What what??  That’s what!  Check out my sleeve in progress. I’m a tatted out hot mama     now!!

hi! How’ve you been? Yeah, I haven’t been updating here much.

Look at me. Do I look like the kind of girl that sits around and BLOGS anymore? Heh.  I WISH I had more time to blog. I miss this. I miss sitting down and blah blah blahing all over the place. Cathartic! Sharing! Caring! Connecting!

Yeah, I’m too busy hanging out at bars with roller derby girls, burlesque dancers, tattoo artists, singers, musicians, and writers.  My kind of people. I’ve finally found my people in St. Louis!!  THIS is when I need to blog. Oh my GAWD. The stories! THE STORIES!

I’m saving them for the book.

There have been adventures aplenty in this mutha’s life. It’s good. Very good. I’ve needed this. It’s been a total escape from  my career disappointments, and getting a bit lost as a housewife/stay at home mom combo. That’s the #7 combo on the menu, by the way. I highly suggest the #1. It’s where you start putting yourself first for a change.

Alright, how’s this? How about I try to do a once a month update?  Does anyone still read this thing anymore?

The Kidz:

The Almost Twins are now 3 and a half and soon to start preschool Miss Boo is six and soon to start the second grade. This has been a hellish summer as a family because it’s so flippin hot and this house is so flippin small. We are climbing the walls and on each others nerves. We NEED to upgrade to bigger and better but the housing market says meh. Maybe later. Stupid housing market. And stupid weather. We don’t live in St. Louis for the breezy cool temps, that’s for sure.

The Almost Twins love all my changes but Miss Boo isn’t sure. She often sighs and wishes out loud for a normal mommy. Or wishes I never got tattooed. Or wishes people didn’t stare at me or come up and want to ask questions. I explain there’s no such thing as a normal mommy. Even the conservative khaki capri wearing suburban moms have issues. We ALL do. As I’m fond of saying, I just wear my crazy on the outside.

We’re not a normal family, but we’re a fun family. The house is loud, there’s laughter, and lots of love.Matt and I are very happy. All is well right now.
Matt:
Matt is FINALLY starting to get out and socialize, too! He’s found his people. Skeptics! People who love to sit around and talk religion and philosophy and zzzzz.  Huh? What was I talking about? Bleh bleh bleh I’m bored.

He LOVES my new look. The only girls that turned his head since we’ve been married were the tattooed alternative pin up girls. Now he’s married to one. He’s a happy man.

Marge In Charge:
My mother. Sigh… she’s less thrilled with my new look but keeps her negative comments to herself and her friends and the rest of my family, I’m sure. She’s still a sample lady at the grocery store. Not dating anyone. Seeing friends on occasions. Regretting ever planting a veggie garden in my yard since I never take care of it.  She’s Marge. I think she’s happy, but it’s hard to tell sometimes.

The career:
The voice over career is doing amazing, considering it’s still very part time. I’m excited to be able to audition for projects and have time to do them again! I’ve got some new show ideas I’m working through in my head. I’m anxious to get back to L.A. and get back into the biz again. Don’t count me out, yet. I just needed some time off to regroup.

Health:
PCOS is still a battle. I’m with a trainer 3x a week, work out 2x on my own, on a perfect diet, and am still struggling to lose the last 20-30lbs. I recently saw the Endocrinologist again and have some issues we need to address. It’s why my weight loss will always be slow and a struggle. It’s tough to be out with friends and they are eating and drinking and enjoying themselves and I’m hungry and sipping on club soda. But people deal with much worse, so I’m grateful that I’ve gotten as far as I have with the weight loss.

Tattoo plans:
It’s so crazy that I’m at the tattoo studio several times a month. ME! I’m a regular.  That’s hilarious. I’m getting my work done with Jamie Toon of Cheap TRX. I tell him the basic idea and let him do his magic. He’s an amazing artist. My sleeve has been a 15 hour long process and there’s about six hours left to go. I also have a large calf piece and a recently got a black cat on my ankle.  Soon the cat will be chasing an entire calf covered in butterflies. THAT is going to hurt. The calf is a horribly painful place to get tattooed.  My arm isn’t so bad. I often zone out and close my eyes and relax when getting arm work. The calf? I sweat and moan and tear up and ask for a lot of breaks. I can go hours on arm work. I can go about one hour with my calf and that’s pushing it.

I’m starting my other arm sleeve soon. I’m getting a pin up Queen of Hearts in a card with her dress spilling out and wrapping around my arm. Very very excited about this.

Don’t get huge tattoos if you dislike attention. I get stared at, questioned, complimented, and asked if I’m crazy. People will stop me to check out my artwork on the street. One woman stopped her car and chased me down.  Another lady in a ritzy part of town actually crossed to the other side of the street to avoid walking near me. It’s fascinating. “People are funny things.”

