Black Wolf Blogger Award

Out of the blue I’ve been nominated for the ‘Black Wolf Blogger Award’ from a fellow blogger. Now, I don’t usually pay attention to things, so I’m not 100% sure what this is about, I’m assuming it’s to get other people to read your favourite under the radar the blogs. Help spread the word, and general community of writers.

Either way, I’m tickled pink that someone thought that my tiny egocentric blog was worth telling other humans about.

Thank you to TheSublxmityShade for the nomination! Check out their stuff on the link.

So here are the rules and who I then also nominate:


The rules:

1. The nominee shall display the respective logo on her/his blog.

2. The nominee shall nominate ten (10) bloggers she/he admires, by linking to their blogs and informing them about it.

My Nominees: 

1.) StarlitS0uls: A beautiful blog about self love and healing.

2.)Voracious Vividity : Funny, dirty, and dynamic.

3) Dog-Eared & Dog-Tagged: “The Bookish Life of an Army Wife”

4)The Most Happy

5) Knit The Hell Out

6)Some Bookish Things 

7) The Unknown Variable 

Now, I’m all for supporting community, but I honestly don’t read that many blogs on a regular basis! So if you have more for me then by all means hand them over! Haha


Constant vigilance!

Keep Moving Forward: Sing it Sister.

As you know I’ve been rutting myself into my sad sackery for months and have just started to peek out from behind the Curtain of Dreading Life.

And Jesus Christ I wish I had done this months ago.

Out of sheer annoyance that I wasn’t getting anything done on my list of things from the past year (Ie. Getting my tattoo lasered, getting the piano tuned, signing back up for stuff, etc.) I just shot off emails left and right to get the word out even if I couldn’t get my physical self out yet.

Well, fate is a tricky bitch because after I shot off the first email, to one of my favourite places of joy and learning, the music store in Orangeville (Broadway Music), thinking that ‘Hey, at least if nothing comes of it then I at least wrote them to sign up one more time.” The timing kept being off financially, miscommunications happened, lesson times weren’t working for us, and I just plain old forgot to keep getting back to them about stuff.

I’m aware I’m a total flake.

So, the universe stepped in and I got an email back right away saying “Boom. Here we go.”.

Naturally, I was scared half to death at the prospect of humiliating myself every week once more  in my bid to learn the piano, talk to other people, and sing in front of Heather who is top of the top of singers in my books. She’s got a vocal range that anyone would kill for.

Serious jealousy over here. If I had her lungs, voice, and stamina, I would be Carlotta in The Phantom of the Opera until the day I died.

But thank the universe (and Michael, the man who wrote me back with impeccable timing) that this happened because last week was so oddly relaxing, in that it wasn’t relaxing.

We laughed, we sang, we half assed the piano while I try my age old tactics of distracting Greg by cursing and general story telling, and I feel like a light has been lit back up.

What I’m saying is: Take the things that make you happy and amplify them. Whether it’s taking lessons at 28 years old, or dancing in the middle of the Goddamn street, who cares, do the things that embarrass the Hell out of you because there is such a happy reward at the end because you DID something. You got up. You showed up. You may have fucked up but without failure you never learn anything new.

I’m so fucking happy and can’t wait until tomorrow.

Where I will once again prove that laughter is the best medicine, and laughing at yourself is even greater because:

Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.


Constant vigilance!

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Lord of Misrule: An Autobiography–Christopher Lee

Christopher Lee is the biggest badass on the block.

This guy has met so many awesome people while also being the ultimate of awesome people.

He’s played everyone from Dracula to Sherlock Holmes to Saruman to Count Dooku. He does voice work; makes metal rock albums, golf’s like nobodies business, and used to do his own stunts. He’s 92 for Christ sake, there’s no way he’s doing that now. But if anyone could, it’s him.

Hell, he wrote this book himself and has also been married to the same woman since the 60s.

He’s been in two wars, can fly a plane, and the list of amazing deeds just continues.

Errol Flynn broke his pinkie.

He was friends with Boris Karloff.

He was friends with Vincent Price.

His family was royalty. He’s met the Queen of England. He’s just-He’s just–He’s…

He’s so cool. And funnily enough, through all these bad ass deeds, friendships, and life changing experiences, he’s remained relatable.

Like if I met him, after I get over the initial fangirl bell ringing gaga whoopideewhoo, I would be able to actually hold a conversation with him and be like ‘Damn, Saruman is so cool.” And then I would take up golf just to hang out with him and then ask him to break MY pinky.

…I think if I ever met him the fangirling would never cease actually.

And to top it all off, his relationship stuff is hilariously virginal and I felt like he knows me and wrote this book for me.

I love him. I don’t know if I was getting that point across.

Read this book if you’re a big fan, read it even if you’re not because it’ll make you fall in love with him.

That is if you don’t mind reading all about how much a person loves golf. Because there’s a good deal of that in the book.

Constant vigilance.


Keep Moving Forward: Drunk Body

Hey girl, let’s talk.

So you’re kind of mean when you’re sober. You’re a little harsh on your hot bod when you stand on the scale, when you put on something that used to fit, when you can’t find anything to wear, looking for something to eat, eaten something “bad”, which is why I’ve made the executive decision to talk to you about this sort of thing only when:

We’re buzzed, tipsy, drunk, or otherwise inebriated. Because giiiirl, you fine.

I think we should only talk to our bodies or think about our body shape, size, or looks when we are drunk because I don’t know about you, but I hit on myself a lot more when I’m a little drunk.

