My Rocky Start to Motherhood…

After a long (41 weeks before being induced) and difficult (5 months of bed rest accompanied by giant horse pills that did not have to be ingested orally, if you know what I mean) pregnancy, I gave birth to my son on April 21st, 2017.

I am not a good or easy patient. Ask my husband. He was wonderful after I was confined to a seated position. He did everything. But the minute his back was turned, I would spring into action – unload the dishwasher, do a quick load of laundry, cook something for myself. I’m also a complainer. I was bored. I was uncomfortable. My ribs hurt. My back hurt. Etc. All of my complaints, I read, could be alleviated with exercise. But I couldn’t exercise.

It’ll all be worth it, everyone said. The minute you hold your little baby, your little boy, in your arms, it’ll all make sense. It’ll be love at first sight…

A little more about me: I’ve always been mildly uncomfortable around children, especially babies. I love the ones in my life – my nephews and godchildren, bbabyquoteut please don’t send me a picture of your neighbors’ new baby. I do not care. To quote Will Farrell in his short stint on The Office, “That baby could be the star of a TV show called ‘Babies I Don’t Care About”.


I’ve also always been pretty ambivalent about having children. My husband really wanted kids. I just kept saying, both out loud and to myself “Maybe in the next year or so…”. It was an accident, of course, that I found myself pregnant when I did. I had been so careful for so long and it seemed impossible that we would conceive, without actively trying, the second I let my guard down.

All that being said, I was dubious about all the “Love at first sight” anecdotes I was being fed. But all the blogs said so. All the articles touted it. “Love at first sight” “It’ll all be worth it” All the pain and nausea and discomfort were supposed to just dissipate when I finally held my little one…

Guess what. It did not.

As difficult as my pregnancy was and as concerned as we were about going into preterm labor, my little guy ended up being a week late, and I’m convinced, if we hadn’t opted to be induced, he would have stayed put even longer. I was still only 1 cm dilated and carrying him up high in my ribs when I checked into the hospital that Thursday night.


Checking into the hospital

My labor and delivery were also pretty difficult. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m just a wienie. I don’t know. I have nothing to compare it to. All my friends told me once they got their epidurals, it was a piece of cake. That was not the case with me. I had multiple epidurals, but by the time I finally gave birth to my son, after laboring for 15 hours, I could feel most everything. My baby was snuggled into the right side of my belly, and even though he was crowned for about 3 hours or so, I could not push him out on my own because of his position. Eventually, I yelled at my doctor to “Just get him the F*<$ out!” Which she did, with a vacuum, after realizing I was telling the truth when I said I could not push any longer.IMG_4597

“Look, mom! Look how beautiful he is! Look at all that hair!” came the chorus of exclamations when he was finally out and laying on my belly. I gripped my oxygen mask to my face and stared at the ceiling, trying to put my world back together again. “I can’t,” I said, “I just need a minute.” They gave me what seemed like exactly a minute before putting him in my arms where I held him uncomfortably while trying to fight off a tearful panic attack. I held him for what I felt was a sufficient amount of time before “generously” offering him to my husband, who happily took him and nuzzled him and stared lovingly into his face. IMG_4602

That night was also pretty hard. Breastfeeding did not come naturally to us. He had trouble latching. I had trouble making him latch. It was painful and uncomfortable and awkward. I was so exhausted but he wanted
to stay at my breast. Every time I’d try to put him in the bedside crib, he’d start squalling. Meanwhile, I was nodding off and jerking awake, in terror that I would fall asleep with him in my arms and drop him or roll on him. My husband awoke to find me in tears. “I want to call and have him brought to the nursery. I’m so tired” I cracked out. My husband took him from me and rocked him so I could sleep for a couple of hours before I resentfully awoke to try to feed him again.

The next few days, both at the hospital and at home, were a blur of pain, awkward feeding attempts, and sleeplessness. Despite my exhaustion, I was grateful for the constant stream of visitors who dropped in to meet the new addition. There was never a shortage of arms to dump him into the second he was done eating, for that was the only time I held him – long enough to feed him and then transport him to the nearest friend or relative who was happily waiting their turn to cuddle and love him.