Whew! This is the most blogging I’ve done in a long damn time.

NO, really, does anyone still read this thing? Who’s out there? How’ve you been?

One year ago today….

I walked into the gym to meet my personal trainer. My very first.

Ten years of putting myself last ended that day. I was terrified. I was embarrassed. I was fat.  I was ashamed.

Jesse greeted me with a warm smile that felt like a hug. He made me feel welcome. He made me feel encouraged. He made me feel I could do this.

And I did. We did. Together.

He took me through a 15 minute workout. When it was done I asked for more. When that was done I asked for more. Jesse was beaming. “You are a warrior!”

That day, I found my inner athlete.

Me.

An athlete!!

Jesse taught me how to eat. When to eat. What to eat. WHy to eat. He taught me how to work out. How to run. How to lift. How to stretch. How to breathe. How to push myself.  We started slowly. Modified pushups. Just a few. Maybe some sit ups. Just a few. How about we just walk at a fast pace for 1 minute?

One year later and I am dead lifting 185lbs. Squatting 175. I can do full push ups. I can hold myself in a side plank on one arm with the other arm and other leg raised in the air. I can run for miles. Uphill. Sit ups? Please. GIve me a weight to hold and make me do 300. At a time.

I learned mixed martial arts. I became a fighter.  I learned burlesque. I will became a dancer.

The exercise was the easy part. THe diet? Not so much. I struggled. I still struggle. Food is life. Food is passion. I’m a hedonist. I hate denying myself pleasure. I just learned how to find joy in healthy food. How to make my favorite dishes and modify them. How to eat veggies. How to love eating veggies.Oh how I hated veggies. Now if I go a few meals without them, I get cravings. For veggies.

I also learned how to indulge. Responsibly.

Finally, I learned that if I miss a workout, it isn’t the end of my body. I won’t wake up 300 pounds again. If I eat a bacon cheeseburger, I’m not a bad person. For dinner I’ll just have steamed fish. And I’ll only do that once per week. One cheat meal. And it’s ok.

I have 30 pounds to go. Honestly, I’d be ok staying at this weight. It’s the smallest I’ve been in… wow. A long damn time. I love the clothes. I love the looks. I love the life I am living. But I know I can do more. I also know struggling with PCOS makes this a tougher challenge. I’ve come to terms with that. I’m not a normal girl. I do fight medical issues. But I’ll win. It will just take me a bit longer.

Jesse- thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me. I know I’m a wackadoodle client. But you’ve changed my life. I look forward to the next year and those final 30 pounds going away forever.

Before- meet after.

I matter.

At my heaviest. Almost 300lbs                        30 left to go!

The tats are gettin bigger. The clothes are gettin smaller. The heels are gettin taller. Baby I’m a baller.

Lost you at baller, didn’t I? Too much?

Thinking my new look was too much were the ladies at the shi shi poo poo jewelry store I went to today. The one in the Neighborhood of the Exaggerated Syllables.  “I’m loooking for a pressssent for my dauuuughter.  It’s her birrrrthday on Saaaaaaturday.” Why do snotty rich people drawww out their worrrds?  We get it. You have money. You have nowhere to go, nothing to do. I’m in a hurry. Speed up the cadence, bitch!

I walked into the store and professionally dyed blonde heads turned. Botoxed brows tried to furrow. Dyed to match lemon haired demon spawn openly gawked. Shut yo mouth before you catch a fly, child! Didn’t your mama teach you any manners or was she too busy schtupping her trainer on the tennis court to care?

Stereotyping is fun!

I KNOW my look doesn’t fit in that world. I KNOW I stand out. I KNOW if you’re covered in a big ass dragon or spider tattoo with a double nose piercing and a shirt that says you like to break people’s faces that perhaps, just perhaps, it might get some looks. Maybe even looks in askance. It may even frighten/fascinate small overindulged children. I get it. But day-um! I was NOT prepared for how powerful that felt!!

Scaring rich people is fun!

Loved loved loved that in this yupscale boutique I found a jeweled spider hair clip with matching spider earrings and an adorable pinup red polka dot bow clutch. Who knew?  Who knew there’d be Just Jaden finds in a land where everyone talks slowly and looks like everyone else? “All white people look alike.” Nah, just the rich ones. Seriously, the world doesn’t need another blonde in a white polo and pink palm tree dotted capri pants. Someone has sex with that.

Being crass for the sake of an easy laugh is fun!

Eh, we all judge each other based on looks. We’re people. It’s what we do.

