The Misadventures In Candyland

Feel Me Up Friday: If you need me, I'll be in the corner with cake

2012-02-03T08:31:00.000-08:00

Today is my birthday. Hooray. Yes, that was sarcasm. Although, it's been awhile since I've dished. You're welcome.

I've had a hard time accepting the turn of tide. This last decade was, by far, the best of my life, despite the ups and downs. It seems I spent ages 20 and 21 flailing through a soul-sucking relationship. We were too young. We were too stubborn. We were too [insert everything bad]. Around 22, we parted, as friends, and I focused more on my music (i.e., this is when the Bert incident was nearing).

This is when I found myself. This is also, the year someone important to me lost the cancer battle. This is also the year my heart was given and broken, given and broken and finally, taken by the one who I'll spend the rest of my life with. 2004 was a big year.

In the 8 years since, I've married my love, lost 2 babies, had 2 more, lost a best friend, found a long lost grandmother, moved about 7 times, became a writer, got an agent, lost and agent, had a band, lost a band and so much more. The last ten years have taught me how to be strong. How to fight. I want to welcome this day, my 30th birthday, with open arms. But something's holding me back.

Like, the past.

Some say never look back but I say, the past has made me who I am. And I'm grateful for every second of it. To say goodbye to the time I was given, that got me where I am, is bittersweet. I want to say I've got it all figured out. I'm going to sell a book this year. Buy a house. Be the best me I can be. But the future is a big unknown. And I think that's why I'm scared to embrace this day.

To those of you still searching, still looking for answers, still wondering how to leave your mark (so that people actually, you know, REMEMBER you), I'm right there with you.

Also, so is this guy.

Happy Friday.

CandylandForever29. OUT.

Why didn't someone tell me?

2012-01-31T03:08:00.000-08:00

FRIENDS.

That awkward moment when you realize you've been shaving in all the wrong places.

The car.
Your closet.
The parking lot behind your daughter's school.
The grocery. Isle #4.
The kitchen. While dinner cools to a simmer.
The Olive Garden. Over the sink near the wall.
The rock show. In the middle of the crowd.
Your front yard.

All this time, I've been doing it wrong. Why didn't someone tell me it's not cool to whip out a razor in the Pac Sun dressing room?

Friends don't let friends shave in all the wrong places.

Candyland. OUT.

And then, this happened...

2012-01-25T10:30:00.001-08:00

Let that marinate.

Candyland. OUT.

In which my jaw falls to the floor at the kindness of [not so strange]ers

2012-01-06T18:41:00.000-08:00

So here's the thing...

When I posted last week, in all my humility, I never thought in a billion years how far that post would go. I'd hoped, prayed, pleaded to the sky to receive just a few dollars. I knew the blogging community was a-freakin-mazing but OMG I am speechless. Completely speechless. Overwhelmed. Grateful. Humbled. I've tried typing this post twelve times but nothing sounds right. Nothing's good enough. I want to say THANK YOU but those eight letters are so insignificant compared to the temporary stability you've provided for my family. Thank you pretty much sucks. I need a better, more impressive phrase to show you what you mean to me.

Like...AREYOUFREAKINGKIDDINGMETHANKYOU!!!!!!!

That's more like it.

But the best part...the best part is the inbox full of personal letters telling me it's okay to ask for help, it's okay to need a hand, I've been there. You've told me of being so broke, you learned how to stretch your oatmeal into cooked patties (yuck). You're still reeling, still dealing with the premature birth of your baby (at 25 weeks) and you have medical bills of your own. But you still want to help. You emailed me about the devastating earthquakes in New Zealand when your newborn grandson was simply trying to survive after a difficult pregnancy and unimaginable complications thereafter, all while fleeting for safety from the falling rubble and concrete.