Then, about day 4 at home, I was clumsily attempting to change his diaper (At this point, I had only changed him one other time – when my husband had stepped out of the hospital room for a minute and a nurse had just recently left and there was no one else to do it) when my mom, who was staying with us, came in to help me. I immediately made room at the changing table to let her take over completely. As I turned my back to the process, the baby let out a piercing raptor-like shriek. I turned back around and laughed with my mom about how vocal he was and he quieted down. I started to turn away again and he let out the same loud shriek. So I turned back to him and again he quieted. My mom marveled “Mandy, he doesn’t like when you walk away from him.” That couldn’t be true, could it? Surely, he was too small to have that kind of reaction to my presence or absence. So we tested it. I turned my back or walked away multiple times. And, sure enough, each time he would let out his little baby pterodactyl shriek.

Later that night, my husband and mom both went to bed early, mom handing the baby over to me as she left. I sat in my living room, with him in my arms, anxiously awaiting the upcoming feeding, in a mild panic that I had been left alone with him. As I stared down at him, I thought about his funny little shriek earlier that day and how he was making that sound for me. How my absence had elicited such an angry little sound from him. And then I thought about all the times I had shoved him off on someone, anyone, else, how his little unseeing face would turn toward the direction of my voice no matter who’s arms he was in. How my voice must have been the only constant that he heard during those months that I carried him, after his little ears developed. How he was this little guy in this new cold world filled with big shapes, and strange sounds and the one sound he knew was almost always at a distance, always out of reach. And my heart broke into a million pieces.

“I’m sorry” I whispered into his soft little cheek, “I’ll do better. I promise.” And I let go of all the resentment I was still holding onto from all those months of discomfort and my anger over the difficulty of my labor. I realized that that was what was causing my unease, lack of confidence, and, I’m just going to admit it, unlove. I did not yet love my own baby. Until that moment, when my heart was broken by him.

The next day I begin to seek out more positive interactions with my son, instead just the painful, awkward interactions we had been having. I held him now, while he was awake and staring at me, after feeding him, instead of just dumping him into the closest available hands. I started changing his diapers instead of pushing it off on my mom and husband. I started talking to him while he was in my arms and staring up at me. I took pictures of him with my phone when he was being cute instead of just waiting for someone else to send me pictures of him.

Here it was. This was bonding. This was how I started falling in love with my son.

I still feel a little guilty that it took me almost 5 days to love my own baby. After all, it wasn’t his fault my pregnancy sucked and my delivery was horrible and breastfeeding was uncomfortable, but I couldn’t help feeling resentful toward him. It took an actual effort on my part to move past that resentment. We didn’t have that magical “love at first sight” moment touted by all the blogs.

As I share my story with my friends who have children, I find that I am not as alone in this as those blogs and articles made me feel. It’s not always love at first sight. Childbirth is hard. It is physically and emotionally traumatizing. Sometimes, we find it difficult to push past that pain to the other emotions underneath. That’s okay. That pain is as valid an emotion as any of the fluffy feel good stuff we are “suppose” to be feeling. We’ll get there eventually. Eventually, love will push through, and be just as wonderful as it would have been if it had showed up “at first sight”.

Not Ready To Make Nice

I read a couple of beautiful posts from a couple of wonderful and wise, straight, white, male friends. The posts both advised to bridge gaps, to talk to Trump supporters, and understand why they voted the way they did, that most Trump supporters are not racist or sexist. But here’s the thing – the package that they signed up for, racism and misogyny come with it. As Hasan Mihnaj said, it’s part of the deal . You may not personally be a racist/sexist, but with your vote, you’ve basically said “I don’t hate you, I just don’t care about you”. Which I guess I can have a little understanding for simply because a lot of the people who voted that way are from rural areas, and have maybe never met a Muslim or an immigrant or anyone from the LBGTQ community. Lack of exposure directly correlates to lack of empathy .

