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And no, on this one occasion, I am not talking about my hair complex. I’m talking about my apartment complex. Here is a list of all the reasons that I am counting down the days until we are no longer residents of an apartment community:

1. I’m all about dogs and everything, but those that howl and snap at my sweet Lola when I go to get the mail can be eliminated.

2. Speaking of the mail, I would rather not strike up a conversation about your shattered cheekbone while I’m trying to mentally tally my bills that I just plucked from my mail slot, sir.  And even though I’m sure it was an impressive story of testosterone and fury in the form of a bar fight over a bleached out, fake-tittied has-been, I’m not going to ask you to elaborate.  Oh, and thanks for saying you like my wiener. That’s such a hot pick up line around these parts.  Also, when you ask me which apartment I live in and I say that my HUSBAND (bold, capital, italicized and underlined!) and I live in THAT GENERAL VICINITY OVER THERE (while I wave my arms 360 degrees around my body), that would be your hint to back off.  I will blame your ignorance on the fact that you quite possibly have shards of your cheekbone wedged into your cerebral cortex, which if I am not horribly mistaken, is a critical piece of tissue  necessary for THINKING!

3.  DJ Casanova. Uh, yeah. That’s my neighbor. And he apparently LOVES to act like his pimped out Jeep is a turntable at around 2 am when he rolls in from hustlin’ hoes up in da club.

4. Smokers.  This time of year in Arizona, we are finally able to open our windows, turn off the A/C and breathe some fresh air.  Which means it’s finally cool enough for the smokers to congregate outside and suck ’em down in the comfort of a 70 degree day. So here I am trying to breathe MY air in MY office through MY open window and what do I breathe in except YOUR second hand smoke which has so thoughtfully wafted up from your smoking perch just below.  And now my office smells like smoke, and you KNOW that smell lingers. It’s no wonder you’re single and have to hang out by the mailbox to get someone to talk to you.

5. Work orders.  When the garage door is broken and I put in a work order for it to be fixed, I expect that to happen in a timely manner. Especially when the maintenance garage is literally 10 feet from my office window and it is often THEIR smoke that I am so lucky to inhale throughout the day.  What I DON’T expect is to wait 3 months and then finally abandon all hope that I will ever be able to use the number pad to access our garage again.

6.  Space. Rather, lack of space.

7.  Sound carries throughout the whole place.  For instance, when my Black Hawk of a washing machine takes off, it is as if I am actually camping out on a helipad, no matter where in the apartment I am stationed, because sound barriers? WHAT ARE THOSE!? Good thing I don’t have any shame whilst singing Gaga all day long at the top of my lungs.  Or Glee tunes. Or All I Want for Christmas is You.

I could go on, but I know I’m whining, and if you could see how cute and cozy my apartment is, you all would smack me upside the petty head.  And the reason I’m whining? Because since my birthday, all I’ve been able to think about what this.

And how on Thursday, our names will be on the title. SQUEE!!!


Today is my Mudder’s birfday.  HAPPY BIRFDAY MUDDERRRRR!!!!!

Isn’t she so cute in this picture???? Tan, happy, toned…. she is everything I hope I am when I’m her age… 29. Duh.

She’s my boss, my mom and my bff, for sure.

I love you so much, Mom. Happy 29th. Again.

Last weekend we took a highly anticipated and very awesome trip to Sedona, courtesy of our west-coast family (Aerobat’s web-savvy brother, his business partner and sweet wife, and very adorable bebe).  We love Sedona for how awesome, natural and beautiful it us, but it holds an extra special place in our hearts because it is where we took our first plane date EVER!  Go ahead: Awwww.

Anywhodeehoddie, we were in Sedona from Saturday to early Monday morning, and we stayed in a treetop overlook of a super quaint, lodgey resort right on the creek.  Among the many awesome things we experienced while we were there, I would have to say the super starry, black sky was amazing, and to have that loud creek right out our window made sleeping with the windows open a rare treat. Until we woke up with icicles growing out our noses, at which point the gas fireplace came in very handy and was another VERY welcomed treat.

Among some of our activities while we were there was a Pink Jeep tour which I still have bruises across my lap from.  Not kidding. I would show you, but skin pictures of laps border on inappropriate, and I’m sorry, you’re just going to have to take my word for it. To say the ride was awesome is a gross understatement.  I tried taking video in some of the more intense climbs, but they are so nauseating I’m afraid I will lose all of my readers (or at the very least, all of my readers will lose their lunches) if I post it. Again, you’ll need to take my word for it.

Check out some of the amazing scenery we got to take in, though. I swear I can smell the mountain air just looking at the pictures.

Thank you so much Max & Shannon… we had an awesome time!

This weekend, I am beyond ecstatic to announce that my parents will be visiting the Aerobat and I in our humble little crack-in-the-concrete apartment in Scottsdale.  SQUEE!!!!! I really just said that out loud. That is how excited I am.

