Natural Conversationalist

Have you ever met someone and thought to yourself ‘Holy shit does this bitch ever shut up?’ If the answer yes, then you most likely have met me. I’m a natural conversationalist, a gemini. I’m the obnoxious one at the grocery supermarket checkout line who takes forever because instead of hurrying to put my money in my wallet, I’m to busy talking to the person behind me about where they got their shoes, how I have a similar pair and a friend of a friends sister-in-law wore the same pair to a concert. YES, I am that person. I can talk and talk and talk; small talk, heart-to-heart talks, heated arguements; you name it I’ve mastered it.

I was the elementary schoo girl whom during parent-teacher conferences was described as being ‘smart but she talks a lot during lectures.’ I was the girl in junior high who got kicked out of class for talking while pretty much anyone else was talking. (You may call it rude, I call it if I don’t say it now it’ll haunt me forever and I’ll get a migraine. I was the girl in school put in the isolated corner because I talked to whoever was next to me. I was the girl who the priest stopped mass for because he could hear me going on about the latest hot gossip during the homily. I was the weird girl in college that randomly talked to the bypassers rushing to their next class. Now, I’m the girl that talks to strangers at the check-out line; apparently ‘don’t talk to strangers’ doesn’t apply to me. But the most relevant of it all is that my daughter has gotten this gift of gab from me… and let’s just say things get interesting.

When Your Daughter Becomes You





I always knew I wasn’t what society would refer to as the ‘typical mom’ but little did I realize just how far off I was. I am at a current state of confusion, anxiousness and desperation as my children slowly are turning into me. We all want the best for our kids and be the best examples for your kids, but what happens when your kids pick up your not so delightful habits because you can’t change everything that you are when you become a mom.

Don’t get me wrong, I am an insanely awesome human being and an even better mother but some of what I think is funny the ‘typical mom’ may not find so entertaining. I’m the mom that on a school field trip blurts out ‘who’s got the flask?’ I’m also the mom who screams while driving my 3 year old to pre-school, ‘mother-fucker get out of the way we’re late.’ So it should have been no surprise that when a car cut me off and grandpa in front of me was going 20 in a 45 my 3 year old in the back seat shouted ‘mother fucker.’ When questioned, my daughter’s response was ‘ mommy if you don’t say it then I have too!’

Yet, what really got me and made me realize my daughter has become me, was when she asked to play the song ‘and I’m stressed, yo Biggie let me get the vest.’ If you don’t listen to good music then you aren’t aware what I am referring too, but that is the Notorious B.I.G  song ‘Gimme the Loot’ in which my daughter requests.

Trust me, all of this is in so much innocence, because during a play date while watching a cartoon and I really wanna say ‘Bubble Guppies’ the cartoon asks, ‘what can we use when someone is bleeding?’ My daughter looks at her little friend and says, ‘my mommy uses a tampon!’

As much as a try to be a ‘typical mom’, I’m not a typical mom. I still hear from people from the past ‘OMG YOU’RE A MOM, HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!’ I laugh at inappropriate things, I scream mother-fucker in traffic and I tell my kids when other kids are being little assholes. But I am also teaching them real-life lessons.

It was at this exact moment that although my daughter may have picked up on my rambunctious flaws, I realized this isn’t such a baaaaad thing.

At a weekly birthday party (I can’t figure out if it’s me that is so popular or if it’s my kids that are so popular, that we get invited too a birthday party a week) a little boy was picking on my son; now my son is quiet, polite, gentle and sweet (the complete opposite of me and my daughter). As this little boy picked on my son, whom not to mention is older than my daughter, as I was about to intervene, I watched my daughter almost as if in slow-mo.. my daughter run and tackle the bully and scream in a high-pitched 3 year old little girl voice ‘ don’t touch my brother, as she tackled him to the ground.’

Never have I been so proud.