But those beautiful, diplomatic posts don’t address the issue that I am struggling with the most – that, not strangers who have never encountered these different people, but my immediate family and at least one close friend, have chosen to vote this way. And I know their reasons. Some are hoping for a change in their economic status. Some are hoping for a supreme court that will overturn marriage equality and Roe vs. Wade (which in and of itself is beyond problematic for me, but not unexpected, and that’s a post for another day). It’s that these issues, to them, outweigh my own safety. That a slight decline in their healthcare premium is somehow more important than my autonomy over my own body. That a court decision that has been in place since the 70s is creating such a desperate situation, that the safety of my husband is expendable. That the need to ensure gay people have no illusion of equality with good, God-fearing Christians, the future of my brown, Muslim children can be uncertain.

That’s the package deal they have signed up for. They are effectively saying to me “Of course we don’t hate you and your family, but we don’t care enough about you. These other things are more important than your well-being”. And that is what they are saying. In fact, about a month before the election, while (very) briefly discussing who I was not voting for, given the fact that I am a woman and I am married to a Muslim man and I have friends and family who are not yet entirely legal, a family member, who I love very dearly said “You’ll probably be okay”. Probably? And that’s enough? That the probable safety of their daughter/granddaughter/niece/cousin and her husband and kids is not only sufficient, but worth the risk.

And that is where my struggle comes in. I am devastated that such a huge portion of the country has chosen to pursue their own interests at all costs. But I am gutted that my own family has done it. And so what do I do now? How do I walk in to Thanksgiving with a smile on my face and love in my heart, when all I am capable of feeling at the moment is angry and betrayed? How do I build this bridge that my wonderful friends posted about and forgive my family? Especially when I know that they are not sorry, that most of them would probably not change their vote, even if they could.

And you know what? I kind of don’t even want to forgive and move on yet. I kind of want to stay angry and hurt. I want to embrace this feeling and poke at the anger and make it angrier. I want them to understand how I feel but I don’t want to sit down and have a nice rational, compassionate conversation. I want to sneer at them and spit out all of the times I have been sexually assaulted. I want to shout out them that I fear every time my husband leaves the house that he’s going to be attacked because he is brown and Muslim and that their selfishness and willing ignorance and misguided morality has painted a target on our backs. And I want this anger to spur me into action. I want to hold this anger close to me for the rest of my life and always use it to do something helpful. And now, instead of saying “Oh good, I’m glad someone is doing something”, I hope this anger makes me say “Fuck yeah. I’m in.” I want my family to see my anger and my actions, and I hope they eventually understand. But first, I hope that they get angry too.

November 9th, 2016

Yesterday morning, I woke up with excitement and confidence. I drove to my local polling place listening to Beyonce’s Run The World (Girls). I strolled into the ballot booth with a big smile on my face and pushed the button for Hillary Clinton with so much exuberance I’m surprised that I didn’t break the machine. Then, before I moved down my ballot, I just sat back and looked at my historic vote for a couple of seconds, savored it. This is why I didn’t vote early. I wanted to experience election day, I wanted to breathe the air and share the excitement with others voting for America’s first female president. When I got to my office, I signed on to Facebook and “liked” every single post about voting, about history being made, and about Hillary.  I even posted a .gif of Beyonce and a girl squad strutting purposely with the caption “Walking into the polling place like…” And that’s how I felt. Like me and my country-wide girl squad, and my LGBTQ squad, and all the minority squads, we had this. We walked in and voted, to move forward, not backward, to be included, to be respected, to be equal.

And then election night happened. I was nervous, but still confident. My husband and I sat on our couch in silence, except for the occasional “Oh shit, she lost Florida… Ohmigod North Carolina too?… Hold out for Nevada, there’s still Nevada”. But it turns out Nevada wasn’t enough. All our squads weren’t enough. We watched as, state by state, almost the entire map of the United States of America turned red. Finally, about midnight central time, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up, looked at my wonderful, kind, and generous Muslim American husband, announced I was going to bed, and burst into tears and my kind, generous, Muslim husband comforted me. We went to bed, held on tight to each other, and I fell asleep. He did not.

I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes. Half of the country has spoken. They don’t want to move forward. They miss where we used to be.

