Multiple personalities.

This post is going against my blogging identity.

You see, most of the blogs I'm familiar with are used for photos and updates on what current events people are doing or going through in life.

Me?

I use this as a creative writing outlet. An online journal, if you will. A way for me to take a break and let my words express all the twisted thoughts I regularly have that I find pant-shittingly-funny. It's a place where I can be myself and if I wanna say fuck, then by god, I'm gonna say fuck.

I like to share those same funny thoughts in a very light hearted, sarcastic, twisted, and I swear to GOD a very non-homicidal way. *I really do love my husband*

I'm comfortable not knowing how many followers of this blog I have because, to be honest, I get writers fright. I worry that my stories don't flow, or my grammar isn't correct, or that I sound like a big fat douche nozzle.

All valid concerns, really.

There are a few women writers on the interwebs that I crazily stock adore. Their humor, sarcasticness and laugh out LOUD blogs really inspire me to put all of my fucked up, crazy, random, funny thoughts into this blog. I totally get them and love them. One day I hope to aspire to be just like them. Only not just like them, because copy-catters are totally annoying and need to find their own god damn identity.

I don't plan on changing my blogging style, and to tell you the truth, some of my most foul, raunchy posts are the ones that have gotten some very flattering reviews.

So, without any further blabbering, I'd like post something a little out of the ordinary, but please stay tuned for future posts filled with profanity, ideas that make you question my judgement in general and very un-lady-like humor.

Keep on keepin' on bitches.

*One of my best friends, sister, soul mate, life partner, bffers took photos for my husband and I.

We really wanted some new photos for our home, considering the last photos we have had done were our engagement pictures 5.5 years ago back when I was 30 pounds lighter and Blonde.

I couldn't be more pleased with the way these turned out. There are plenty more but my patience is wearing thin with getting these photos to format correctly. They're a little out of order, I apologise. They're all amazing, nonetheless.

None of these images could have been possible without Rebellion Photo. She did an amazing job. One she should brag about for years to come and definitely one to be proud of. Thank you so much sissy. Best birthday-month-present ever.

I love you. *

I'm anxious for the back yard to get done so I'll have some place incognito to bury the husband

Me: "So, Since you're going golfing, AGAIN, the entire next weekend, when exactly do you think we could order sod?"

Husband: "I was planning on the weekend of your birthday"

Me: "Oh, really? Huh. Yeah, That's exactly how I pictured my birthday weekend."

Husband: "I can postpone it if you'd like"

Me: "Uh no. I think we've done enough postponing for procrastinators nationwide"

Husband: "No more complaining!"

Me: "Ugh. Whatever. It will never be done. No grass. No fence. No cleaned off patio. No NOTHING EVER! Humph. This is the worst birthday month I've ever had."

Husband: "You need to stop. You're being very powdy. Plus you only get a birthday weekend. You're being over dramatic."

Me: "I just want our personal FUCKING PARADISE to be paradiseish! Is that TOO MUCH TO ASK?! AND incase you didn't notice, which I'm sure you DIDN'T. My birthday falls on a fucking TUESDAY! Which means, I get two birthday weekends, minimum."

Husband: "Patience. 2 more weeks won't kill you."

Me: "By 2, I know you mean 10. And by the way, it's spelled pouty"

Husband: "The first of August is a good time frame"

Me: "You make me want to punch things."

Husband: "I just bring you back to reality and it sucks!"

Me: "Speaking of things that suck, I won't be. Until the yard is done. Wanna know what I call that?! MOTIVATION. I'm holding you to your stupid time frames, BY THE WAY"

This is text fighting at it's greatest, people.

Now I'm googling the definition of "Fuehrer" because that was his only reply.

And what the fuck, husband? You can spell Fuehrer but not pouty?

Jesus Christ.