Unpopular opinions, the incomplete list

What’s your hot take? What’s the thing that has no bearing on anything significant that you feel so strongly about that you’d write a whole post about it? Just for funsies, here’s my hot takes for tonight. 

(Disclaimer: and I wish I could splice in the Tamra Judge snippet: ITS MY OPINIONNN! 🤣🤣🤣🤣)

Here’s what, I think watching sports is crap. I like seeing men in uniforms. Duh. What’s not to love about asses in tight pants? That said, I love sporting event food. I mean the self serve unlimited fountain drinks at the Mariners game was top tier. But the game itself? Crap. 

The best thing in life besides time with your people, food, and sex has to be blankets. The more the better. Bonus points for cotton waffle blankets with the satin trim. 

Sleeping Beauty was the ultimate princess. She got to sleep (my favorite thing besides eating and talking), she wore a pink dress (the best color) and some dude comes and rescues her? Yes please. The only thing that would make her better would be if she was a brunette and chunky. 

I think that going to Disney at this point in my life seems awful. I no longer see the magic. I would rather sit in the waters of TCI mostly crunked with Jessica. 

I don’t care if I never watch another movie or tv show. They all run together at this point. Plus also my attention span is shit. Gee thanks adhd, you hobag.

McDonald’s is the best drive thru. The end. (That’s saying something with the amount of starbs I consume!)

Raisinettes are a top tier candy. Nutritious and delicious. (Troy will fight me on this one, but it’s fine…more for me!) 

Glitter is underrated and should be everywhere. 

Running sounds awful and I could never. 

The world’s sexiest man is definitely Will Ferrell. Funny, tall, blue eyes? Yes please. 

Salads and pickles are awful. 

That’s it for tonight. What’s your biggest unpopular opinion? 

Mama, part one of many

 If you ever met my mama you know. You know the ultimate blend of kindness, disappointed looks and head shakes, never ending snacks, hot meals, and Debbie cakes for everyone, the giver of unsolicited advice, aka “pearls of wisdom”, undying love and affection for all in her wake, and devoted mom, wife, nannie, friend, sister, and daughter. 

It was wild to me that at my 30th high school reunion, I had no less than 3-4 people come to me and tell me their memories of my mama, how she always had dinner for them, how she took us places, introduced friends to new restaurants, was our taxi driver, swim cheerleader, and snack giver. Not to mention how many Christmas ornaments she gifted to all of my friends that they still have to this day. She left an impression on all of my friends and classmates, that’s for sure. To think these folks still have ornaments on their trees from her blows my mind. 

My ma had many varied interests, all of which I had an occasion to either enjoy or participate in or both. She let me tag along to bingo, to the casinos (an experience for another blog), to quilt guild meetings, she let me help with painting and selling things, she tried to teach me to sew (I’m not patient enough), and she included me in helping those less fortunate in our small community as well as in other areas of Appomattox.

A lesser known skill and passion she had was helping adults learn to read. I never was privy to whom she helped but she sure was proud of that experience. She loved reading, she gave me loads of books (some of which I still use in my classroom to this day that the kids LOVE), and she read to me for as long as I would let her. She always had a secret stash of special books hidden in her closet for me that she picked up here and there, and where my true love of Boober Fraggle, Richard Scarry and the little monster, Dr Seuss, and Curious George started. Between her, my grannie, and my brother, I learned to read fairly quickly and learned how to read to others with gusto. At this point now, I’ve probably read hundreds if not thousands of books to kids (with the voices, duh) and hopefully instilled that love of reading and of books in thousands of kids all around Appomattox and Farmville. 

Towards the end of her short life on earth, she found a love of quilting. She jumped in headfirst and collected fabric, notions, copious amounts of thread and patterns, and converted my old bedroom into a sewing room. We spent many hours in there, cutting, pinning, piecing together quilts and blankets for everybody. She made receiving blankets just the right size in every pattern of flannel she could find for everyone we knew, if you had a baby coming, she was sure to make you enough blankies to get you through. The dentist got blankies for her babies, Chris and I got them for our kids, my best friend from college got them for her daughter who was the same age as my Felix, the neighbor’s grandkids got them too. That didn’t include the plethora of quilts she made. I have tons of them. She made them for me, for Felix, they made some together, she helped others finish quilts (which either Felix or I have), she did quilt square trades at the quilters guild meetings, she donated some, and the absolute most gorgeous one she ever made was one she did for my dad. She was sick with cancer at the time but pushed through to make him the most gorgeous, complicated mariners compass quilt. It was a pattern just for him, the boater, the fisherman. It was perfection. She got too sick to finish it, but her best friend came in, finished it, and gave it to dad for her. It’s a priceless piece that I keep on my bed every single day. Her quilts were a bit of her legacy. Not as much as her kindness, but they go hand in hand, obviously. 

For now, I’m refusing to talk the C word or the absolute travesty that is her life that was gone too soon for us or anyone who knew her. Instead, I will sift through my memory bank for the good so I’m not so fucking resentful of the time I haven’t gotten in the last 16 years. This was part one of many that I plan to write as a tribute to her, for my son to have as a memory book of her, which honestly is why I started writing to begin with in some ways, and for me to not dwell in the bad but remember the amazing soul she was. 