Half of the country includes my family. I’m from rural Louisiana. My family is part of that working-class, Christian right who doesn’t have more than a high school education and have never moved out of our hometown. I knew without them telling me who they weren’t voting for. But I held out hope that since the Republican candidate was so (for lack of a better word) deplorable, since they adore their Muslim son-in-law and his family, since they raised strong, independent, successful women, that they would refrain from the presidential vote, or cast their vote for a 3rd party candidate. But they didn’t. They voted. And throughout this week they told me and my sisters who they were voting for and why. Told us he was the only real choice. My aunt even sent us an hour long YouTube video of a sermon where the Republican candidate was called “flawed” and “rough around the edges” but really the best and only choice if one wanted to repeal Marriage Equality and not live under “enforced sodomy”, whatever the fuck that means. My sister and I griped about it, marveled that they have ignored the fact that we don’t share the same values as them, but ultimately, we blew them off. They, we thought, are on the wrong side of history. They, we thought, are in the minority.

And then last night happened. And it is gut-wrenching. We are afraid. We are discouraged. My country, my family, voted that they don’t want anymore Muslims in this country – despite the fact that the little brown baby boy I’m carrying will be Muslim. My country and my family voted that, if something goes wrong in the months that I’m carrying this child, I should not have the right to make the decision on how to proceed, that I should have one option – to carry to term no matter what the consequences. My family, who has raised all daughters for the last two generations, has voted for women to have little autonomy over our own bodies. They voted and the man who now holds the highest office in the land has unequivocally stated “Grab her, kiss her, say what you want about her, do what you want to her. Nothing will happen to you”.

And I feel afraid. And I feel gutted. And I feel betrayed. And today, I weep. I mourn. I rage.

But tomorrow… Tomorrow…

“Let us not grow weary. Let us not lose heart. For there are more seasons to come… and more work to do” Thank you, Hillary. You are right. After all, tomorrow is another day. And we have to to keep working, to keep fighting. It has never been easy, and it might get harder. But we won’t go back. Back to the darkness, back to the kitchens, back to the metal hangers and the silence. We will put in the work – with our time and our wallets and our voices. We won’t stop fighting for what is right. And we are not alone. That was apparent when I walked into my doctor’s office this morning and women were asking other women “Are you okay?” and most of us answered honestly, with tears in our eyes “No. We are not okay”. Half of the country has voted to tell us to go back where we came from – to our home countries, or to our kitchens, back where they think we all belong. But that was only half. The other half were with Her. The other half were with us, are with us. And today that half turned inward, to embrace and comfort and console.

But tomorrow… Tomorrow is another day. And we will not go back.

Book Review: At Grave’s End (Night Huntress Series #3)

<a href=”; style=”float: left; padding-right: 20px”><img alt=”At Grave’s End (Night Huntress, #3)” border=”0″ src=”; /></a><a href=””>At Grave’s End</a> by <a href=””>Jeaniene Frost</a><br/>
My rating: <a href=”″>5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />

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This may be my favorite book in the series, for a few reasons. A lot of the characters we’ve only just “met” before have a larger role so we “get to know them”, as it were. Vlad is introduced (He becomes a fave of mine. I really enjoy his and Bones’ dislike of one another). There’s a lot of action in this one. It seems like something is constantly going down. And I don’t mean sexy time action. This book might have the least amount of sex in the whole series; however, the emotion and passion in this one are so intense, the sex scenes are practically unmissed.


This may be the only romance that has ever made me tear up. When Cat thinks she’s lost Bones, it’s pretty devastating. Not to mention Bones’ other friends’ reactions.

The zombie fight scene: awesome. Though it does get a little jumbled and hard to follow in places. Like maybe the author got so swept up in her own imaginings of it, she couldn’t quite relay it in words.

I really liked how all the characters were so distraught after they lost their friends in the zombie battle. It seems like a lot of authors would have used that as a “yeah lets get revenge!” motivator. But all the characters were truly grieving for their fallen brethren.

Patra was too easily killed. She’s over 2000 years old. You mean to tell me all they had to do was find her and have some wraiths beat her up then stab her? That’s it? It kind of pisses you off seeing as Mencheres could have dispatched her so easily this whole time and a couple of dozen people would never have had to die. F*ck you, Mencheres.

