Happy V-Day!

Okay ladies now let’s get in formation.

Cuz we slay.

Another year single, another year ready for a pringle. Am I right?

Look, there are only so many ways that I can try to make you feel better about being single with me. Over the years I have written about what not to do to your single friends, I’ve given you the option of dating fictional men instead of real men, I’ve sent you a Valentine with David Tennant, I’ve made you collages, I’ve made romantic book lists.

I’m one hell of a Valentine if you ask me. Because for the people I care about I also bake things and drink wine with them and have a Galentine’s day if it’s on a weekend.

Damn. I’m so romantic and I didn’t even notice.

This year though, I thought I would try something different.

Online dating.

JUST KIDDING THAT’S THE WORST. *laugh crying emoji*

Here’s what I would like to say to you this year:

Treat yo self.

That’s right. I’ve decided (since I’ve turned 30 and ain’t nobody putting a ring on this finger any time soon.) that I will date myself, so to speak. In that I now buy myself relatively expensive presents for my big events.

Because I’m going to die alone in a pile of dogs. #livingthedream

This year I have my eye on a sweet purse that has bananas on it. Because I’m an adult.

You know you’re awesome, you have to by now because I’ve been convincing you for years. You hustle like a champ and all the good things will come your way. And if they don’t, then they weren’t meant for you.

Love isn’t something that is to be forced, it will show up when it is meant to happen and the only thing to do in the meantime is live your life the way you want to because someday you’ll be knee deep in a relationship and these days are the ones you’ll look back on and think “Yeah. I set myself up to be who I want to be and that’s what got me here.”

Or you’ll think “Man. I miss when I could sit around with no pants on and I only had to forage for food for one person.” If you’re lucky, your future significant other will also like not wearing pants while watching TV and will be the kind of person who buys surprise pizzas instead of flowers.

Because flowers are the goddamn dumbest thing to bring a person. Stop bringing things home that can die, bring home things we can eat. (I know you feel me ladies!)

Romantic entanglements aren’t the only things that matter in life. You do you girl!

Man, sometimes I get really serious.

Probably because I hate when I chirp myself for being single so I get mad when I think others are doing it to themselves! Good thing I have some friends who are good with throwing encouragement at me like it’s a confetti parade and give me a hard slap of reality when I need it.

Happy Valentines Day you sons of bitches.

Use the search button to find other such inspirational posts from years of yore. It’s worth it. But I’m biased because I wrote them.

KMF: Treat Yo Self

This week I was feeling like a bag of garbage. My haircut is currently a mess due to growing it out for a wedding next year. (Through no fault of my friends, I’m sure she doesn’t give two shits if hairdressers have anything to work with come the time of her wedding.) My eyebrows were starting to look like individual angry Hulks, ‘stache city, and gnarly nails.

While looks aren’t the most important thing to me (they only make Top 20 because I try not to completely tip over into looking like a street urchin, and I work with kids and have wrestling matches so what’s the point in my hair looking good during the day? Most of the time I come home looking like I’ve been wrestled by a mongoose not a two year old.) it’s interesting the affect it takes on a person.

Yesterday morning I was telling myself I looked like a bag of garbage because I don’t know what to do with my hair anymore. I was telling myself I looked like garbage because my eyebrows had a few extra hairs that my old glasses normally would’ve covered and I wouldn’t have thought about for probably another three months. (I’m naturally blonde so who gives a fuck, right? And I’m one of the most hairless people I know.) I was telling myself that I looked like garbage because my hands and fingernails weren’t at their best. I was telling myself I was a big fat ugly bag of garbage because of a few rogue hairs.

What in the actual fuck.

GARBAGE? I was calling myself ‘garbage’. I am not:


noun: garbage
1 wasted or spoiled food and other refuse, as from a kitchen or household.


2 a thing that is considered worthless or meaningless.”a store full of overpriced garbage”

I am not overpriced garbage.

I know this. Most of the time. So in a bid to snap the hell out of it. The simplest thing would be to remedy all the things that were bugging me physically.

I decided that I would pamper the hell out of myself yesterday and show myself I’m not garbage, and thankfully my favourite salon had an opening.

In the grand scheme of things I care very little about eyebrow hair. And even less about a blonde barely there moustache hair. So those would be the first to go because it’s ridiculous to give them a second though. So boom. Gone. Sleek as fuck.

The most important thing I did yesterday was for a body part I use the most and think of treating the least.

My hands. My lovely 29 year old hands have been bruised, battered, cut, slammed, poked, prodded, and beaten to hell. And all that’s just from cross stitching and knitting.