I just believe I look a hell of a lot more interesting than the Generics. My life is a hell of a lot more interesting. I know this because people who are content don’t waste their time gawking and whispering and attempting to raise their eyebrows at people they don’t understand. They don’t have to. They’re too busy enjoying the experience.

The other day I walked into the room wearing a one of my pinup getups with new shaded in dragon sleeve on display and my six year old looked me up and down and said, “You actually look good when you make an effort.”

Why thank you, first born daughter.

Then she squinted her eyes at my tattoo and sighed, “I wish I had normal parents.”

WHA WHA WHAAAT???

Oh Boo. You break my wittle heart.

NORMAL parents? Honey, I have news for you. Everyone has wackadoodle parents. We just wear our crazy on the outside. At least Matt and I are honest about our eccentric lifestyle. Nothin’s goin on here that the other doesn’t know about. Or approve of. We be happy. Very happy. The kids are loved. The bills are paid. The house is filled with laughter and love. And sometimes glow stick raves for the six and under crowd. Except no one is dancing harder than the middle aged parents.

Boo’s first grade teacher tried to explain how her father stocked their swimming pool with fish over the winter and by the next summer they had a pool filled with rotting fish. And squirrels. Suddenly we’re not so crazy, are we Miss Boo?

Our marriage not conventional. Our look is not conventional. Our parenting style is not conventional. After all the crap years we’ve experienced, it’s about damn time we had some fun. You don’t have to approve or even understand. It may not be your choice in life but it doesn’t have to be. It’s ours.

No, we are not normal.

We’re happy.

Dinner conversation between my six year old Miss Boo, Juna from CHina, Avie the flower child, and myself. Matt wasn’t home yet.

Miss Boo:  Juna. I don’t get it.  You’re brown.

Juna: I’m yight brown!

Miss Boo: Yeah, yeah. You’re light brown. We get it. We KNOW. I just can’t figure this out. You’re brown. But you’re not black. And you’re not Chinese. Because Chinese people aren’t brown.

Juna: I’m CHINESE!! I’m CHINESE!!

Miss Boo: No. Not really. Cuz you’re brown.

Avie: I’m a cupcake. With icing!

Juna: I’m CHINESE! I’m CHINESE!!!

Miss Boo: Actually, I don’t think you are. You’re brown. So, I’m not really sure what you are.

Juna: I AM CHINESE!!!

Avie: And I have a cherry on top of my head! I’m a cupcake with a cherry on top of my head!

Me: Boo-  Juna is from China. She’s Chinese. She has gorgeous skin. Now let’s move on!

Miss Boo: Maybe…

Avie:  I really wish I was food. I don’t want to be a person. I want to be a cupcake. With lots of icing! I’m sooooo sweet!!

What’s up indeed.

Yeah, so I lost a lot of weight. And in the process I lost my damn mind.

You noticed the new website name. Mmm hmm. After ten years of being versions of the me I wished I could be, I decided to finally become her.

WHAT?

Step 1. The weight loss. Down 100 pounds exactly since after Avie was born.

With the weight loss came the confidence to start putting myself first. Just a bit each day. The daily gym visits. The new wardrobe. The tattoos. The piercings.  The clothing. We’ll get to those in a sec. Putting any and all career moves on hold until… dunno… I guess when the little kids start preschool. *shrugs*

I’ve spent two years of my life totally stressed out over Hollywood. The first deal. The second deal. The crap. Oh, totally grateful I got as far as I did. But it took the life out of me. It was a stress to my family. My health. My self esteem. It really messed with my head.

So I took a break. Let’s put it that way.A break. Cuz it’s the only way I understand. I’m on a hiatus from the outside world right now. I’m loving my kids. I’m digging my husband. I’m  having adventures.  Be happy for me. This is just what I want and need right now. I feel ALIVE!!!!!!!

Still doing voice overs. Actually doing really well with that. I’m developing a podcast. No pay. No recognition. Just focusing on doing what I love. Just because. Just because it feels good.

A dog. Got a dog. Always wanted a dog. The right dog. One that totally fit into this family. She’s a 3 year old Pug from a rescue org. Mugsy. Such a love.

And the fashion! Oh honey. The fashion. I’ve got a whole new look. The Betty Bangs. The hair flowers. The twirly dresses. The ridiculous sexy shoes. Pin up meets rockabilly. Goes really well with all the body mods. The double nose piercing. The spider calf tattoo. The dragon sleeve in progress.  And I’m just getting started.

You could call it a mid life crisis.

I call it mid life celebration.

Someone dropped an F Bomb on our house and it exploded into tiny little fucking pieces.

There are no bad words. Just bad pizza.

And bad sex.

Altho they do say that even when it’s bad, it’s still pizza.  But I’ve had some pretty bad pizza in my time, so I don’t really subscribe to that theory.