Oh my God. That makes me sound hideous and like I need beer goggles to look at myself. That’s so horrible!

But hear me out, I know I’m beautiful. I’ve got a symmetrical face, I have nice skin, I have big giant Mediterranean eyes that are as green as a deep dark forest, I have lips that pull off red lipstick, and an hour glass figure that is so well proportioned that you wouldn’t know that I’m tipping the scale towards 200 pounds.

This is not bragging, these are stone cold facts. People have actually said these things to me before. Most of them while staring at me. I’m dead serious. One guy was like three inches away from my face staring at me and I was like ‘What the fuck?” and he’s like “I’ve never seen anyone with such a symmetrical face.” and then, naturally creeped out, I backed out of the room slowly.

So why when I stand on said scale do I think the absolute worst? Having fat isn’t the worst! That means that I’ve enjoyed food, and I have the luxury of sitting on my ass reading or writing or making things from other things.

I have the ability to move and grow muscle and be nice to myself, but I just plain old haven’t been doing it.

And I’m kicking my own ass mentally for it all the time.

So I’ve decided that I’m only going to talk to myself about my looks when I’m tipsy, because that’s the one time I really see myself for who and what I am. Other times I’m looking at all the flaws, but alcohol forces me to look not with beer goggles but with truth goggles.

I’m fucking adorable and I should stop being such a bitch to myself.

And so should you.

Have a couple of glasses of wine and THEN look in a mirror or step on a scale. Because when I do it goes something like this:

SOBER: *Steps on scale* 194?! Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. You fat ass. Did you really need to eat that entire bag of mini eggs! What about those three steaks? Hm? Eat like a rabbit and you’ll be who you want to be! You need to work harder, do more, be more, this is getting ridiculous! You are the worst, you might as well just go and hide under the covers ordering new outfits for your giant body online because you shouldn’t ever go into stores with that harsh lighting and people staring at your hideous body. X-large here we come. Jackass.

DRUNK: *Steps on scale* 194? Hahahahahaha probably my jeans. I should take off my jeans. Those weigh like 4 pounds. God I hate pants. Okay, pants off. 193? Hm, maybe it’s my shirt too, I should just do this naked, what am I thinking? 192.8! Look at that! Hot mama in the house. *Turns to mirror* Curve curve curve, swerve, not bad when I’m naked. My clothes are ill fitting and make me bulge in the wrong places. Maybe I’ll stop wearing real bras. Sober voice: “Or you could lose weight!” Drunk voice: “Or we could eat a whole pizza and you can suck my dick!” Wiggles thighs and laughs. Oh my god I want poutine. We should probably put our clothes back on and go find delicious food.*Redresses* I’m going to listen to Taylor Swift and put red lipstick on and then go eat another bag of mini eggs and then find a Tom Hiddleston something to watch on Netflix. Winner winner chocolate dinner. We’re gorgeous, check back with you never scale! To the trash with you! Huzzah!

Okay that’s not 100% accurate.

Sometimes I watch things with Benedict Cumberbatch in them too.

Keep moving forward!

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True Story Tuesday

Site update: I added more past book reviews to their genres so now you can click the tabbies and go right to their reviews if you are searching for my opinion on a book and whether it’s worth your time!

Also, here’s your TST because this is literally my every day life with this kid:

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Good morning!

This week I launched my new Etsy store!

Sounds more glamorous than it was. But now you can buy my cross stitches or just stalk me even further!

Check it out at:


Order some stuff or email me about a custom, or hell, I’ll even cross stitch you a nerdy bookmark just because we’re pals!

Get the word out! Constant vigilance!

Here’s a little Norman to start your week.


Erratic S.O.B.

I’m sure you’ve noticed that for the last little while things have been a little wild in the posting department.

True Stories are coming on Thursday, what happened to ‘To Say A Little Word…” on Fridays, Why is she posting pictures of hot dudes all the time? [Because. That’s my answer. Just because.] And what’s going on with her book reviews, in that, they are basically becoming nonexistent? Where are my KMFs?!?!

Stop yelling at me! Things have gotten a little mixed up around here! But things will commence at a regular pace once more next week when I post the most epic book review in the history of ever.

True Story Tuesday will no longer be posted on Wednesdays or Thursdays, KMFs will be back to regular posting on Wednesday or Thursday instead (depending on my motivational vibes.) and To Say a Little Word will be back on Fridays.

The hot man pictures are here to stay though.

AND book hunting, Deranged Duchovny, and Artie Reading Romances will come back as well!

Not to mention that I will be re-opening my Etsy store with more stuff, nerd stuff, dirty stuff, and I’ll take custom orders.

And some point in the next month I will be hosting my own YouTube channel with a segment called “Deranged DirtyBirds.” Stay tuned to find out what I’m doing!

And finally, I bought a ukulele and named it Hershel.

That has nothing to do with anything, I’m just really excited to learn the uke and tell people that I’ll be in my room practicing on Hershel. He was named Terrence, but he doesn’t look like a Terrence now that I’ve met him. Yes, I’m aware that i’m insane. To be fair, I was going to call it Norman because I want to pluck him. Heeeeyoooooo!

KMF, Constant vigilance and boy oh boys do some like it Scot.

Who’s happy as fuck that Outlander is back?!


I went to look for more pictures of him on Pinterest and went into a spiral of Jamie Fraser/Sam Heughan and forgot to come back here and actually post something.