Facebook Costs Me $1200 A Month. What?!

I’m the first to admit, I spend way too much of my day on Facebook. I mean, who can argue it’s not a gigantic waste of time? Will my life really be changed dramatically if I don't see Betty is in a "relationship but it's complicated" or Bobby is having steak tips for dinner (complete with a picture of them cooking on his brand new Weber grill he's searching for an excuse to show off to his FB "friends")?

No, it won't. But, I still log on multiple times a day.

The fact my iPhone quickly and easily connects to it only makes my addiction worse and Heaven forbid I forget my phone and can’t immediately see my email or Facebook account. Oh. Em. Gee!

I start jonesin’ like I’m a Crack Momma without her juice.

Side Note: Ok, I have NO idea what they call it…but juice sounded pretty good. No? Maybe it would be better to say, I start jonesin’ like a toddler without her sippy cup. Not even close? Ok, I give up. The truth is, I will never know what they call it because even Tylenol gives me the Heebie-Jeebies, I only take antibiotics if I’m half-dead and you can FORGET about trying to get me to take a flu shot. Hmph.

Back to the point of my blog…I get sidetracked so easily. I’m always leaving things cooking on the stove and getting side tracked doing laundry or something else, only to find Hubbit has finished dinner without me even remembering I was cooking. He’s so great like that. Ya know, great at keeping the house from catching on fire and all that good stuff? I wonder if Alzheimer’s can start at age twenty-ten. Hmm.

Ok, you catch my drift, right?

Anyhow…

It’s great Facebook is free and all, but I’ve actually figured out with the work I DON'T get done due to wasting time on the site, Facebook costs me about $300 a week!

SERIOUSLY?! Seriously? seriously.

Wow. I really AM like a Crack Momma. I’m wasting $1200 a month on my addiction and don't even have any cute shoes to show for it.

Not only am I wasting money using it but Facebook kind of annoys me. Now, I know you know what I mean.

What I’m trying to say is, some of my FB "friends" do the Tango on my very last nerve, at least twice a week. It can be extremely challenging to bite my tongue, as it’s really not in my genetic makeup. (Those of you who know my mother, understand this. hehehe)

This is why I’d argue the best part of Facebook is the “Hide” button. (Don’t act like your feelings are hurt because I’m sure a lot of you “hide” me when I get on my crazy rants too. And don’t fret. I usually “unhide” you after a while).

Reasons To Love The Facebook “Hide” Button:

1) It offers some type of insanely ridiculous passive aggressive satisfaction. Like me “hiding” you really “sticks it to ya”. Heh!
2) It provides the closest thing we’ll ever have to the Human Mute Button.
3) It allows me to temporarily ::poof:: you from my life, without you even knowing it. Like magic, I can ::poof:: you in and ::poof:: you out. Yes Sir!

Since Facebook obviously costs me too much G-Money (Benjamins? Green? Bread? Clams? Ugh. I’ll never be “gangsta” and for some unusual reason that makes me a little sad), I’d love to go on some soapbox-holier-than-thou-rant about how I’m giving Facebook up for 30 days and how you should do the same. In fact, if all of you go without Facebook for 30 days, I won’t miss anything. All will be well with the world and you’ll be making it much easier on me.

But, who am I kidding? Like me learning to back of my driveway without the need for a Magic Eraser...it's SO not going to happen.

Whitney

“I gotta work out. I keep saying it all the time. I keep saying I gotta start working out. It's been about two months since I've worked out. And I just don't have the time. Which uh..is odd. Because I have the time to go out to dinner. And uh..and watch tv. And get a bone density test. And uh…try to figure out what my phone number spells in words.” (Ellen)

Bad Driver On Board

In the last 14 years…

# of auto accidents I’ve been in while driving: One. It wasn’t my fault. Seriously.

# of times I’ve been pulled over or given a ticket: Zero. Score!

# of times I’ve taken off a side mirror on a car I was borrowing: One. I’ll admit that doesn’t help me form my case here, but Gigi will get a kick out of it because it was her side mirror and I was borrowing her car because of the sole accident mentioned above.

In any case, since I’ve had my handy-dandy mini van, it turns out I’ve completely forgotten how to drive. Just a few months after I got it a year or so ago, I sideswiped a truck as I was trying to park (Thankfully, it belonged to my parents but I still had to shell out $500 to fix my Swagger Wagon).