I’m Only Friends with Mom’s that Serve Wine at Birthday Parties


Birthday parties are huge celebrations, especially for moms. I’m one of those obnoxious people that get overly excited when it’s someone’s birthday. I mean come on! Another year you’re alive wtf else is there to celebrate. And for a mom it’s a celebration of the day you gave birth to an actual human being. My birthday’s in June, and for the entire month of June tis’ a ‘celebration’ and before kids it was a month long drunken fest. Trust me, I’m not one for cheap thrills, but what’s a party without a little added fun.. Isn’t that what makes it a party. I mean how else are you going to cheer someone up with an outdoor birthday party on a chance of a rainy day without the encouraging quote ‘well if it rains at least we’ve got champagne.’ (Hallmark should totally hire me)

Like I said before, I’m birthday excessive. I love when it’s my birthday but I love even more when it’s my friends and families birthdays. They are getting Facebook photo collages, Instagram, Twitter, mass texts to the hobbits not on social media with long passionate, full of inside jokes and tons of emojis quotes. Yeah, I’ve lost a lot of social media friends in my day. So, if I’m so passionate about the basic friend or family member you can only imagine my over zealousness when it comes to my children’s day of birth. The exact date I gave birth to a human being; whom I grew, nurtured and sheltered inside my body for 9 months and then who was cut out of my abdomen (csection survivor✊🏼), who I then cared for and who became the center of my universe. Yeah. I take my kids birthdays pretty seriously. Two cakes always. Day of birth and day of party. I go all out for my kids birthday parties down to the theme/costumes/precise detailing. They are typically diy (84% Pinterest failures) and pretty affordable. I spend hours searching for the perfect invitation, cake designing, do all nighters making center pieces and props and search the internet vigorously for the right place to hold my fuckin banger. I put all this work into the parties and by the day of the party,I’m ready to just fucking party. Naturally, since I did everything my husband is the host of the party while I linger around the open bar. It’s a celebration of my babes but also of looking at all my awesome fuckin work. So, I celebrate… And boy do I celebrate hard.

However, I can’t say it is just birthdays that I celebrate. I find a reason to party for ANYTHING. Special events, holidays, religious holidays (again, I went to catholic school for 14 years I’m allowed) anniversaries, momentous life events, minor life events …you name it. It’s super dope that I can find a party in anything, yet it’s not always super dope to party for everything. Trust me, before even blogging about my shenanigans I have come to terms, moved past and grown… Yet they still make me cringe like the word slacks (in reference to dress pants).

AND HERE *circus ring master voice* the top 5 most embarrassing drunken fiascos during important event:

5) Rounding out the top most embarrassing and shameful moments is Christmas 2007- ‘Santa, all I want for Christmas is for my parents not to realize I’m drunk’. 17 years old and just pouring cup after cup of home made wine. Well apparently no one ever told me home made red wine is stronger than Donald trump’s toupee glue because before I knew I it was fucking hammered. Trying to pretend I wasn’t, hiding away from my entire family. My give away was my cousin running out saying ‘she’s acting funny’ but I really can’t blame him considering I fell off the bed and fireman rolled into a nap. That’s the last thing I remember. That, and lots and lots of yelling.

4) New Years Eve, 2 years back… My husband and I threw a little party. Well alpha Milf is not the alpha drinking game opponent and therefore lost miserably at shot roulette, I was passed out on the couch 40 minutes into the party, never made it too midnight.

3) This past New Years was my husband and I’s first New Years since having kids able to go out. I was fucking pumped !!! Yeah.. A little too pumped. We got there at 8pm by 10:05pm I was puking and then sleeping. Again, didn’t make it too midnight.

2) For my first child’s 1st birthday party I went all out. The theme was all about him. 12 cakes each representing a picture of him, life size photos placed into a lit up frame assortment, tropical fish centerpieces, laser projector photo show, sushi, (probably not the wisest choice now thinking back to the fish being centerpieces). Well after a year of breastfeeding and not drinking since before I was pregnant…I drank. I drank so much I not only convinced the owner of the venue to hire me for job position but so drunk that I got pregnant with my daughter that night.

1) By the time my daughters first birthday came around I was already a vet at throwing parties. Her 1st birthday party was Alice and Wonderland themed. For a month I searched every thrift store, antique shoppe, online and yard sales for the perfect teacups and plates then I pulled 4 all nighters creating topsy turvy teacup centerpieces. They came out fucking perfect. (Thank you Pinterest) Minus the 14 that shattered on the floor. I found the perfect outfits for my husband, son, daughter and I (me, being the queen of hearts of course). This party took everything out of me and everything came out perfect! … From what I hear. I put so much into this party and I can’t even remember it because of how much I ‘enjoyed’ it. Apparently I made a speech… I also welcomed everyone there…oh and I requested biggie and danced with all the kids. I know all of this because of pictures… Thank God I at least made it to the end of the party. And made it by the end of the party I mean, I was so graciously carried out like the royalty that I am and tucked away into my bed. Right after puking all over my dads new car.