You cried to me about your infertility, your poverty. Told me you used to self-injure, too. Said your house is being taken and your life is in shambles but you felt compelled to act. You donated your last dollar. Sent diapers, formula and books for my babies. Books for me. Thanked me for simply telling my story, for being brave, courageous, a heroine. I don't see that, but you do. You believe in me, even when I don't. You care about me, even when I don't. You care about my family, even though you don't know them. You came to me with words of encouragement, words of hope, words that have been like gold to me. You've shown me it gets better and that we are in this together.

"TOGETHER WE STAND, DIVIDED WE FALL," you tell me. And I always sort of knew it but never had this kind of good fortune to really feel it. That's not to say good things haven't happened to me, because I'm extremely blessed, but financially...this is beyond anything I could have asked for.

Because of you, my family can eat. And eat. And eat.
Because of you, I have my wedding rings back.
And they will not leave me again. Ever.
Because of you, baby S has formula and diapers.
He can poop forever if he wants (I think he will)
Because of you, our electricity will stay on.
Because of you, child #1 will not be kicked out of school.
In fact, she's paid through the end of February.
Because of you, our car will not be taken.
Unless someone steals it.
Because of you, we are not broken anymore.
WE ARE NOT BROKEN ANYMORE.

While the storm hasn't completely passed, you've provided my family with an umbrella...a chance to stay dry for awhile. Things are still showing up in the mail, through UPS and Fed Ex. It's like Christmas every single day. My heart is so full. I've been smiling for a week-and-a-half. Played with offspring #1 a little longer each day. I breathed in sweet baby S a little more. Hugged my husband a little bit tighter. My kids can see how much lighter I feel, how much easier it is...to breathe. Because you've pulled the weight off our...off of MY shoulders. Instead of being preoccupied with how I'm going to get through it, I've been released...

Released by you.

Now, some numbers for you, as of Thursday, January 12th, though I don't feel it appropriate to say exactly how many donors (a lot!), how much money was raised both online and through the mail (more than I ever imagined possible...) or how much of that Paypal ate in fees (grrr).

200+ emails (I'm still responding)
I've never spoken to about 90% of you
1 CHUCK SAMBUCHINO!
70+ new blogger friends
Countless links back to me (THANK YOU)

You don't [physically] know me, but you still care. I am closer to you than my a-hole cat. You know everything. No secrets. You tell me your life story, I tell you mine. You have my back, I wax yours (if you need that kind of thing). I will most definitely pay these debts forward when someone else is in need.

It would be my pleasure.

I want to hug each one of you for an awkward amount of time. To those of you with no email attached to your blog comment, please know I'm so thankful. I will spend the next three years personally thanking each of you through your Paypal addresses. Please be patient as I get organized. If you've requested a query or MS crit, please forward them my way, though it still won't be enough to ever repay you. If you've declined those offers but change your mind in the future, I'll still be here, as thankful as ever. To Chuck's donors, I'll forward your emails to him, and he'll be in touch.

Now, someone get me an agent so I can sell my book to pay you back, thank you in the acknowledgments, and/or become a best-selling author who will brag about how cool you are.

One more thing: If you haven't seen it already, this is me:
http://www.dearnewmom.com/2012/01/pregnancy-after-loss/

Also, I have a great friend who is donating a percentage of all Scentsy sales to my family as well. If you love this stuff, please order through her. If you've never tried it--PLEASE DO!

https://cyndiswafford.scentsy.us/Buy?partyId=68086171

You all are our angels. 2012 is looking up. Now, hopefully, we can save enough money to buy a house in the coming months. So baby S will no longer live behind a small curtain next to our bed. It's like a claustrophobic jail cell. So offspring #1 can paint her walls purple as she's always wished. She loves purple. So we can have a bedroom door. We have NO DOOR. So we can finally have a place that's ours. Our family now complete, we need a place that's ours. With all the things your generous donations have paid, this might actually happen. Before, it was just a dream...

I cannot thank you enough. Thank you for helping me, so I can help my babies.

Thank you.

With so much love,

<3

Candylandandfamily. OUT.

Lower than a rapper's pants

2012-01-03T17:36:00.000-08:00

Those of you who know, I wear many hats. Too many.