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Book Review: One Foot in the Grave (Night Huntress #2)

<a href=”; style=”float: left; padding-right: 20px”><img alt=”One Foot in the Grave (Night Huntress, #2)” border=”0″ src=”; /></a><a href=””>One Foot in the Grave</a> by <a href=””>Jeaniene Frost</a><br/>
My rating: <a href=”″>5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />

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Once again, I gave this book 5 stars because I love this entire series so much. This book is definitely better than the 1st. Cat seems to have grown up a lot, which was my biggest complaint about book #1. Ian is one of my favorite characters and this is his introduction to the series. Although, it seems like a lot of drama could have been avoided if Bones would have just told Ian he was in love with Cat instead of jumping through hoops to trick him and then humiliate him in front of all his people. But I guess that would not have made for much of a story. Anyway, we see more of Spade who I love and are introduced to Mencheres and Annette. It’s a good lead-in to the 3rd book of the series, which is one of my favorites. <br><br>Oh yeah. And, of course, there’s chapter 32…
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Book Review: Halfway to the Grave (Night Huntress series #1)

<a href=”; style=”float: left; padding-right: 20px”><img alt=”Halfway to the Grave (Night Huntress, #1)” border=”0″ src=”
My rating: <a href=”″>5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />

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Full discloser: I gave all the books in this series 5 stars because I love the Night Huntress series so much. However, some books, of course, are much better that others. This is the 1st book of the series and to be honest, I only read the next book because I was intrigued by the lead up at the end of this one (trying to avoid spoilers). Cat’s character initially turned me off. I mean, get over it already. The other kids picked on you and a boy you hooked up with in high school hit it and quit it? Boohoo. I was (and still am) tired of the virgin, or almost-virgin, romance heroine (which is why I like the Riley Jensen Guardian series so much). But I adore the character of Bones and his influence on Cat’s personality redeems her a bit, and you can really see her personal growth towards the end of the book. <br>Also what I like about this book, is that Jeaniene Frost isn’t lazy with her introduction to the characters’s relationship. A lot of romance books start with the characters being “inexplicably drawn’ to each other and immediately falling into bed despite having just met, and knowing right away they had to have each other and being in love after the 1st time having sex. I get it. There’s only about 300 pages, let’s start the romance and sex as soon as possible. Bones and Cat, though, actually get to know one another 1st, and even though Bones is smitten right away, Cat starts off hating him, and then trusting him, and then liking him, and then “like” liking him. And doesn’t admit to him or herself that she’s in love with him for quite awhile. Which seems more believable to me.<br><br>All and all, this book is worth reading as a set-up for the series as a whole.
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100 Questions Noone Ever Asks from

1. Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?

Open. The closets in our room are A’s (I use the two big closets in the guest rooms. I need all the space.) and he doesn’t hang or put things away so clothes just cascade out of them.

2. Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotels?

Yes, but I never use them and end up throwing them away or donating them whenever I move.

3. Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?

I tuck them and sleep with them that way but A untucks his side, and sometimes my side if he stays in bed for awhile after I get up.

4. Have you stolen a street sign before?

Yes, when I was in college and hung out with some frat boys who had to steal a “Pike St” sign as a pledge-initiation thing.

5. Do you like to use post-it notes?

I love to use post-it notes, especially passive-aggressively to point out things that are wrong in my house or office, like “This doesn’t go here” with an arrow pointing to the offending object.

6. Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?

I used to, but successfully quit because I just had envelopes of expired coupons all over the place.

7. Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of bees?

I don’t know. Do I live or die after the attack? If I die, a bear, because that seems like a faster way to go. If I live, bees probably won’t maim or horrible disfigure me so…

8. Do you have freckles?

So many freckles…

9. Do you always smile for pictures?

Sometimes I think I’m smiling sultrily at the camera, but I’m actually glaring.

10. What is your biggest pet peeve?

There are just so many…

11. Do you ever count your steps when you walk?

Yes, more often than not. I have a mild counting OCD. I also count when I’m pouring something or running a faucet.