I have an apartment to clean, a meal to prepare and sleep to get, but I wanted to let you all know that this weekend (for me at least, I don’t know about y’all’s plans) is going to kick some major southwestern ass. If only my husband will let us go on a Wild Wild West tour involving horses and cowboy hats… And {maybe if we’re lucky} some Native Americans dressed in feathers and animal skins. Just sayin’.

Now that it is finally Wednesday and my laundry is done, apartment clean, and I am officially overdue to be blogging about my weekend events, I think I’ll tell you about my weekend events. Never one to actually retell a story in a timely manner, you know. PSHAW! How pedestrian. Procrastination is way cooler.

This past weekend was my dad’s big 5-0 birthday. That’s right, my dad is a pup. Both my parents are pups, but my dad is younger than my mom (making her a Cougar, duh) so he is especially puppish, juvenile and eat-your-shoes annoying. Especially when he suspects that there will be a surprise party in his honor, which was HELLO, the very reason Stockton and I were flying our butts from Arizona to Indiana for 3 days.  He sniffed and sniffed and damn near drove my mom to the looney bin trying to figure out what was going on prior to the big day.  After some explosive arguments, from what I hear out here in AZ (no, literally, I could hear them screaming all the way from Indiana to Arizona), the secret appeared to be out, Dad knew and Mom was pissed. Woh wohhhh (anybody have any insight as to how to phonetically spell the noise that Charlie Brown’s teacher makes?!? Wah? Woh? Wohn?).

After the football game on Saturday (GO IRISH!) which was merely an all-day decoy for my dad so that Mom could put some finishing touches on the party, Dad arrived home with Stockton, Rob, Maddie + a friend, and I.


SCENE: Mom is standing inside the garage door with her hands on her hips. Looking uber bitchy. Feeling demonic and smug.

Mom: “Well, come on down, I have something to show you.” (Refering to the basement, which, long story short, is the root of all arguing in this scenario because thanks to some not-so-discreet furniture rearranging, Dad found out about the party. Durr.)

Dad: “Hold on, I have to unload my trunk.” (OMG! You are such a pain in the ass! You know there is something in that house for you and you would rather organize your garage!!!!!! AJ:JHL:GHK:DJHG:KHJG).

Finally finding their ways down the stairs to an empty basement, the scene continues.

Mom: “Well, this is what you get when you find out about your surprise party and tell me to bag the whole thing. Nothing but a bartender, because I was able to call all the guests and cancel, but the bartender was on contract, so we MIGHT AS WELL DRINK!” (O. M. W. Like, psycho, crazed, birthday-hater, beeyotch action right there).

Dad reluctantly reaches out to retrieve the scotch being handed to him by the bartender.  Looking around, his smirk of suspicion turns into a look of sadness and disappointment. And then. Then, these words came out of his mouth.

“You’re really weird.”

I ABOUT LOST ALL MY MARBLES RIGHT THEN AND THERE! For those of you who know my dad, you know that he has an arsenal full of one-liners that FAR surpass “You’re really weird” but thanks to the presence of the bartender and Maddie’s friend, he was able to stay g-rated.  But HOOOOOOO boy was it good for a stifled-don’t-give-anything-away-choke-on-your-beer laugh.

Mom: “Well, you might as well head upstairs and shower because we are still going out to dinner with our family.”

Dad, taking stairs 3 at a time, which epitomizes the feeling of PISSED OFF murmurs something equally g-rated and hilarious, and finds his way to the top of the stairs.

Fumble through a few more exchanges (all g-rated, thank god, he had clients there for goodness sakes) and Dad arrives at the mouth of the living room where 50 people are there to wish him a happy birthday.

Dad’s face said it all. He was a mixture of pissed/happy/coulda cried/dopey, as he often is when he reaches a certain point of deliriousness/50.  He looked 50, but only because there were that many people there with greeting cards about sagging butts and missing teeth with his name on them. And Dad, it couldn’t have been a better celebration.

Happy Birthday, Pup.  Our next segment of training with you in your new half century focuses on obedience.

Last Saturday, I experienced my very first taste of an Oktoberfest… celebration? Drinkebration? Boozebration?? You get my point.

We went to Tempe Town Lake (which is really more of a thirsty looking pit with some flies buzzing over stagnant puddles) with two of Mr. Aerobats friends, and drank the obligatory “Oktoberfest Brew Beer” and I officially ate my first brat with sauerkraut. Not as bad as I ever thought it would be.  But all I really wanted was one of those damn chicken stumps that look like the thigh of a Bedrock Dino-Chicken a la the Flintstones (ok they’re turkey drums, but Chicken Stump is a much more effective name when, as a two beer queer, you have reached your limit of German brews and your hunger is getting the best of you at a festival).  A festival where THEY DIDN’T EVEN HAVE ELEPHANT EARS, might I add!! Dumb Germans.

