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Human, Woman, Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister, Friend & Aspiring Unicorn Breeder


That Girl's Boyfriends.

We've all had/have one as a friend... hell, we've all been one at one time or another: You know, the chick that makes horrible decisions regarding men.  Mmhmm... That Girl. She's the girl you want to simultaneously slap and hug.

She's generally a strong, level headed woman. But the second a magical douche-bag appears she just loses it. I say magical because really, what else other than magic is able to get these great gals to go for these horrid men? And don't say magical penis... unless it's made out of 24K gold and can be chopped off and melted down into jewelry, it's not that magical. Anyway her pride, self esteem, self-worth, sense of self... it all goes out the window for him. He makes her feel so special... So special in fact that she ignores all of the glaring red flags waving in front of her face. And you can't say anything to her because if you do you're: a) Jealous, b) Wrong, c) Crazy, d) Being Judgemental. Never mind the fact that she's probably known you for umpteen thousand years, (and trusts your judgement for every stinkin' thing else)... and she's only known him for a week. Never mind the fact that she'll ignore and pretty much drop you until he hurts or screws her over for the 17th time, at which point she'll come running to you in tears and expect you to drop everything and be there for her... And of course you'll do so because *SURPRISE* you actually do give a crap about her... unlike Bad-Time Bobby (that you tried to warn her about). Yeah, never mind all that.

Why, Ladies?!?!

Why not start listening to your good girlfriends? If we truly love you, and I assure you we do, we're not gonna want to steer you wrong. We want to see you with the perfect guy, so please listen to us when we tell you he isn't. And if, guy after guy, we keep telling you that... perhaps you should start asking yourself why we're telling you that. Maybe it's time you stop hopping from guy to guy thinking they're all "The One" when it's obvious to everyone except you that he, and the douche-bag clones that follow, is NOT. Maybe stop freaking dating for a while, period, until you love and know yourself enough to not date morons. It's not that we want to control your life, (I promise you that we don't. We have enough BS in our own life). It's just that we're about sick of seeing you make the same ridiculously stupid decisions. We're tired of seeing you get hurt, used, abused, etc. We know you're smarter than that; we know you're better. And so it confounds us as to why someone as wonderfully awesome as you would keep latching on to the same asinine douche-bags that you do.

Girlfriend, we will always, always be there for you. Even when you cuss us for hating him, ignore us to be with him, no matter what... we'll still be there after the fall out. But please... Please, please, please for the love of God and all that is holy... please give us a break from time to time and maybe stop dating for a while. Or at least date a real man.

©Flippa Bird
(Girls, You Deserve The Best & No Less!)
Photo By: Me


Silly, Funny Things!

I think a sense of humor is probably one of the most important things you can have in a good marriage to make it last and keep it fresh. My Hubby made me laugh so much and started my day off so right this morning, that I just had to share!

I've had quite the long weekend of "celebrating." And by celebrating, I mean I drank a little more than usual. Friday night was my cousins wedding, which I celebrated fully, and last night one of my BFFs had a birthday party, which I again, celebrated fully. So this morning, after a weekend filled with much booze and very little sleep, I slept in.

I was roused at one point by my Hubby wandering in and out of the room. So I asked him, "Hey, where's my breakfast in bed??" which I meant in all jest... and then I went back to sleep. Well, low and behold 15 minutes later I get wakened by Hubby with a plate of food. (God love him). Here's how that exchange went down.

Me: "What is this? You didn't really make me breakfast in bed?!"
Hubby: "Chef Flippa, I've created for you cage free eggs sauteed in a butter reduction, Natures Own honey wheat toast topped with a butter reduction, and small orange things I found in the fridge. I hope you enjoy it."

In other words, he made me 2 fried eggs, a piece of buttered toast and a peeled cutie orange.
Then he stood back with a serious look on his face and crossed his arms behind his back, waiting for my reply.