12. Have you peed in the woods?


13. Have you ever pooped in the woods?

I don’t think so, but we went camping a lot when I was a kid so it’s possible I did and don’t remember.

14. Do you ever dance even if theres no music playing?

Yes, because there’s always something playing in my head.

15. Do you chew your pens and pencils?

Sometimes. When I do, I really gnaw the sh*t out of them.

16. How many people have you slept with this week?

Just the one.

17. What size is your bed?


18. What is your song of the week?

The Weekend’s “I can’t feel my face”. I don’t even particularly care for it but it’s been in my head all week.

19. Is it OK for guys to wear pink?


20. Do you still watch cartoons?

Yes, with or without children.

21. What is your least favorite movie?

Any of the Jim Carrey “The Mask/Dumb & Dumber/Ace Venturas”. I know, I know. I’m the only one who doesn’t appreciate the comic genius. Whatever.

22. Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some?

Definitely at my dad’s house, but I won’t get anymore specific than that. What if I actually do have some treasure to hide one day?

23. What do you drink with dinner?

Usually water.

24. What do you dip a chicken nugget in?

Usually nothing. Sometimes ketchup, sometimes bbq sauce. I really miss when McDonald’s used to give honey with their chicken nuggets. That was my favorite.

25. What is your favorite food?


26. What movies could you watch over and over again and still love?

The Princess Bride, Xanadu, Pootie Tang, Shakespeare in Love

27. Last person you kissed/kissed you?

A, of course

28. Were you ever a boy/girl scout?

I was a brownie for a year and I hated the uniform, particularly that little brown beanie. I still had another year before I could be a girl scout and wear the green uniform with the skirt and the darling little beret. One more year in that brown jumper was more than my 9year old fashion sensibilities could stand, so I quit. 

29. Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine?

In my mid-20s, I had a mild obsession with Playboy and the Suicide Girls. I used to think, if the opportunity ever arose, I would like to pose. Thankfully, the opportunity never did.

30. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?

I often write letters that are never met to be sent, but the last time I actually wrote a letter and mailed it was probably back when I first started college in 2000.

31. Can you change the oil on a car?

I cannot.

32. Ever gotten a speeding ticket?

Of course.

33. Ever ran out of gas?

More often than I care to admit.

34. What’s your favorite kind of sandwich?


35. Best thing to eat for breakfast?

Eggs Benedict.

36. What is your usual bedtime?

Midnight-ish, give or take an hour.

37. Are you lazy?

Yes, but I really know how to get my ass in gear when it’s time to work, although I’d rather be lazy all the time.

38. When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween?

An Indian, Little Bo Peep, a Cabbage Patch Kid, She-ra, a cat, Dorothy, a vampire (my favorite), a gypsy…  

39. What is your Chinese astrological sign?


40. How many languages can you speak?

Just English, but I know a few words in Spanish and Urdu.

41. Do you have any magazine subscriptions?

I subscribe to The Knot and Martha Stewart Weddings.

42. Which are better: legos or lincoln logs?

I LOVED Lincoln logs!!

43. Are you stubborn?

Pretty stubborn, if you ask A.

44. Who is better: Leno or Letterman?

I don’t really care for either, to be honest. I loved Johnny Carson as a little kid and when Leno took over, I felt a lot of anger towards him for taking Johnny’s job.

45. Ever watch soap operas?

For a little while in junior high, back when Marlena was possessed on Days of our Lives.

46. Are you afraid of heights?

Not heights, but I am afraid of ladders.

47. Do you sing in the car?

Who doesn’t?

48. Do you sing in the shower?

Again, who doesn’t?

49. Do you dance in the car?

These questions are becoming redundant.

50. Ever used a gun?

Yep, lots. My dad used to let me help him clean his guns.


51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?

I got my graduation portrait taken in May but I didn’t like the way they came out so I didn’t order them. I probably need to get some professional headshots though, now that I’m a professional and all.

52. Do you think musicals are cheesy?

Yes, but I love them with every fiber of my being.