In addition, just THIS WEEK I’ve backed into Hubbit’s truck twice as I’ve been pulling out of the garage.

Geez.

I didn’t even tell him I backed into it again today, for several reasons.

1) He was napping. Enough said.
2) The Magic Eraser saved my tail AGAIN and completely wiped my blue mini van paint off his bright white Ram. So, the evidence went kaput!
3) I figured he already knew it was coming since he “watched” me back out the other day with his hands COVERING HIS EYES.

You see, our garage is ½ full of stuff like tools, an extra freezer and other things we “need”. Since Hubbit is the sweetie pea he is, he lets me park in the clean ½ of the garage and parks his truck out in the cold, on the opposite side of the driveway. Our old house had no garage and I’ve actually only started parking in this one.

Along with my new parking spot, I’m learning new things like:

Just because you can’t see out of the garage with the door closed, there might be something (AKA Hubbit’s big truck) out there waiting for you to run into it and when pulling in you REALLY should leave at least two inches between your van and the wall attached to your kitchen (that’s really a whole other blog topic waiting to be written).

That brings up a question, if I accidentally ran into the wall would my auto or home insurance cover it? (Maybe I’ll check on that one).

Gigi has already threatened to buy me a light up stop sign Bed Bath & Beyond carries for “unique” drivers like myself. Apparently it lights up when you get close enough to the wall for the garage door to close but not so close you end up in your kitchen hallway upon finishing the “parking” process. I wonder if the inventor had a wife like myself. I’d bet he did.

The thing is, I have NO idea why I keep backing into his truck! Other than the fact I completely forget his truck is out there…like EVERY time I start to back out and up until the moment I hear the lovely scrape sound. Thankfully, I back out at the speed of a snail, or else I would be spending way too much time drinking the free bottled water at the Collision Center.

What do I really WANT for Christmas?

Volumizing Hair Rollers.

But, what do I really NEED?

Driving Lessons.

Whitney

When Solomon said that there was a time and a place for everything he had not encountered the problem of parking an automobile. (Bob Edwards)

Oh Thanksgiving, How Entertaining You Can Be!

Highlights of our Thanksgiving holiday…

We go to my grandparents’ house every year on Thanksgiving and this year was no different…for the most part. One thing that WAS different was the new addition of my cousin Casey’s adorable dog (Chadwick). The dog is A-dorable, but the fact it peed on my leg as soon as I arrived was not. Maybe it was claiming me as its own? (giggle)The dog did make it up 100% to me as he entertained the boys FOR HOURS. So, I think we'll call it even.

It was great to see my parents, grandparents, my Auntie and cousins, but the shining moment of the day had to be watching my grandmother accidentally dump an entire plate of food on my grandfather’s head. (Maybe she was claiming him as her own, much like Chadwick tried with me?)

Bless her heart! She was just trying to shimmy between the back of his chair and the china cabinet to get to the other side of the table…and "oops". The bad part was Bug saw it all and started cackling really loud as my grandma tried to wipe mashed potatoes off my grandfather’s bald head.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but what I do know is...

1) We missed out on a $10,000 Funniest Home Videos moment, for sure.
2) Pa did not find it entertaining OR funny…at all.

Only three hours after stuffing their faces at my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving Linner (after lunch, before dinner), the boys wanted their “house” Thanksgiving I had not at all prepared for. So, Bug and I made our way into the kitchen to quickly throw together a meal using whatever we had in the pantry. It actually turned out pretty nice, even though it was extremely unplanned.

As we went around the table during our On-The-Fly Thanksgiving dinner at home, to say what we’re thankful for, Bug quickly said his hamster (Helen, who is a Chinese hamster and was named after the only Chinese person Bug knows...his classmate Helen. I honestly think he feels Helen is a traditional Chinese name. Sigh.)

Flea said he just didn’t know what he was thankful for (in a very annoyed tone I’m certain the Cleaver boys would have been backhanded for off-camera if they’d tried to pull with June).

Nice.

Side note: In Flea’s defense, it was pretty corny to go around saying what we were thankful for. But, I kind of felt like we needed to at least ACT like it was an official Thanksgiving dinner, even though everyone knew it clearly was not. (MY BAD for trying to start a “normal family” tradition with kids who think ordering Sir Pizza on Christmas Eve and eating at the Golden Wok on Christmas night are the most precious family traditions known to man.)