I don't know if you are familiar with the show 'Chopped' but it is my absolute favorite show on TV. If you're not familiar with it, it goes a little something like this: You have 3 famous chef judges and 4 small time chef contestants. Each contestant is each given a mystery basket filled with the same 4 weird ridiculous ingredients like cheese-whiz, chitlins, lavash bread, and peach nehi soda... and then are expected to make some kinda bad ass gourmet meal out of it. There are 3 rounds (with different mystery baskets for each round) and at the end of each the worst contestant gets "chopped," meaning they have to leave and take their sorry ass home. The winner wins $10k. Throughout the show the judges and contestants engage in "food talk." White wine reduction... the food doesn't marry well... it brings a brightness... it's a good component... more reduction this,  more reduction that... it's very rustic... it would be better paired with... I enjoy the beautiful ingredients... I'd like to see more fat/sweetness/crunch/starch... it's very acidic... burgundy reduction (again). THOSE are the words and phrases that get used all the freaking time on that show. And it cracks up me and my Hubby every single time one of those over used words/phrases are used.

Well, that's what Hubby did. He made me breakfast 'Chopped' style this morning.

So while I ate, I critiqued his meal while he stood silently waiting to advance to the next round or get 'Chopped.'

"Hmmm," I said, taking my first bite, "The eggs sauteed in the butter reduction paired beautifully with the crunch of the toast, which added a nice rustic components, while the butter reduction on both married the plate together well. The small orange things brought an overall brightness to the plate and just the right amount of acidity to even out the sweetness. Though I would have liked to have seen a starch on the plate." Ha!

In all seriousness, it was a great way to start my morning. Not only did my Hubby make me breakfast in bed, for absolutely no reason, he did it in a fun and playful way that he knew would make me laugh and smile. And I in turn thanked him with a big bunch of silliness as well, (and a kiss). He definitely advances to the next round.... In fact, I think I'll keep him around a while.

©Flippa Bird
(Hubby & Me Being Silly)
Photo By: Wedding Photo Booth Thingy


Live Robot Sex Chat

So I read an article about sex robots on the internet today. Naturally I had to go to the website and check it out. Unfortunately for the website, but fortunately for me, they had a live chat... which I took full advantage of. I hope this gives you all as much of a laugh as it gave me!

John: Hello, Flippa. Can I help you with anything today?
Flippa: Hi there!
John: Hi Flippa! How are you?
Flippa: I'm great! Thank you for asking! I just had some questions about your Roxxy sex robot.
John: Sure.... whats up?
Flippa: Ok. First, you don't have many pictures on the website.
Flippa: How can you find out what it looks like?
John: If you go to the blog and the press area you can see videos.
John: But yes, we are adding more. :)
Flippa: Ahh ok. Cool!
Flippa: Second, can you have one custom made to look like someone?
John: We do offer custom services like that, but it is expensive and we need the permission of the other person.
John: Do you know the person?
Flippa: Not personally, like not in person. I mean I watch them, but just from afar.
John: Nope... sorry :(
Flippa: So I couldn't just send you a picture of someone I have a "crush" on?
John: Only if we get their permission......
Flippa: Hmmm, ok. Well could you duplicate their voice?
John: Interesting idea. I never heard that?
John: I could ask tomorrow.
Flippa: Ok.
John: Could you do me a favor and send an email to  and ask that? And also list the budget min/max you have for it. :)
Flippa: Sure. I just have a few more questions, if that's ok.
John: Sure no prob.
Flippa: Can you get one that moves?
John: They do move.
Flippa: Can you program it to spank you?
John: I mean their private areas and their head.
Flippa: So can you program it to spank you?
John: ?
John: No.
Flippa: Ok.
John: Interesting idea though.
Flippa: So only the vajayjay and mouth moves?
John: And the back side, yes. But when Roxxy silver or gold are on all four's, they do move back and forth.
John: Check out the video to see that.
Flippa: Fabulous!
John: :)
John: You can spank her!
Flippa: That sounds great! Can you order one with say greyish skin? For a zombie fetish?
Flippa: With maybe some decay on it?
John: Hmmm.....
Flippa: I'm being serious btw.
John: Anything else?
Flippa: Oh. I guess not.
John: No :(
John: Where r u from?
Flippa: The US
John: Gotcha. What state?
Flippa: I'm not into dirty internet talk if that's what you're getting at with this "what state are you from" business.
John: No prob. Any other questions :)
Flippa: Well yes, but I don't want you to think I'm a freak.
Flippa: What about older models?
John: No.
Flippa: Perhaps a "mature" robot?
John: No.
Flippa: To look like an old lady?
John: I have to run. Please send the email with these questions, which I really can't answer, to the email address I gave, ok?
Flippa: Ok. Thanks so much for your time! :)
John: Take Care.
John: Bye.
Notice: John exited session.

