I treat them like they're worth a million bucks.

I also always wear a hair tie on my wrist, so I guess I'm in middle school.

My biggest pet peeve is bad breath. If that can even be considered a pet peeve. But I just find it disgusting and don't understand how someone can't know they have ass stench coming from their mouth. If I'm around a person with bad breath, I chew tons of gum in hopes that it will {1} give them the hint, and {2} somehow put me in a minty-fresh bubble of stank protection! Go, Go, Gadget Listerine!
I like tattoos, A LOT. Glenn actually calls me Kat Von D. I have 4 tattoos and promised him I was done for almost ever... But I'm always coming up with new ideas.
My natural hair is wavy and has a brain of its own. My super thick hair was straight my entire life until I turned 14, and then it got these awkward random waves that have since taken up permanent residence on my cabeza. Thanks, hormones. But I hate straightening my hair, so it dries naturally more often than not. I just don't usually let the paparazzi take my picture then.

Not wavy, not straight. Just messaaaay.

I was a super awkward kiddo. When I was 10, I went through a phase where I cut my hair into an earlobe-length bob and I wore mid-calf socks that I walked around pulling up constantly. It's truly a wonder I ever made it to prom.

Disney World, because I needed to send my costume phobia into overdrive. Pre-haircut, but check the socks at the bottom. And that sexy belly-button-high short I'm sporting... Oh, yes'm. 
My dream job is to become a Professional Dog Trainer. Victoria Stillwell is my girly crush, because she's just so amazing. I love dogs more than I love humans {except you, Glenn, I promise ;)} and would love to work with them one day.  Realistically, I'll have my own training business and train family dawgy dawgs. But ideally, I dream about training K-9 Unit police dogs, service dogs {seeing-eye, seizure alert, Autism assistance, etc.}, and therapy dogs that visit nursing homes and hospitals.
Is your randomness detector beeping like crazy right about now? Ding ding ding ding ding.
Also linking up with Gangsta Lene and Tell Me About It Tuesday  :)

Mungover Monday

Is that a thing? I feel certain a play-on-words about an overall weekend hangover is something we can make a thing, y'all.

Not only am I hating being back to work today and dealing with "real life" because my weekend was sock-rockin', but it's technically a holiday and I'm technically still working 8:30-5:00... whadafuuuuuk? 

I mean, the angry Postal Service workers get to sleep in today, why can't a sweet-but-tired Marketing Director do the same thing?!  

Ah well, c'est la vi.

But back to that awesome weekend, about which many of you were likely already updated via Instantagrammer. AKA - I posted a few pictures involving alcohol, which is basically a summary of the entire weekend. Just my style.  :)

Really, I was only answering the very imperative question City High asked when I was a youngster...

What would you do..... If your garage beer fridge looked like this?

Drinky drinky, of course!

Relaxing Saturday a.m., mimosas in hand bright and early!

And then shenanigans like this happened, starting at 4:30...

Which led to further shenannies, such as Glenn giving us a little reenactment.

Drop it low, baby, drop it so low.

I took super duper cute selfies, so there's that.

And then moved on to photoshooting my dog, which is totally crazy dog lady behavior normal.

 And all those sillies lead to business like this the next morning.

Best hangover cure ever, and finding beer pong balls in odd places, like the tea basket. Standard.

And then I give you, the reason there are rarely pictures of Erin and me together... Most turn out like the left.

And then the three-fingered gang sign was a "W, because we won beer pong!!!"
Yes, Sunday Funday indeed.

In summation today, kids, we learned that every once in a while, Alexa likes to celebrate weekends in a way about which her mother would not be proud.
Except she probably would, because my mom is kinda ridiculously awesome.

What's that thing the cool tool kids are saying these days?
Right... YOLO.