So I decided to get a manicure. Something that I haven’t done probably since prom. At the very least. And because I usually just cut my nails short and call it a day because I’m always doing something with them that messes up my nail polish so what’s the point?

The point is the hand massage bitches.

Why haven’t I been doing that more often? Forget the cuticle cleaning, or even the applying of nail polish or any of that. The hand massage alone was exactly what I needed. If you can’t afford/don’t care about getting your nails done, get someone to massage your hands with moisturizer. Because it was so lovely!

Plus the girl doing my nails told me ghost stories, which was fun. Haha .

My point is: Don’t talk to yourself that way. I’m trying really hard not to. Treat yourself to something you wouldn’t normally treat yourself to. Be kind. (Always) And then go and buy the on sale Kardashian moisturizer and perfume kit for $13 at Winners like a goddamn queen.

I went spa crazy yesterday. I even bought one of those weird things that pulls out your blackheads and those weird towel things that’s not a towel that wraps around your head so that you don’t damage your hair. And an on sale Ralph Lauren bathrobe.

Because I’m a mother fucking queen.

I also only buy things on sale now because I’m a cheap queen! haha.

Whatever. I feel like a million bucks for under 200 bucks.

Treat yo self. Keep moving forward.

KMF: Why I Decided to NOT meet Rupert Grint.

Hello friends,

As you know, I took a couple of months to myself to get sorted in my own head, heart, and soul.

Mostly what I realized was that while taking a break from writing on here made me even more crazy. I didn’t have that outlet of even short bursts of writing to relieve myself of my feelings or emotions or thoughts about feelings or emotions. I didn’t have enough time to sit and write like I wanted to and I found myself crying when Daryl cried or crying because the dad was left behind on a smouldering lava filling island while he threw his family to safety in The Croods.

I had problems.

The biggest  relief was having the kids back to school, that took so much pressure off of me and I feel like I can actually breathe again. Which sounds terrible because I love my cousins and I loved having them around all day!

But I have this insane need to be perfect sometimes. (Which is absurd when you consider how much I swear, eat, or walk around in uncoordinated outfits.)

And that put even more pressure on me when these kids were around. I had to be perfect for them because any sign of me breaking one of my own rules, or their parents rules, and it was like a can of “Ah ha! You do it too! We don’t have to do it anymore!” was opened and all hell would break loose.

Hell, even if I just do something a little differently from their parents they are up my ass.

It got stressful some days.

Add on all that extra summer fun and life stuff and naturally, I needed time to myself.

Which led me to the hardest decision of my life.

To meet Rupert at Fan Expo, or not?

Now, you’ve likely heard me express my love for him, I’ve had a celeb crush on him since I was 12. Which was scandalous because he was 10 or 11. Here’s my account the day I made this decision:

“At the time of writing this I have one hour until the decision is made for me on whether to meet Rupert Grint or not.

I have already texted my sister that I don’t want to go to FanExpo because of several things. Mainly money.

Last year was a fantastic weekend of meeting heroes and seeing artwork and generally being stuff into a herd of people that smelled and rubbed their smells on you and being dehydrated and hungry and tired of the human race after three days of this.

But I met Arthur Darvill, Nathan Fillion, Matt Smith, and Stan Lee. I got to see the cast of the Walking Dead do a panel, along with Matt and Arthur separately.

And this year you would think I would be the first person signed up because the Phelps twins are there. AKA: The Weasley Twins.

I would get to meet them, I would meet Tom Felton because my little sister has been crushing on him since she was a kid, and then I would meet the penultimate of my fandom dreams, the guy I’ve been mooning over for years.


Since I was 13 years old.

Rupert Grint may not be the worlds biggest or even remotely diva-type star, he’s seemingly remained down to earth and polite, generally thought of as the coolest of the kids to come out of the Harry Potter franchise.

And I’m absolutely petrified to meet him because I’ve already met so many of my on screen boyfriends and they all turned out to be wonderful human beings.

What if I meet Rupert and it’s as disappointing as Stan Lee was?

3 seconds, no conversation, and little kids took away from the experience because they don’t know when it’s time to move on?

I know what you’re all thinking “What if it’s something you’ll regret not doing for the rest of your life?”

Well, let’s be real here. I definitely will regret this decision of not going because I love them all so much and I don’t like to do things out of fear of being disappointed or because there are so many ‘What ifs’ attached that I could drown in them.