Baby Fat





Ever since I was a little girl,I guess you could say I was pretty chubby. At first, it was cute baby fat, but by 9-10 years old I really began gaining no height and strictly just width. By 12 I started hitting puberty, and well you know how that goes. My hips got wider, my flat tire got flatter ( not in the front of my abdomen, it was literally a flat tire under my shirt falling over my jeans. You can imagine the complex from the teenage boys and their stupid comments. This one time I was at a friends house and rumor got out that I ate 7 cupcakes in one sitting (it may or may not have been an actual rumor), the bully boys loved this story and my not so nice nickname became ‘cupcake’.  By high school, I grew like 2’inches so I thinned out by the tiniest bit but that only lasted for sophomore year. Then I got a little cocky, ate a little too much and gained some weight. Then it was time for college. Naturally, you would assume the freshman 15 was in my near future but a miracle happened and the Graces of God blessed me with a new passion for going to the gym. The gym was free and when everyone was going of course I was going. The weird thing was after a while, I really began enjoying it and started going alone and more often. I finally was getting my goal body. And this time I was not going to put the weight back on.

By the age of 19-20 my goal weight was finally made. I was loving it. For my 21st birthday I wore a tiny little white dress size small. 2 weeks later, I take a pregnancy test. Pregnant. 2 months later, I weighed more than the heaviest I’ve ever been. 2. Months. Later. Pregnant women should be gaining like 3-4ish pounds by the 26th week. I had already gaining 20. Let’s just say I was one of those pregnant women, who just totally indulged in the fact that I was pregnant and had an excuse to eat. And eat and eat and eat and eat. I craved a lot of birthday cake. A LOT of birthday cake. Gave birth at 198 pounds. My son was born at 6 pounds. Do you understand and how large I was. Thank God for breastfeeding and my mom’s soup or else I would have never gotten my body back.

By the time my son was about 13 months old I was back to a comfortable weight. 10 pounds heavier than my original weight but it was okay, I wasn’t having a complex. Then, what do you know. Feeling a little sick, take a pregnancy test, pregnant.

This time I did not indulge in my ridiculous pregnancy habits and I was chasing a toddler around, so I didn’t gain toooo much weight. But I did gain more than average.

After my daughter was about 4 months old I began going to the gym, then I started hitting the gym really hard. Not only was I peak body weight but I had muscles and was stronger than I’d ever been in my life. *fun fact: when I would run on the treadmill, ( I HATE RUNNING) I would imagine it was the apocalypse and I had to carry my children on my back but ran as fast as I could, I also used this method whole squatting. It is very effective*. Then I began hitting the gym with my best friend. Only problem there was she had to be in work at 8 am so going to the gym was only possible at 6am. 6 fucking am. All while waking up in the night with my daughter. Whatever, it was worth it and so gratifying by then end. Then I got really addicted and started doing 2 a days and going in the morning and at night. My body muscles were really starting to grow and I was losing weight. Peak goal weight.

Now I know you want me to end this with, I reached my goal weight so ya know the P word. But no worries, I didn’t jinx myself made sure before I wrote this blog. The truth is I’m not at peak weight anymore because I began going to the gym less and eating more. Don’t get me wrong I’m very comfortable just not goals.

if you made it this far into the oh sooo interesting anecdote of my fat girl complex; moral of the story is never hit goal weight, you will get pregnant.


P.S: My new goal has become to encourage my daughter, and son to love their bodies regardless of what society or what any body says. We’re all beautiful. Corny, yet true.






It wasn’t until I became a mother did I truly appreciate and feel the guilt of the worry and anguish I must have caused my parents as a teenager. As previously stated in other blogs; I was not a well behaved person from the ages of 13-19. Don’t get me wrong I wasn’t THAT bad, but I was a rebellious, sheltered private school kid who just wanted to have some fun. And unfortunately for my karma as a parent now, having fun meant defying my parents. It was literally for no reason, my parents were strict but they were your average strict; ‘don’t do drugs,’ ‘don’t get pregnant,’ (whoops) ‘don’t give into peer pressure, etc. They still very much allowed me to be a teenager, with the typical teenage enforced rules. I just had to break every rule set. It wasn’t that I was intentionally trying to piss my parents off, it was just that I didn’t like to hear the word no. So I found my way around it. That’s still one of my biggest personality characteristic. I also grew up as the youngest child, I was always trying to act older than I was. My parents favorite comeback line was ‘stop trying to act older than you are.’ Funny how, 10 years later I’m only 25 with a husband, 2 kids, a dog and a happy home. I’m already ahead of my time.