One of them, I'll refer to it as my "bonnet," caused a monumental shift in Candyland...land...a few months back. In September, my employee position at "bonnet" was changed into an independent contracting position with fewer hours and instead of bi-weekly pay, I now receive direct deposit a month and a half ahead. In other words, I will work the end of December through [approx] January 23rd, but won't get a check until the very end of February. And so on.

With the recent birth of Baby S, things have gotten even harder. From pregnancy, he's been a needy baby. It started with the loss of fluid near his head causing me to be in and out of the hospital (= monumental bills piling up), then he died at birth. Thankfully was brought back to us but it was not without issues. He's had problems with different formulas and medications which they attribute to reflux. After we got our sweet Sully home from the hospital, his condition has only worsened.

It's been a pain in the arse. But moreso, I feel bad for him.

We've been in and out of the doctor's office and hospital for testing, he's been on different medications and formulas and even to the chiropractor. And because of his spitting up and projectile vomiting, the poor baby feels as though he's hungry all the time, therefore, we're going through formula like it's toilet paper. I don't know if that makes sense but we're going through a crapload. Haha. I made a funny.

Also, when a baby S eats, the end result is a pee-filled or dirty diaper. Thank BERT an old friend gave us boxes of diapers back in July or we'd be using whatever t-shirt we could pin up on the kid right about now.

The loss of pay, along with Baby S's problems have had a dramatic effect/affect/effect/affect/whatever on our finances. In fact, this Christmas was the lowest we've ever been. Despite my dear husband working as much as he could and me doing the same with 2 jobs (they BOTH pay monthly...) and raising two kids, the only way we could give them a Christmas at all was by doing the unthinkable. No, not that (no one would pay for this anyway). I've gotten loans on all my jewelry, including my beloved wedding band. It stings to be in such a position. Waiting for tax time so we can get a refund to pay everyone off, popping anxiety meds every time a bill comes, wondering where our next meal will come from...

We just can't get ahead after all that's happened.

I'm telling you this because I've nowhere else to turn. I don't consider you bloggers or even friends. You're family. Everything I've gone through, you've been there with me. You've been there for me after two miscarriages, for every New Medicine post-bliss ramble, but mostly, the times in between. When I felt as though no one was listening, there you were.

But this is different. I need something else. Any other time, YOU KNOW I'd happily raise money for the women of Ghana, or the AFSP and TWLOHA. I'd even give you my marrow. Just ask. Seriously.

I have no money, but if you ask me for a dollar, I'll dig through my cushions, count my change, until I find one to give you. I debated doing this but I'm so desperate right now, I have nothing to lose. We owe so many people...people who can take our car, kick child #1 out of school, turn off our electricity, garnish our wages...we're sinking.

I'm here to strike a deal.

While I've had to stop accepting MS and queries for critique due to time, I still have the following to offer! Anyone who makes a small (miniscule, even) donation to the charity of Candyland via paypal will receive one or all of the following:

-A creepy public love letter
-The word HUG on a piece of paper that I will mail to your door
-A New Medicine sticker. Because I have a trillion.
-A humiliating picture of me posted on the web
-Admiration
-Undying love and respect
-GRATITUDE

**ALSO: Guide to Literary Agents and Children's Writers & Illustrator's Market Editor CHUCK SAMUCHINO has come to me with a generous offer! Get your query or synopsis edited by the best in the business! He's offering his services at a discounted rate of $40, donated to me. I will then email Chuck your email address and he'll connect with you and edit within 1 week. If you need help with your query, this is a steal by a pro. Only 8 available. If you are interested, please put CHUCK somewhere in the donation notes. Email me with questions.

A little about Chuck: Chuck Sambuchino is the editor of Guide To Literary Agents and Children's Writer's & Illustrator's Market (both Writer's Digest Books). He is the author of the writing books Formatting & Submitting Your Manuscript, 3rd Ed. (2009) as well as Create a Writer Platform (Fall 2012). He is a popular presenter at writers conferences nationwide and runs the Guide to Literary Agents Blog (guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog), one of the biggest blogs in publishing.