©Flippa Bird
(Bahahaha... That is all.)
Photo By: FireLillyCreations


Puerto Rican Moms

I love my little Puerto Rican mommy. I mean really, really, really love my mom. She is one of the most kind hearted people I know and she means the absolute world to me. She's one of my very best friends. I would do anything in this world to defend her or make her happy. So I sincerely hope this blog post isn't taken as mean spirited, because it's not meant in that light... and those of you with mommys like this may get a chuckle and understand where I'm coming from.

I called my mom today to invite her to lunch, my treat. But before I got to the "my treat" part I decided to mess with her a little. I told her she had to pay for herself and me. Big. Mistake. Before I could get out the "I'm just joking" part, she got extremely loud and went off on me in the way that only Puerto Rican mothers can do. She went on and on very loudly until I finally had to hang up and call her back.

Now Puerto Ricans are loud in general. (I'm only half PR and I'm still louder than most people I know). But PR moms are just ridiculously loud. Especially when excited or agitated. And they're a very animated bunch as well... arms & hands flying everywhere, talking a million miles a minute, large eyes getting larger, expressing everything they're yelling...  Yes yelling, because honestly, even when they're just speaking normally it sounds as if they're yelling at you. They also mispronounce every other word. Hobby Lobby gets turned into Holly Hobby. Wal-Mart gets turned into Wal-Marks (in fact, they add an unnecessary "S" to many words, except for words that already have an "S" or "S sound." Like Publix... that gets turned into Public). FaceBook becomes SpaceBook and MySpace becomes MyFace. Netflix gets turned into Nextflick (thanks to my cousin for that one). Rotisserie gets turned into Rotristitty and so forth and so on. Seriously, give 'em a word and they'll invent a new one that sounds suspiciously like the old one and means the same exact thing. And don't even try to correct them, because they'll just look at you like you're stupid and tell you "Callate! That's what I said!" 

And they're especially loud when it comes to embarrassing things... like they'll say (very, very loudly) that something is too expensive or really ugly when you're out shopping. Or if you're in public and ask where the restroom is they'll direct you there while announcing loudly, "Do you have to go shoo-shoo? The bathroom over there." (No "S" on bathroom). And if you ask them to please be a little quieter, they just get louder and tell you "Callate!" again and make you feel guilty that "you're embarrassed" to be seen out in public with your poor old mother.

They're also a tough bunch, those PR moms. I learned that the hard way. My mom was always the softy when I was growing up and I can only recall one time that she whooped my culo. I'm talking hard-core POWPOW! I was 16 or so and came in the house very late one night showing my butt and being hatefully mean to my little brother. She kept telling me to stop, but I kept bucking up to her... until she body slammed me onto the bed, pinned me down and wailed on my arse until it was black and blue. I never, ever bucked up to her again... and my brother gives me hell about that to this day. Now mind you, my mommy is not even 5 ft tall. She's the shortest non-midget person I've ever met and she bested my tough, mean teenage self. So yeah, like I said, those PR moms are tough. And don't even get me started on PR grandmothers and their chanclas...