I didn’t truly comprehend the extent of my rebelliousness until after I had children. It almost seemed like the lifestyle was normal. I mean I’m just naturally a good time and that means I’m always trying to have fun. Between the ages of 13-19, I did everything I wasn’t supposed to do. Minus drugs. Drugs aren’t cool; hugs not drugs kids. Anyways, even as a teenager I was always trying to have a good time, even if my parents tried to turn down my party. It wasn’t just with my parents that I was rebellious and refused the word no. It was in school, sports, society…  The usual places for defiance.

I must have repressed my bad behaviors and really fun teenage days when I had my son, most likely to try and convince myself that I have always been the good, well behaved person I always wanted him to see me as. It wasn’t until I reminisced with my childhood best friends about our teenage days did I understand the fact that I am going to be royally titty fucked by karma when my kids become teenagers. I always knew the saying ‘your kid will be 10 times as bad as you were’ but I didn’t believe it. My son is sweet, shy, quiet and polite. It was when my daughter began talking and showing her personality that I realized… This was it, it was her. Two years old and she’s broken more rules in a day than some kids have at the age of 5. I’m scared. I’m very, very scared.

For your enjoyment and reading pleasure; I give to you 10 teenage anecdotes. I would say ‘top 10’ but they’re really just the first 10 I could think of.

  1. Dad buys me new car… Gives me rules ‘don’t go over the speed limit’, ‘no boys in the car’ ‘don’t drive in bad weather’ ‘don’t drive past curfew.’ The first night I drove my beloved first car to party at a friends house in January. It wasn’t baaaad weather, but it was icy, i guess. I left the party after at 11pm (you know my actual curfew), drove a male friend home and upon leaving the party accidentally slid on ice and hit a friends car (whom was driving his father’s car)
  2. Sophomore year of high school… Go to a local college party, cops show up, have to jump out a 2 story window.. And drive home past curfew.
  3. For some weird reason like every teenager who grew up in the early 2000s I went through a strange emo stage. Because of the sheltered private school girl that I was, I really could never perfect this look. Overly dramatic side bangs, that my mother actually forbid me to cut were just not a good look on me.The only good part about this stage in my life was the awesome music I discovered. Taking Back Sunday is still one of my favorite bands. Anyways, being the wannabe emo kid that I was, 2 girlfriends and I find out about a Say Anything concert I believe it was, about an hour away. Naturally, my mother said no for me to go. Naturally, I lied and said I was staying at a friends. But really I just extended the truth because I did stay at her house that night. Never, ever, ever thought she’d find out I went. She talks to my friends mom… And there ya go… I now get why having mom friends is so great.
  4. 13 years old get the coolest Nokia cell phone. ‘Emergency only’, ‘NO TEXT MESSAGING’… First month with the phone $350 of texting message fees.
  5. I was blessed and privileged enough to go to Europe my junior year of high school with my class. ‘No drinking’ was the number one rule. Guess who got drunk off of a blue mystery drink, a Mario and luigi in the face Italian waiter made me.
  6. Lucky for the hormones enraged teenager that I was one of my best friends had a twin brother, they both had friends sleep over. The older we got, the more fun it got. For obvious reasons, my parents were against the idea of me attending a sleepover birthday party where boys would be in the vicinity. For obvious reasons, I still went.
  7. 7th grade I really wanted to wax my eyebrows. My mother said I was too young. Coincidentally and very, very luckily one of my best friends had an ‘at home wax kit.’ Walked in her house with 2 eyebrows , walked out with 1.
  8. 17 years old, begged my dad to let me get my nose pierced, yeah… He said no, still got it. I held my hand in a fist over my nose before he noticed.
  9. Room was on the second floor, moms was on the first… I learned at a young age how to Magyver my way down 2 floors.
  10. ‘Don’t talk to strangers on MySpace’ *approves everyone that adds me*

Scheming at 13 does not ease my anxious thoughts of my two children becoming teenagers especially when I see so much of my personality in my daughter. Good thing, I’ve mastered how to play the game.


Mom…Dad: I get it; I’m sorry.