In an effort to continue the Boozebration, we headed up Mill Avenue, which is supposedly the hot spot for Arizonans looking to continue the Boozebration (on any given night, German festival notwithstanding) and HOOOO boy I haven’t seen that many freaks since my grandpa and dad took me to Key West when I was 18 and that guy with 16 nipple rings (on two nipples, he wasn’t THAT freaky) walked across a burning tight rope while coaching his girlfriend through a water-birth in a feeding trough right there in Mallory Square.

The good news is, thanks to Oktoberfest and Mill Avenue, I can officially cross ‘Listen to an African American Flautist Play Eagles Covers Dressed in Skin Tight Head to Toe Camouflage’ off my bucket list. And thank goodness, because I knew that would be a hard one to check off.

Some of you know that I own and operate my own business in the children’s textile manufacturing business.  In an attempt to come up with a fantastic Christmas charity that will bring hope to possibly thousands of individuals this Christmas, I have just launched the announcement of what I am called Operation Warm Christmas 2010.

Please click on the link to see what the mission is all about and how to participate, and feel free to share it with friends! If you, or someone you know, has been affected by a still birth or a premature birth, contact me to become an advocate for this project.  You will be sent print materials that you can distribute to friends, family, and acquaintances in the Preemie community.  If you are a nurse or hospital employee connected to a NICU that is in need of support this holiday season through our charity efforts, please contact me so I can add your hospital to our list of recipients.  If you are a blogger who would like to share the mission on your own blog, contact me and I will work with you to create a guest post for your audience.  If you just like pretty things or know someone with a baby or toddler who would enjoy a receiving blanket or play mat this holiday season, head on over to the website and purchase a blanket to make a donation possible.  With your help, we can make a difference this Christmas.

Remember: everyone deserves to be warm on Christmas, no matter their size or prognosis.

“I tell you the truth – whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me”  -Matthew 25:40

Last night was the worst night of my human existence.  To put it mildly.

The past several nights I have slept like crap due to what I assumed was just new-climate allergies or a mild cold.  Whatever the cause, I was tossing and turning each night for about 3 nights.  Last night confirmed what all the other nights were leading up to and what I will have confirmed by a certified physician in about 45 minutes: I think I have a sinus infection.
Not one to be melodramatic about things, I’ll shoot you straight. I thought my effing cheekbones were conspiring against me in a competition to see which one could detach itself from my face the fastest.  My forehead caught wind of the friendly competition and joined in, creating a trifecta of misery in my facial cavity.

Add to that waking up (from a 30 minute NAP at 3 am because, let’s be real, there wasn’t a WHOLE lot of sleeping going on between writhing and crying and waking Mr. Aerobat up to be miserable right along with me because WHAT IS MARRIAGE FOR IF NOT TO SHARE YOUR MISERY WITH YOUR HEALTHY SPOUSE!? But I digress) with a cold and slimy body, because what is a good illness without a sweat-caking fever to boot?? And hoooo boy, it was the most action our marriage bed has seen EVER!

Ever heard the joke “Does your face hurt, CAUSE IT’S KILLING ME!”? Well… I give you carte blanche to make face-killing comments to this post. In fact, consider that a challenge. Who can come up with the best face-killing joke, because I could use a laugh right about now!

*Please note: Do not, ever, under any circumstances (even while trying to find the perfect picture for your blog to truly emphasize your point) google the phrase “face exploding” in the images category. That’s free advice, but worth so, so much.*

WOW who would’ve thought starting out your first post on your new blog would take 20 minutes just to find the proper opening line and that ultimately the opening line would be “WOW who would’ve thought starting out your first post on your new blog would take 20 minutes just to find the proper opening line”?  HOW UTTERLY CATCHING!  Don’t you want to read more of this tantalizing literary delight?!

I hope you do choose to read more, because I have lots to say!  Sometimes pertaining to life’s daily happenings, often pertaining to my love/hate relationship with my hair, and periodically involving Mr. Aerobat (my high-flyin’ hubby) when he deems my blog content “internet appropriate”.  This would be because I often lack a filter, and yes, we have had that conversation where I wanted to blog about something (that may or may not have had something to do with him and a male habit involving scratching) which he abruptly put the kabosh on and taught me a thing or two about what should be published on Facebook and what is really better handled in the privacy of a real life adult conversation.  At the time, publishing my annoyance in a Facebook status update seemed like such an obvious choice to remedy the problem. NO I AM NOT PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE!  I’m learning, but I’ve only been married 6 weeks, so I get a flub period wherein I inadvertently piss him off and pick myself up and become a better wife.  So you may hear about the hubs, but only the awesome things, of which there are mucho many. And I promise to work on my filter, but only to the extent that the content of this site is still delectable and humorous.  So hubs, I can’t promise that I won’t rat you out for some of your delightful quirks.

Thanks for joining me in the sphere-o-blogs.  I promise not to disappoint!

Cupcakes and High Fives,


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July 2018
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