He is also a humor book author, with his 2010 book How To Survive A Garden Gnome Attack being featured in Reader's Digest, USA Todayand The New York Times. The film rights were recently optioned by Sony.**

This is post not a joke, as much as I wish it were. Donate .01 to 1,000,000. I don't care. If you choose to read and move on, I won't be offended. In fact, I'm going to move on after I post this. What a stupid post. I don't deserve a handout, and I sure don't want one. Make me work for it. That, I can do. Name your price.
Send all pennies to candaceganger@yahoo.com and sparkles will combust in front of you. If you prefer, loan me your pennies and I can pay you back when the dust settles. You help me and I promise, when you need me, I will help you.

Isn't that what family's for?

I was going to delete this post after 48 hours but with a few encouraging emails I realized...my family needs all the help we can get right now...so...48+ hours later, here I am...

Candylanddesperate. OUT.

P.S. A few people have asked for a more direct way to help out. If you prefer snail mail, email me and I'll give you my address. Also, without being a weirdo, here's a Paypal button that's easier to click on instead of search.

Justin Bieber makes the sun shine. Also, I've lost my mind

2011-12-28T10:37:00.000-08:00

I've been gone awhile, both in my head and virtually (maybe even physically...can YOU see me?). It's a funny thing to be a writer. We spend much of our lives daydreaming about how to string together words so they make people feel something. We want them to get lost in our imaginary worlds or connect with our true stories.

More than fiction, I've shared my hopes, fears and utterly ridiculous escapades for better or worse. Those of you who read regularly, for the better part of three years, I attached myself to three wishes. I repeated them almost exactly one year ago in this post.

I will not stop trying to make a baby, because I believe it will happen.
My son, Sullivan, will be 3 months old on January 11th. He is a miracle by definition alone.

Credit: mBphoto

I will not stop querying, because I feel deep in my gut, no matter how much I sometimes want to throw in the towel, my agent is out there. And yours is too.
I did land an agent, though, due to her peacing out unexpectedly, I'm now without. BUT, I now know I can do it.

I will not stop missing my father, but I will learn to heal.

I am still working on this one.

Two out of three wishes granted ain't bad. With a new year approaching, I have brand new resolutions and for once, I prefer to keep them to myself.
(Except for these:)
-Make Justin Bieber Day a regular thing in our house because without Justin Bieber, the sun can't shine
-Wear socks with holes only when home alone, not at parties
-Learn my native language (which one...)
-Meet Ryan Gosling's abs
-Change the world one snarky comment at a time
-Write something that ends up verbal vomiting out of a celebs mouth
-Teach baby S to play Dream On-->guitar<-- by the time he hits 4 months

I think these are pretty reasonable goals. My point is, you never know where life will take you so keep an open mind. If I hadn't resolved to fight, to keep going no matter what, I'd still be stuck back in this post. Oh and with that, baby S is stirring. He must be ready for his first lesson.

What do you resolve this year? If you don't tell me, it won't come true. This is a fact.

Candyland. OUT.

Ice skating is what the devil does when Hell gets too hot

2011-12-07T10:18:00.001-08:00

Let me be clear: A foot was never meant to stand on a single blade for the sole purpose of skimming across a solid, icy surface. Actually, when I say it like that, it's even more dumb aloud. So that's why the hubs, offspring #1 and I went ice skating downtown last weekend. It sounded like a GREAT idea.

"Hey, child. Look out the window. It's raining a wintry mist that freezes mid-air. It has to be too cold to do anything out there. Soooo...let's get our coats and go ice skating."

Granted, my daughter and husband loved it. She held onto the side railing (as did I) with a smile on her face (I did not) while he spun across the glistening sheet of ice like a snow angel. I know this may come as a shock, but I am not graceful. I was not born with grace. It's not a trait that runs in the family. And any grace I might have had was lost in the childbirth process. It was all downhill from there. I knew this for sure once the hubs let go of my arm and left me in a place with no rail to guide me.