I will regret it as far as I didn’t get to meet them. But I won’t regret missing the hours of sitting in line for 10 seconds and a picture, I won’t regret missing out on the different arrays of peoples B.O.s. I won’t regret that I’ll be spending this money on a much needed day of pampering.

I need my nails done and a super human strength massage this week. I need that night away by myself. I need to be pampered and relax and drink wine in silence.

I haven’t had time off in a little while and I’m worn a little thin lately. I need to be AWAY from people, not thrown directly into their throngs.

I need to take care of myself this week and that’s okay.

That’s perfectly wonderful really.

There will be other chances to meet these people. And if not? Well then, whoops.”

As you can see it was a tough decision and I’m basically talking myself into it.

And for the record, yes, I regret not meeting them, but I don’t regret that I took the time to be alone because I needed that more.

Keep moving forward, take care of yourself, and pray to the Fan Expo Gods that they will come back next year.

KMF–February Reboot

In the eternal words of Matthew McConaughey:

All right, all right, all right!

This Saturday is my reboot. My personal New Years because I rang in the New Year half dead on the dining room table while my family forced me to play the Pride and Prejudice board game I got for my mom for Christmas.

After all my cuckoo bananas health nonsense I think I’m finally in a place where my lungs could take it if I worked out.

So this weekend I will be using February as my New Years, feel free to count down with me so it feels legit.

Because this time I’m going to be too legit to quit.

I’ve suffered from serious self-esteem hits lately because I’ve gained another 10 pounds.

Okay, to be fair, 7 of those I lost and gained back from when I had that crazy case of the Up Chucks in December.

Well, those are back and I’m disappointed I didn’t keep them off, but hey, I kind of saw that coming. What with Christmas and all manners of holidays happening.

I can only hold off on eating my moms broccoli casserole for about 2 seconds before I’m like “Pffft worth it.” And eat my weight in it.

Now, this isn’t just a reboot of my body, it’ll be a reboot of my mind. I’ve been all over the map recently with my headspace and unfortunately everything is annoying the Hell out of me. So I need to sort out what I’m going to do with that.

I’m thinking nightly meditation while looking at pictures of Rupert Grint.

That’ll cheer me up and calm me down. And then I’ll weird dreams where we live in a house together and only do things like hold hands and have pet chickens while somehow the basement of our house is really a giant swimming pool. Then we will swim together and lay on the beach (which is somehow also in the basement) and have to be under an umbrella and in vintage bathing suits due to our mutual paleness, covered in sunscreen and eating Reeses Pieces….

What was I talking about?

Ah well, I feel calm already.

Ooooommmm OOooommm Iiiiiii’m in love with Ruuuupert. Iiiiii’m in love with Ruuuupert.

Wait. That’s not right.

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Sometimes you just need to laugh at Tom Hiddleston losing his composure.

Keep moving forward.

Me, Me, Me.

It’s hard to know what will be a good read without someone to guide you, sure everyone knows a few writers that they really enjoy, book series’ that they love and books that everyone raves about that are guaranteed to be a good time.

   But what about people like me who are reading books for other people? Well. Luckily I’m a freak of nature and have this down to a simple science.

          I judge books by their covers.

I also judge them by how they feel in my hands, if I don’t like the way they feel I won’t read them. It’s weird, I know, but if a book is difficult to hold, what are the odds I’ll read it? Slim.

   This is the problem with the book I’m reading now. It’s a great read actually, but I can’t seem to break the binding in a way that will stick. It’s lucky she’s one of my favourite authors I would skim it to be rid of it.

What are some other ways I figure out what books I like? Sounds dorky, but the Chapters wall they have at the back where their employees have their favourites. If it’s good enough for them to put up on a wall then it must be a great book. 

           Some books have truly awful covers but they are a diamond in the rough. Which is why I’m glad that the Sookie Stackhouse books had a great first cover and then went downhill or I wouldn’t have picked any of them up. More than half of my books on my shelves have great covers, which is why they are up there, they look pretty and it works with my decor.

 I’m shallow, I know, but hey, it has been working for me. There are some books however that have great covers and are truly awful books…

Arthur C. Clarke’s books for example. I love their covers, but I can’t stand to read anymore of them.

         I guess what I’m trying to say is sometimes it’s good to judge a book by it’s cover, other times it’s not, duh. But the important thing is how a book feels in your hands. (Well, you know, besides the actual story.) If it feels good just to have it in your hands then it has to be a good read. It’s like you can feel the spirit of the book while holding it.

…. …I think I’ve lost my mind. But that’s okay. I’ll recover it soon to give you a list of my current summer reads.