If I haven’t told you lately, cherish your mama, even through the flaws, as much as you possibly can. Maybe your mama is really your memaw, your auntie, your adopted mom, your bonus mom, your foster mom. Anyone who had a hand in raising you should be cherished as much as you can based on the experiences you’ve shared. I long for more days with my ma. Go love on yours and think of me, and everyone else in your life doing it without the presence of their mama. 

And as always, love you, mean it. Thank you for going on this journey with me. 💜💜

26 Bucket List

​I love a bucket list. I’ve written about it before, but as with most things I like to revisit the idea. In the new year, in lieu of resolutions, I make bucket lists of the shit I wanna do, things I want to see, food I want to eat. If I do it all, cool. If I miss something, I just add it to the next list. 

Let’s go: 

• I want to see: more waterfalls (especially Crabtree Falls), the beach, the mountains, more birds, sunsets, sunrises, new coastlines, new flowers
• I want to eat: Anything from Gordon Ramsey, more: cheese, wine, fried artichokes; new cuisines—African especially; I want to try new things in general. Oh, and lots of bread in every form. Oh, one more: I have a hankering for almond princess cake. 
• I’d like to go: yes. Just yes. That said, I want to go to: the Jefferson Pools, The Homestead, Maine, Vermont, to see Javi and Laurie, OBX, somewhere tropical with Jessica, at least one trip to 151 for wine, cider, and a visit to Belties. 
• Time: more time with: Felix, Troy, Chris & Fam, friends. More coffee dates, more hikes. More walks. 
• A trip to the arcade with Matt
• A new VA state park (Highlands?)
• A concert 
• Try a new class at Vibe Studio
• Walk a 5K
• Complete at least 100 classes in a year at Vibe
• Learn a new thing: maybe an art class? Stained glass? Gel plate printing? How to crush anxiety? 
• Even more selfies. That funeral board doesn’t populate itself. 

It seems like a lot to put in one list, but I’ve got 365 days to work with. The way I see it, this is a starting point. If you had to make a list, what would it have on it? 

I haven’t said it in a hot minute that because I haven’t written or posted anything in forever, but: 

Love you. Mean it. 💜💜

It is what it is…or is it really?

​It is what it is…or is it?

“It is what it is sissy.” The big quote from our Christmas 2025. Add to it the uncle Joe hand toss up and shrug and it solidified the way our family has come to rationalize everything since August 2009. 

Mom died? It is what it is. We couldn’t fix it. 

Dad detached? It is what it is. He’s gonna do what he wants to do.

Things feel unfair? It is what it is. 

Can’t fix what ails you? Is what it is. 

You sad? Depressed? Anxious? Is what it is. 

Something became glaringly obvious  in our talks on Christmas Eve. People (read: us. And more particularly me) who say this phrase have no way or want to explain their hurt, pain, frustration, or loss. We feel a world of helplessness. We feel abandonment. We feel a loss of control. Our center is gone. Our life before mom died is gone. Our normal is gone. In that, we have struggled to find what we are now. For me, I’m mad. Detached. Hurt. Endlessly depressed; especially at this time of the year.  

Personally, I have come to despise Christmas. I am torn into bits. I pretend. A lot. A really lot. I used to love it. Now I feel guilt. Massive guilt. I should love this shit. I should love decorations, lights, music, being together. I shouldn’t have this massive resentment. But I do. And to top it off, I have massive guilt that I can’t fully enjoy it like all these people who make Christmas their personality for several months. I don’t want to disappoint. I don’t want to be called a grinch and or a Scrooge. Instead I try to participate in hopes it will help, change my mind, make me love it. I still enjoy giving gifts. But I love that all year. I love Christmas lights, but my joy in it is tempered by my desperation for it to be the way it was. It never will be. 

This goes beyond the season. The “it is what it is” infiltrates everything. Can’t explain it? Is what it is. Someone ghosts you? Is what it is. 

But it’s bullshit. It hurts. You’re embarrassed. You are disappointed. Yet you don’t want to say that because…well, because it’s easier than facing it or confronting the ones who did the hurting. I personally find every reason on their side to rationalize the behavior. Their choice. Then I’m even more sad. So I’m hurting twice or thrice. Or in my case, every time I think about it. Which is all the time. I mean, if you didn’t know I was an over thinker you’ve missed one of my top five personality flaws. (And that’s on you for once.) 

So what do you do? If you know me, the things that people, especially people around here say to do do me no good. (I almost said little to no good because I’m me and didn’t want to upset anyone with my obvious religious non affiliation). The thoughts and prayers ain’t gonna do it for me. 

Unless I start getting some real DGAF anytime soon, I’m not calling people and telling him what I want to tell him. I’m not going to text people and tell them how they hurt or disappointed me or disrespected my kid. I’ve done that once before and it changed absolutely nothing except exacerbate my anxiety and amplify their hatefire for me. 

The doc last week said I didn’t need more meds. I think she a liar but whatever. Maybe I need to go back to therapy. Does a 2 hour convo with my two unofficial therapists at Starbs count? I’m running out of viable options here. 

So legit “it is what it is?” Good lord I hate it here.