PR moms are tough, but are also the most giving, loving women I've ever met. My mom, her mom, her sisters, her titis, her cousins, (any of the PR moms in my family), would give a stranger the shirts off their backs if needed. When their children need them, they go above and beyond the call of motherly duty. When I was growing up some of my family was poor, (my mom included), and those women would literally use their last dollar to buy food, (and go hungry themselves), so that their kids, or even their nieces & nephews, wouldn't. When a child was bad and too much for one mom to deal with, aunts would step in and take 'em in for a bit, doling out tough love and good food until they straightened up (or got tired of them and sent them back). But it really was a village raising children.

My mom is still as loving and giving as she was when I was growing up. And still just as tough. She recently broke up a little fist fight between my son and my nephew... flinging both of them across the room, much to their amazement. She is still overly loud. Still asks me if I have to poop when we're in public. Still mispronounces every word imaginable. But I wouldn't change her for anything, because tell you this: I would give anything to have her mother back beating my sassy culo with her worn out chanclas, so I can't even imagine life without my own little PR mommy. I hope to have her around to yell at and embarrass me for a very long time.

©Flippa Bird
(Being serenaded by Elvis. I just love her happy mommy face!)
Photo By: I don't know


And I Quote...

I haven't just had a good old fashioned bitchy blog post in a while. I figure I'm long overdue one, so here goes... There is nothing in this world that shows what a pompous, self-absorbed, pretentious, egotistical, arrogant, narcissistic, vain, supercilious douche bag you are like quoting yourself. Nothing. That old English chick who wrote about how hard it is being hot? She has nothing on the self-quoter. Honestly. She's simply stupid and misinformed. But when a person quotes themselves... ugh. I really have no words for how ridiculous it is. I just want to pop their big balloon heads!

Just because you come up with, what you think is, some brilliant pithy saying doesn't mean anyone else shares the opinion that you're uber-intelligent and therefore worth quoting. If what you have to say is worth quoting, I promise you, someone will quote you. But saying, or writing, "Blah, blah, blah, blah, big word, blah." - Your Name just makes you look like a gigantic ass hole. Because honestly, no one other than your super sized self is impressed and everyone secretly laughs at you. And we think, (if only for a fleeting moment), how sad and lonely your self important little world must be. Sure, you may have a couple of ass-kissy sycophants that go on about how smart you are when you do this, but I assure you: they're just as big of an idiot as you are. Perhaps even more so because they can't find a better ass to kiss.

Now I know what's coming... I'm sure I'll hear, "Well it must be important enough because you're making a big deal of it." No. Not only no, but hell no! I'm making a big deal about it because it's horribly, disgustingly annoying. Someone constantly farting in my general vicinity warrants me bitching about it too, but neither have any deep or important meaning beyond the fact that both are full of hot shitty air.

So please, if you're a self quoter, stop. Just stop. If you have something profound to say, by all means say it!! But really, for the love of all that is holy, leave off the quotation marks and don't add your name or initials. Everyone will take you much more seriously. Or at least we won't laugh at you as much. And you may even be asked: "Oh that's really cool... Who wrote/said that?" Maybe.

©Flippa Bird
(This doesn't merit quotes either.)
Myrtle Beach Bathroom Photo By: Me


Sad Mom.

I keep calling my babies "my babies" but it really hit me today that they're not babies any longer. This is the very first Easter, since having children, that I've not done Easter baskets and hidden eggs for a hunt for our kiddos.  At 12, 15 & 16 they really don't want to do that kind of thing anymore. In fact, I think they participated as long as they did just to make me happy.

The Hubby and I were in Wally-World this morning perusing the Easter candy aisle when that fact hit me: They're almost grown! It was so overwhelming and so gut-wrenchingly sad to me that I had to leave the store so I could cry in the semi-privacy of my car. I cried all the way home and for a good 30 minutes once we got home. And I didn't just cry. I broke down and sobbed... the kind of crying where snot and tears are all over your face, you can't breath because your nose is so clogged, and your face gets horribly red and puffy (and stays that way for an hour afterward). My heart feels broken. Where the hell has the time gone?? What happened to my babies...