While I was cleaning up the mess, I decided our dogs should be able to celebrate as well. So, I fed them the leftover mashed potatoes and ham the boys hadn’t devoured. They enjoyed it greatly and I was pleased with myself…UNTIL a few moments later when one of the dogs barfed all over the kitchen rug.

Lovely.

Happy Thanksgiving…again.

Whitney

“Some family trees bear an enormous crop of nuts.” (Unknown Author)

Save Turkeys, Eat Stuffed Peppers

FYI: I’m allergic to life and about 100 different foods. I’ve always eaten turkey but last years allergy test update revealed I’m now allergic to it too. Ugh. Pretty soon I’ll be living off sugar and water alone, apparently.

So, instead of turkey, dressing and all the yummy traditional stuff, this year I will be eating…drum roll please…stuffed peppers. Yum. Yum. (Did that sarcasm come across clearly?)

While your house will smell like a traditional Thanksgiving feast, mine will smell a little like Mi Mexico.

Anyhow, I had to share this little bit of funny before I forgot it. Today Hubbit, Bug and I ran to the grocery store to pick up a few things before the crowd starting showing up to buy last minute Thanksgiving supplies like the world is going to end tomorrow and Stove Top is the only thing that could save them.

The trip was pretty uneventful, really. But, there was one moment that still makes me giggle a few hours later so I thought it would be worthy of sharing. Since I don’t really cook for the big old “Turkey Day” holiday we were just picking up “regular food” (you know, non-turkey, non-stuffing, non-gravy, non-pumpkin items). Hubbit noticed a lovely pork loin and thought it would be tasty for dinner sometime soon (AKA, when the last of the leftover turkey we hijack from my grandmother’s house has been eaten next week). I agreed and we started to discuss how to cook a pork loin.

Now, I am not the most fantastic cook AT ALL. I can "bake but not cook" and those of you who can "bake but not cook" know exactly what I mean. Give me a scientific recipe to follow and I’ll make you the prettiest yellow cake with chocolate icing treat you’ve ever seen. Hand me a pork loin and all you’ll get is a confused look and possibly an under or over-cooked piece of pig later on in the evening.

Hi, my name is Whitney and I am a terrible cook. I am the first to admit it.

We stood there talking about cooking the pork loin for a while, which basically involved me telling Hubbit I had no idea how to cook it and him telling me it was no problem. He informed me we needed some type of bag to marinade and cook it in. I was just glad he "knew" what he was talking about and figured I might be able to pawn the pork loin dinner preparation off on him one night this week.

As we headed down another aisle, I asked him what type of bag we’d need to be on the lookout for and he said…wait for it…a GARBAGE bag.

What?!

We then got into a little tiff about how I was 100% sure garbage bags would most certainly melt in the oven and how he said he was sure that’s what they used at the station for cooking pork loin. Somewhere in the act of trying to prove me wrong, he actually somehow convinced himself PLASTIC garbage bags would not melt in the oven.

What?! Oh My Land.

(Side note: In his defense, three points should be noted. 1) It is pretty fun to argue with me and sometimes he makes things up just to get me riled up. 2) He has worked the last 48 of 72 hours and was completely sleep deprived. 3) Me sharing this story is payback for the rotten blonde joke he told in the checkout lane...that I am apparently so blonde I can't even remember. I love you, honey!)

The good news is as we’re in the middle of the most ridiculous argument of ALL TIME, I glanced to my right and see non-plastic, melt-free Oven Cooking Bags lit up like there was a light shining from heaven upon them (ok, maybe the light was just my imagination, but still…you get the point).

Divine intervention? I think SO!

Anyhow…Happy Thanksgiving!
xoxoxo

Whitney

“I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.” -Rita Rudner

Can someone PLEASE tell me how to slow life down a little?

When I was younger, I would dream about the days when I would grow to be an extremely busy lawyer who had to squeeze lunch dates with pals and family outings into my schedule.

Today, I figured it out. I made it…halfway.

No, I didn’t go to law school (thank the Lord above) but somehow I did manage to get so busy “living” that when I tried to schedule a visit with my Louisville-based-best-girlfriend today, I figured out I wouldn’t be available for 4 weeks. FOUR weeks.

Good Lord. I don't even have a full time job!

But, in the next four weeks I’ll be cooking about 70 meals, packing 16 lunches, washing 35 loads of clothes, folding 336 pieces of clothing, matching 224 socks (or more likely throwing 224 socks into a big laundry basket to fish out as needed), writing approximately 300 articles, feeding the dogs 56 times, loading the dishwasher 28 times and working out 15 times (ok, 10 times. OK, probably 6).