Shit Males Say

Disclaimer:* Phrases said in post are not direct quotes of my husband but males in general.*


Typically, I blog about being a mom; but today I’m going to blog about being a wife. Not really, just from a wife’s perspective. My husband is awesome, it really is like having a sleep over with your best friend every night. But like every pair of best friends… Conversations get weird and sometimes I’m almost astonished at the things that come out of his mouth. But it’s not just him. It’s like guys all say the same things.  Guys are always saying women use the same phrases and are all the same. ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I don’t feel good,’ ‘I just think it’s funny how…,’ ‘do whatever you want.’ You get it. But no ones ever discussing the shit guys say.

  1. ‘You’re crazy.’
  2. ‘No’
  3. ‘Can you make me a sandwich?’
  4. ‘I hate when you drive’
  5. ‘let me get some tongue’
  6. *talks for hours about whatever fucking sport is in season at the time*
  7. ‘Youre crazy’
  8. *Doesnt speak because vigilantly staring into the television playing madden*
  9. *3am..sleeping peacefully, back starts getting rubbed ‘baby, you awake’, accidentally gets poked in the rear end.
  10. ‘You’re crazy.’


Like my 5 favorite girls infamously said ‘girl power’ !

True Life: I Really Am a Cool Mom


Recently, several people have told me to ‘stop trying to be the cool mom’ but the truth is I’m not trying to be some cool mom. I’m just being my usual self but with my kids, I am sincerely just a better version of myself. Now, I’m no Kris Jenner or Mrs. George, Regina George’s mom (if you don’t know who that is we can’t be friends) I do have morals and values, specifically family values but at the same time I am pretty fucking cool; and I’m a damn good mom.

Although I want to say that being a young mother has helped me keep my fun personality while parenting two children; but recently I have met some older moms who are pretty damn cool, themselves. I guess it’s just who you are as a person; what your personal characteristics consist of. I can’t say I’ve stayed the same ‘fun’ as I have since having my children; but I can say that I have kept a lot of my youth all while maturing and becoming a more conscientious and hmmm let’s say a not so reckless me.

It really isn’t that I am intentionally trying to be such a cool mom, I’m just doing me. I dress my kids in skull shirts, Rasta hats, chuck Taylor’s, my sons hair is down to his shoulders and ridiculously curly, am I going to cut it? Sure, when he wants too. I’m not some crazy hippie; his hair just looks fucking awesome long. I let my kids write on the walls because I like the stories they make up while they draw. I secretly think it’s funny when my daughter puts her hand on her hip, points her finger and says ‘no, you stop.’ Or when my son screams he loves boobs while grabbing mine in the middle of the supermarket. I have a great sense of humor (clearly) but I know when to reprimand my children. Recently, my aunt from another country who doesn’t speak English was playing with my two year old daughter. Whatever my aunt was doing to my daughter, was pissing my daughter off. My daughter, as always, puts hand on waist, points fingers and says ‘you go home!’ We weren’t even at our house. Although very humorous… Also very rude and I refuse to raise a rude little biotch. So she was reprimanded for her behavior. I sit and play with my kids and have ridiculous dance parties. My kids love tiesto. We play hockey in the house and a trampoline plus a Thomas the Train roller coaster is currently taking over my living room. I bump Biggie and French Montana while driving my kids to karate and dance class; no not loud you judge mental bastards. But I also will sit and play patty-cake, the itsy bitsy spider and ring a round the rosy. I’ll play with play doh with my kids and make mustaches and big eye brows to put on their faces, and find it hilarious. Enough examples and scenarios, you get the point.

Every now and then my baby daddy (we’re married, I just think it’s funny to call him that)  go for a night out on the town; rarely do we make it a low key night, not quite sure why, since neither of us can make it past midnight. *(side note: second year in a row I didn’t make it to midnight on New Years Eve)*. Not sure why we always try and turn our night outs like we’re in fucking Vegas, but I’m assuming it has to do with the fact that neither of us really got to enjoy our early 20s the way our friends did. *(another fun side note: a friend once told me I am like Vegas in a bottle! Best compliment ever.)* Point is, we try and stay young and be fun but in the back of our minds we still have that ultra sense of responsibility. Like, instead of taking 19 shots at the bar we will only take like 10. Joking. Sort of.

My order of ideas of a fun good time have obviously been altered; for instance laying on my couch with my husband and kids watching a cute funny movie will beat in any boxing match k.o a night out, even if it’s Vegas.

One day, I’ll be in my 40s at a bar wishing I was at home snuggling with my once little babies. Trying not to blink my eyes too fast. Time really does fly.    }|{ <~– butterfly.