My relationship with my children is different now. I can no longer snuggle and cuddle up with my boys (thank God my daughter still loves cuddling), and there's no more silly baby talk... I talk to them as the budding adults they are. I still get "I love yous" and occasional hugs, but not as often as I did when their voices were sweeter and their arms smaller. They are often out with their friends now, instead of with me filling our home with the lovely sounds of happy children... Sometimes it's just too quiet. Soon, in just a couple of years, they will be gone from our home and have lives of their own that don't involve me on a daily basis. I just don't think I'm ready for that. When they're being total teenage pain in the arses, yeah I'm ready for it... but not really.

Parenting is so rewarding. It's one of the happiest, most satisfying endeavors I've ever embarked upon... but it's also very painful and filled with loss. No one tells you about that part. I'm definitely feeling that part today. And now I'm crying again, damnit.

©Flippa Bird
(Way back when...)
(When I was taller than everyone.)
(They all tower over me now.)
Photo By: My Hubby


Fine. I'm Not Cool.

A week ago I catered an art show for a friend and enlisted the help of my kiddos as prep and servers. The photography was simply amazing, the company was charming, my kiddos were perfect, and my food was well enjoyed. All in all it was a fabulous evening. After the show, as we drove home, the kids and I rehashed the evening....

"Mom," my eldest said, "your friends are really cool."
"Well, I think so." I replied. "You know I've known most of them since I was about your age."
"You have?" he asked. "And you hung out with them?" (As if it weren't even remotely possible that his mother ever hung out with anyone with even an inkling of  'cool.')
"I certainly did and I was pretty freakin' cool myself back in the day ya' know." I told him.

At this point my other two perked up and joined in the conversation with:
Middle Son: "What???" (Confusion)
Baby Girl: "You were cool?!" (Disbelief)
And my eldest capped it off with.... "How??" (More Confusion)

Thanks kids.

But what they were saying really threw me into a state of confusion! What do they mean I'm not cool? How am I not cool? I'm one of the coolest people I know!! Or so I thought. I'm funny, witty, loyal, honest, kind, and I look pretty good too... so I'm cool, right? I mean come on... I snagged a darn good man, I'm raising 3 amazing kids, and I managed to score some extremely awesome friends... so I have to be cool. Right? I have tattoos, piercings, I dye my hair crazy colors from time to time, I just got published in a pin-up magazine! I'm cool, right?? Right?..... Hello?

Then it dawned on me... All of the things I think are cool just embarrass my kids. I think they would rather have Betty Crocker mom and not LA Ink mom. So... Not cool. And up until a year ago I drove a minivan (a Kia no less) and I now drive an old Honda Accord. Not cool. About 90% of the time I'm in jeans, flip-flops, and a ratty tee stolen from my Hubby, with no make-up on and my hair in a knot on top of my head. Not cool. I blog. Everyone does it so... Not cool. I go for weeks at a time without shaving my legs. Really not cool. My idea of fun is going out to dinner with my Hubby, driving around in the mountains with my family, or having girls night in drinking wine & eating fatty food. Alrighty, ya' know what? Screw you teenagers... I'm counting those things as cool. At any rate... yeah, so I know, I totally get it. I'm not cool. But you know what? I'm fine with that because I'm happy.

I spent most of my teenage years like most every other teenager: trying desperately to be cool and fit in... and it was pretty much miserable. My own kids are going through that same crap now... along with everyone else their age. But I think that once they become adults, and find out who they are and what they like, they'll discover that maybe their uncool old mom is kind of cool after all.  Or maybe not. In my old age I can now picture my Dad being cool... but I'm still kinda on the fence about my Mommy. Ha!

©Flippa Bird
(See... Look how cool I am! Wink Wink!)
Photo By: Me and My Phone