I will spend 420 minutes showering, 280 minutes drying my longer-than-it-should-be-hair, 112 minutes brushing my teeth and will be trying my best to get at least 224 hours of sleep.

What am I doing for the next four weeks that prohibits me from visiting the closest person I’ll ever have to a sister?

I’m “living”, that’s what.

Whitney

"A bee is never as busy as it seems; it's just that it can't buzz any slower." (Kin Hubbard)

Sometimes the better comes after the worse...

For two weekends in a row, Hubbit and I have enjoyed date nights. This is quite rare because we usually only get babysitters (which aren’t really babysitters and are instead grandparents) to watch the kids if I have a gig. Since patio weather is over and I rarely play out in the colder months, we’ve had some opportunities to just hang out together. It’s been really lovely…or crazy (depends on who you ask).

So, what did we do?

Last week it was Bingo (my idea), this week the theatre (his idea). Interesting combo?

Listen, while I like to think I’m fairly cultured, artistic and have been called snobby more times than have been justified, the truth is I like redneck things. After all, I did marry Hubbit, right? ;)

I might hesitate to admit it but I love big trucks, bon fires, blue collar folks…and Bingo. Or, at least I thought I did.

So, I got a great idea to find a local Bingo game (there’s one almost every night, who knew?!)and drag Hubbit to it. For those of you unfamiliar with us, Hubbit is a redneck in every sense of the word. His favorite song is “A Country Boy Can Survive”, thinks cutting the sleeves off of a t-shirt makes a dandy tank-top and drives a huge truck.

(Side note: The Magic Eraser ROCKS. I accidentally backed into his huge truck yesterday because I can’t seem to find the skills to back out of my garage, putting a big blue streak down its white side. But, before Hubbit woke up from his nap I managed to completely get rid of the scrape with a Magic Eraser. I was thrilled!!)

But, even though he embraces his redneck soul, Bingo is not for Hubbit.

I should explain, this is not your grandma’s Bingo. These people are serious. Some were dressed well but most looked like they were spending their last $10 on trying to win enough cash to pay their “rent”. At least I hope it was their “rent” they were trying to finance.

Bingo Etiquette:

1) Stand in line for 45 minutes just to get your Bingo packet (which consists of like 18-36 Bingo cards PER GAME).
2) Sit down but under no circumstances in Martha's lucky seat she won her last $599 pull-tab in six months ago.
3) Spread out your twenty Bingo dobber markers, which you retrieved from a custom made Bingo dobber suitcase, just in case a few go dry during the $1000 game.
4) Be quiet and unless you want to get lynched...turn your cell phone ringer DOWN.

We were clearly unprepared and even though I thought Hubbit was a redneck, even he looked completely out of place.

Thankfully, I made friends with a lovely Bingo-a-holic named Rita in line (with Hubbit making faces at me the whole time she wasn’t looking, questioning why I had to talk to people everywhere we went). As Rita left the line to save us a seat near her, I explained to him if we wanted to win the “big prize”, we clearly needed some insider information and he just rolled his eyes. Rita took us under her wing and did her best to keep Hubbit from having a redneck melt down. While we couldn’t keep up even when giving it our full 100% concentration, Rita read a book WHILE PLAYING BINGO. This woman could multi-task like no other!

Even though she tried, we were S-T-R-E-S-S-E-D! We quickly figured out Bingo wasn’t as fun as I’d thought it would be.

There was one game of Speed Bingo where they asked everyone in the room to be silent and they called numbers one after another, super-fast. Hubbit got so frustrated because it was impossible to keep up. So, instead of sitting quietly he starts huffing and puffing (which really means saying curse words not-so-under his breath because the man can’t whisper).

He then loudly crumbles up his Bingo card sheet and throws it in the trash. All of the regulars looked at him like he was insane. Then, his phone proceeds to ring…in the middle of the sacred silent period. People were ticked. If he weren’t a giant, we might have been done-for. Don’t get in between Momma and her “rent” money!

Oh. Em. Gee.

The good news is this weekend was much calmer. Hubbit surprised me a few months ago with tickets to my favorite musical and last night he took me. It was a great show and even he enjoyed it, which was an unexpected benefit. He’s not a musical guy but apparently he loves me enough to endure them...and Bingo.