53. Is Christmas stressful?

It can be, if I’m not on top of my shopping and budget. But I usually am on top of those things and about mid-November, I turn into Martha Stewart, baking, and wrapping, and decorating, and singing Christmas nonstop.

54. Ever eat a pierogi?

I don’t think so.

55. Favorite type of fruit pie?

Peach, hands down. Peach everything is my favorite.

56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?

An actress, a model, a rodeo queen…

57. Do you believe in ghosts?


58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?

Yep, a lot.

59. Do you take a vitamin daily?

If by vitamin you mean caffeine.

60. Do you wear slippers?

No, because I’m dismayed by all the hair and dirt that collects on the bottom of them. I’d rather just go barefoot.

61. Do you wear a bath robe?

Yes, when I take a shower before going out and I’m not quite ready to put on my final outfit.

62. What do you wear to bed?

A t-shirt or a tank. 

63. What was your first concert?

The Beach Boys! I wore jams!

64. Walmart, Target, or Kmart?

I love just about everything about Target, including their recent decision to do away with gender labels.

65. Nike or Adidas?

Both. Neither. I wear Nikes to run in but I think Adidas are cooler, though I don’t personally own any. A obsessively buy Adidas shell toes.

66. Cheetos or Fritos?

Yuck. Fritos if I’m starving, and if they’re covered in chili and cheese.

67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?

Peanuts if I’m eating them as a snack. I don’t like all the spitting involved with eating sunflowers. I do like already shelled sunflower seeds on my salads.

68. Ever hear of the group Tres Bien?

I don’t think so…

69. Ever take dance lessons?

Yes, when I was 6 I took dance at Miss Vicki’s Studios and when I was 10 I took dance, tumbling, and twirling (as in baton, and not, as I originally thought and was disappointed to learn otherwise, lessons on spinning around and around a la ballerina or figure skater) at Dixie Darling Studios.

70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?

I imagine he’ll buy and renovate properties, since that’s what A does.

71. Can you curl your tongue?


72. Ever won a spelling bee?

Came in 3rd once.

73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy?

If I’m below a 3 or above a 7, I’m crying. If I see a picture of puppies on the internet that I deem to be “too cute”, I’m crying.

74. Own any record albums?

Yes, quite a few, but I do not own a record player.

75. Own a record player?

See above.

76. Do you regularly burn incense?

No, I hate the smell of burning incense. No matter what the fragrance is suppose to be, it always just smells like a head shop.

77. Ever been in love?


78. Who would you like to see in concert?


79. What was the last concert you saw?

I saw New Kids On The Block, TLC, and Nelly in May. That’s what I did instead of walking in my own graduation. Priorities.

80. Hot tea or cold tea?

Iced sweet tea. I am a southern girl, after all.

81. Tea or coffee?

Coffee. Every morning. Or I can’t even.

82. Sugar cookies or snickerdoodles?

Both, please. Now.

83. Can you swim well?

fezzik I only dog paddle gif imgur tumblr princess bride

84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?


85. Are you patient?

Not really.

86. DJ or band at a wedding?

DJ. If I can’t get down to 90s dance music, what’s the point of a wedding anyway?

87. Ever won a contest?

Sure, coloring contests, costume contest, essay contest.

88. Have you ever had plastic surgery?


89. Which are better: black or green olives?


90. Can you knit or crochet?

Knit, but only in a straight line so, no…

91. Best room for a fireplace?

Living room, that’s where I think you’d get the most use of it.

92. Do you want to get married?

Desperately. A should stop being an asshole and get on that.

93. If married, how long have you been married?

A and I have been together for 7 years, enough for common law if that still existed.

94. Who was your high school crush?

I chased and dated Quint Kramer all through high school.

95. Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way?

Sometimes. I pick my battles.

96. Do you have kids?

I have a dog, same difference.

97. Do you want kids?

Kinda, sorta, not really. Still trying to decide.

98. What is your favorite color?

I alternate between purple and teal.

99. Do you miss anyone right now?

I miss Micki, who’s in Louisville, KY, Mom, Dad, and Melissa, who are in Alexandria, LA, Bailey, who’s in Lafayette, LA, and Pop, who passed away.

100. Who are you going to tag to do this video next?

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