Wait, are we still talking about sex?

Fucking! We’re talking about fucking! But not the actual ACT of fucking. The word fucking. As in- someone dropped the F Bomb around the kidlets and that someone was none other than my husband Matt.  How do I know this? Little Avie.  Sweet, precious, 3 year old blonde angelic Avie can’t stop using her new favorite adjective.

“Fucking ants!”

“Fucking coffee!”

“Fucking dirty living room!”

“Fucking cars cutting us off in traffic!”

Ok I might have said that last one.. and she may have repeated it…

Avie is the first child in the house to drop the F Bomb. She beat her six year old sister to the fucking punch. Miss Boo overheard Avie’s colorful way to describe our bird Beeker and shot back, “What’s fucking?”

I turned to Matt and said, “Fuck, dude! What have you fucking done not watching your fucking language around the fucking kids?”

Actually, I shot him a look that pretty much said that AND, “and don’t even think you’re getting any tonight, mister!”

“Any what?”

Go ahead. Say it. SAY IT! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!  It’s fun to be a 12 year old boy, isn’t it?

The fuckage continued with Juna joining in on the conversation. “Fucking mom! Fucking mom!  Hahah!  Fucking mom!”

To which Miss Boo started yelling, “STOP FUCKING MOM!”

And Matt and I laughed so hard it hurt.

Matt explained to the kids the don’t use bad words lesson. Choose other words instead. And to please oh please not use words that freak people out at fucking school or around the fucking grandmothers.

The kids gave us confused looks and replied, “Man, it’s fucking confusing being a kid these days, especially with such hippie dippie fucking parents.”

If it’s forbidden, it’s far more attractive. Better to demystify, explain context, explain intent, explain sensitivity,  and just move on to more important life lessons.

Like how to properly use a beer bong.

I’m a lot smaller now and so are my underpants.

My THONG underpants.

Oh good lordy I have a thin section of material up my ass. It’s so far up my ass I’m one strong hiccup away from my thong flying out of my mouth.

Yeah so I did what all chickies do when they lose a ton. I bought thongs. Thongs! I swore I’d never wear thongs. I thought thongs were disgusting, butthole hugging wastes of cotton. Oh you thought lace? You thought wrong. It’s bad enough I have the sensation of my butt being wiped all day. The last thing I need is the sensation of having it wiped with sand paper.

So today I’m all impressed with myself because I’m wearing a zebra striped thong. I’m an 80s metal chick whore like that. Yeah, I may be wearing old sweatpants, but there’s a zebra striped thong under those sweatpants. Who’s the hot housewife now? Huh huh??

I was in the bathroom with my daughters because even at age 3, 6, and 39, women must go to the bathroom in packs, when I went to pull down the thong and the fingers on my right hand got caught in the crotch lining.

See, on scanty panties- scanty cotton panties-scanty cotton THONGS, the crotch is often lined twice. Sometimes that lining has a gap in the top. Also see, when you pull down a thong, you pull by the sides. The sides of the material that’s on your hip. The sides are not double lined.

Are any of you getting where I’m going with this?

My thong was on sideways.

Backwards. And sideways. And maybe just a little bit inside out.

And it was that way allll day.

I laugh at my 3 year olds when they dress themselves and I find their undies on backwards and sideways. Yet I walked around all day long with my thong on sideways. I used the bathroom several times today, never truly noticing my crotch was around my hips.

Oooh baby. I’m one sexy thong wearing idiot.

My kid! Miss Boo is six. She’s in first grade. AND SHE’S DISCOVERED BOYS!

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

That kid does everything way too early.

It all started when she met a friend of ours. Handsome. VERY. He walks into a room and everyone loses their breath and their minds!  Miss Boo took one look at him and morphed into a teenager. She giggled. She flipped her hair. She cocked her head to the side and grinned. She became tongue tied.

Later she saw his picture on my computer and said, “Swoon!” Then she fanned herself.

Oh boy.

Miss Boo had a substitute teacher. She told us, “Mr. Owen has HUGE muscles. He’s sooo handsome!” She then told me about another sub. “He’s cute, I guess. Yeah, he’s cute. But he’s no Mr. Owen!”

She’s SIX.

Then she asked if she could invite her friend Justin home. “I’ll take him into the laundry room and kiss him!”  I told her NO and that Justin would just wipe his face and run away. She just shrugged. “I much prefer Mr. Owen. He’s brown.”

Oh Miss Boo. The teen  years are going to be something else!

Told you my six year old was goth. She has an entire wardrobe of goth clothing, makeup and accessories. We’re amused but wonder how this kid is going to rebel when she’s a teenager. And yes, we get quite the looks when we grocery shop.