Whitney

More marriages might survive if the partners realized that sometimes the better comes after the worse. ~Doug Larson

Flea and the Bully

My new favorite show is Parenthood. If you haven’t seen it, you should. It’s an hour of bliss each week and Hubbit and I are always sad when each episode is over. We just can’t get enough of it!

The reason I’m telling you this is because one of the main characters on the show (Adam Braverman) has a son with Asperger’s (Max). Last week on the show, they were standing in line at the grocery store, a bystander called Max a “retard” and Adam punched the jerk right in the face. Hubbit and I cheered for Adam, thinking we would have done the exact same thing.

BUT, what do you do when the “jerk” is an 11 year old boy?

What do you do when you overhear your son and his friend talking about how that 11 year old “jerk” called YOUR SON a retard?

If you’re me, you get mad. Then you cry.

B, who I’ll refer to from now on as Flea (for reasons only he understands) was diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome last April after a very lengthy diagnosis process which left our entire family pretty drained. Flea immediately became an advocate and decided he would do his best to educate others and raise money for the Tourette Syndrome Association (he raised over $1200 last year). We agreed as a family there was nothing to be ashamed of and he should be proud to be himself. He talked to his classmates, wrote essays and poems about it and wore his TS badge with pride and dignity. His friends didn’t care and have been nothing but 100% supportive.

Don’t get me wrong, there were times (and still are times) when it’s challenging for him. It’s not easy. But, overall he functions like a typical sassy 10-year-old boy who only lets his mother kiss his cheek if no one’s looking.

So, I was really shocked today when I picked him and one of his best friends up from school. His pal was talking about how the “jerk” had called Flea a retard. Not just once, but multiple times. He apparently is bullying Flea. The “jerk” was rallying other kids saying there was something wrong with Flea and “you could just tell he was a retard”. He then proceeded to tell Flea he would never be anything but a grocery-bagger-guy (Grocery bagging specialist? Grocery cashier assistant? Don’t hate me for not knowing the proper term for this job.)

I hate that I feel like I even have to justify this but just in case someone who doesn’t know us personally comes across this blog, I want to be clear.

Flea is brilliant.
He is creative.
He’s never earned a B. All A’s in the most advanced classes offered at his school.
He’s in the Gifted and Talented program at school.
He wins Science Fairs, gets elected as Class President and is an All-Star baseball player.
He’s a teacher favorite and has the most loyal friends I’ve ever witnessed anyone having.
He is BRILLIANT.

So, why would the “jerk” call him this?

I would like to believe it has nothing to do with anything other than the fact he is jealous. But, as a mother to a child with a unique disease I feel more than defensive. I knew these days would come and they would be difficult.

What do I want to do?

WELL…

I WANT to march my butt right over to 555 Jerk Street, knock on the door and let his incredibly sweet parents know just how horrible their child is.

I WANT to grab the jerk by his ear and tell him exactly why bullying is wrong.

I WANT to scream, shout and make him feel as bad as Flea (and maybe me) feels.

What will I do?

I don’t know.

All I know right now is I’m heartbroken.

Whitney

“A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are.” (unknown)

Poor us.

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Before I start, one of the loveliest lovelies in the world gave me a little scare the other day regarding using my family’s names on my blog. So, from here on out I will be much less specific. Thank you crazy stalkers of the world!

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A little over eight months ago I was 29. I was challenging 30 to “bring it on” and vowed I could care less about wrinkles, saddle bags and all that came with being old…er.

THEN, out of no where the other day, Bug asked if he could take a picture using my camera phone. I obliged and he began to position himself behind my head. Curious, I asked what he was doing. He proceeded to tell me he wanted to take a picture of my GRAY HAIR for me. Thank you, Bug. Lord help the girl you marry because your brutal honesty is something else!

He was positively sure I’d not seen it. After all, it was in the back of my head where as far as I'm concerned IT CAN STAY.



Feeling a little down on myself, yesterday I get a text from Lulu (Remember: names are now being changed so that psycho killer I talked about hiding in the basement-I- don’t-have won’t stalk and kill me).

Side thought: I wonder if she’ll kill me for posting this because the other day she did refrain from sending me a picture of her coaching 7 year old cheerleaders because she was afraid I’d “post it on Facebook or something”. I really do want to see her as a cheerleading coach because knowing her well, it's just so darn funny. She's lucky she lives 1.5 hours away! (giggle)

I swore I would never do something like that, but she does know me quite well. Maybe she’s on to something! ;)

The text-versation went a little something like this:

Lulu: At the salon. Losing the gray hair battle.
Me: Ugh. Bug took a pic of my gray hair the other day. Lovely.
Lulu: Not ready for this aging thing.
Me: At least the hair dye will fix the gray. The wrinkles are killing me. Even my hands are veiny (Another made up word? That's how I roll.) and old.
Lulu: Freckles are turning into age spots. Used to be “cute”.
Me: Poor us.
Lulu: You know, we sound a lil pathetic. We should be embracing our life “scars”.
Me: Yes, we are pathetic. Thanks for not judging me and whining with me for a few minutes. Let’s allow ourselves to do this a few times a year.
Lulu: Might be needed at least once a day.

So Lulu, while I remember when we dyed our hair for fun and not to hide grays…those days are gone. Poor us. LOL

Whitney

It's important to have a twinkle in your wrinkle. ~Author Unknown

I wanted to post this...BEFORE I BLEW AWAY!

Can somebody tell me why…WHY…I agreed to buy a house without a basement? Sure, on the beautiful Kentucky days of Summer and the freezing cold days of Winter, I could care less if I had a basement or not.

BUT, on days when the winds blowing so hard I sware I can hear the Wicked Witch of the West cackling as she flies by on her bicycle, I need a basement. I repeat, I NEED A BASEMENT.

But when I really think about it…

The truth is, basements kind of freak me out. YES, I'm kind of like a six year old kid. I am still afraid of the dark, still hate storms and am terrified of "ghosts" (but mostly only because Riley is always seeing them or talking to them).

If I did have one, I’d probably spend way to much time glancing at the closed basement door, wondering if some psycho killer had slipped in through the basement window and was waiting to feed me to his creepy spider pets.

Or, maybe I’d obsessively check the basement each time I arrived home (while my heart raced frantically because I would be convinced once again the psycho killer was on the prowl for a petite steak).

I’d probably make Jimmy install some crazy door lock that could only be accessed from the upstairs and then knowing my klutzy luck I’d probably lock myself down there on accident a few times a year. Instead of simply going out the walk-out basement door, I'm sure I'd go into a full panic and sit for hours at the top of the potentially neck-breaking basement stairs, screaming for someone to help me. (If you know me, you can probably visualize me doing just that.)

So, all in all having a basement might not be the safest thing for me…or at least for my mental health.

But, for tonight: I NEED A BASEMENT!

Whitney

“That's the scary part. I didn't know if I should smile, crack up, scream or run.” (Wizard of Oz)

Hey World. It's Me! :)

If we could only see in black and white, I would venture to say there are two types of online posters. The first type is the voyeur who is addicted to social networking just the same as their polar opposite but rarely (if ever) shares.

Then, there is the overshare-er. (Did I just make up that word? Maybe.)

I fit into the second group, in a MAJOR way. So, it should only seem natural I’d feel inclined to start a blog. I mean, it’s cheaper than sitting at my therapist’s office every time I want to throw my thoughts around the world. (YES, I do see a therapist and YES, you probably need to see one too. If you want her name, just ask. She ROCKS.)

I’m not a very open person…in person. I rarely trust someone enough to share with them more than the basics, let alone allow them to see inside my thoughts and feelings. But, it seems I am the type of person who could easily be seen as someone without an online filter.

Why do I find it incredibly difficult to disclose something as minor as my favorite color to a new friend in person but have NO problem whatsoever telling the entire world via Facebook what I’m having for dinner? Interesting phenomenon many of us can relate easily to.

So, for this first blog post I’m just really laying down the basics of my intent.

Most likely this will be a place I post random things that evoke emotion in me. They might make me happy, might inspire me, might make me sad or make me angry.

I can’t promise to…

* Never offend anyone.
* Never over-share.
* Never be judgmental. (Look, I try my best but I’m a sinner like you and everyone else, so don’t hate me…immediately.)

What I can promise is…

* I’ll try (keyword TRY) to think things through before I randomly post soapbox rants.
* I’ll try not to embarrass my family. (This mostly pertains to Brantley.)

Most importantly, what I absolutely CAN promise is…

I’ll post in an honest voice despite how it might change anyone’s perception of who I am.

Whitney

“Shake structures. School yourself. Look twice at a thing, once upside down. Answer yourself clearly.” (Mary Anne Radmacher)