And I fell on my keester.

Hard.

And you know that feeling when you think everyone around you is laughing--at you? That totally happened. When you think of someone falling in a movie, you imagine them having the time of their lives. You know, like on a cute, first date or some stupid shizz. Something like this:

Woman:"Tee-hee. This is hard."
Man: "That's what she said."
Woman: "Hee-ha. You're the funniest, bestest person in the whole world. I'm glad we're friends."
Man: "Say what??"

This was not the way it happened for us. It was more like I looked up, because a strange man asked if I was okay, while my dear husband and child skated away, never having witnessed the fall at all. That was the moment I realized my dream of making it into the Olympics would probably have to wait.

As for ice skating...I will not let you win. I won't. I won't.

Actually, I probably will.

Until the next [mis]adventure...

What's the one holiday activity/event that mocks and belittles you?

CandylandHoHoHo. OUT.

I make stupid look good...or just stupid

2011-11-17T03:59:00.001-08:00

Yesterday a milestone was reached, here in Candyland. No, I didn't sell my book to a top publisher for an un-Bertly amount. No, I didn't find eleventy billion [unclaimed] dollars in a trashcan at the market (that actually sounds like a trap...I ain't no fool). No, I didn't win an all-expense paid vacation to Bora Bora where dolphins play Canon in D through the setting sun. It's better than all that.

WHAT CAN BE BETTER THAN ELEVENTY BILLION DOLLARS AND DOLPHIN SAVANTS?

Well, nothing. Come to think of it, this post makes me want a Xanex and a box of wine. Let me break it down. Yesterday, I went to the bank's drive through. No makeup, and my hair looked like a nest. I was wearing whatever was in that pile by the closet. Clean...or not. Who knows. I had a crying baby in the backseat. When the canister was sent back, not only did I drop it out the window, but I couldn't open my door to find it. Also, my envelope of money was gone. So, I pulled forward to see where it was, and in true Candyland style, I ran over it.

It was loud.

Through the car of laughing teens behind me, I got back in the car, hit reverse, got out of the car, and pulled the semi-smashed canister out from under the wheel. I ignored the snickering around me, though I'm sure I was a new shade of red (even for me). I put the canister back in it's hole but my money envelope was nowhere in sight. Through a line of crowded cars and some thought-provoking song playing in my mind, I put my hand above my brows and searched for answers in the sky. There may have been a honk or two, but I kept looking.

"God, if you're there, please let me stop looking like a donkey in front of these angsty teens. Oh, and where's my mother#@$*&^% money?"

In the distance I heard a voice. It was faint (through all that music and whatnot). I looked around as the voice got louder.

"IT'S UNDER YOUR TIRE," yelled angsty teen driver (laughing hysterically). "YOU RAN OVER IT."

I got back in the car, reversed a little more, swung open the door into the big metal pole (BANG) and squatted eye-level with the tire once more.

And there was my envelope.

I turned around to yell a big thank you to the angsty teen driver (or a big $$&* YOU), but he was too busy mimicking me to the angsty teen passenger...

So what milestone did I reach yesterday that's better than eleventy billion dollars + a violin playing dolphin savant in Bora Bora? Just a new level of ridiculousness/dignity loss, that's all. Don't hate.

I make stupid look good...or just...stupid.

Am I the only one who does these things or have you ever knocked over the biscuits?

Candyland. OUT.

Breakfast is...

2011-11-14T09:22:00.001-08:00

DONE (and ruined).

...only me...

Candylandhungry. OUT.

Not just a pretty face

2011-11-14T04:00:00.001-08:00

I'm not talking about me. Or Ryan Gosling. Or Sig (It's the dimple).

Over the past week, offspring #1 was in and out of the doctor with pneumonia, offspring #2 has been a fussbutt, and the hubs has been workworkworking while Candyland has taken care of everything between the cracks (both metaphorically and literally...yeah). I almost forgot what it's like to do things like, umm, wash my hair, paint my toenails, or even put my underwear on right (totally wore them inside out yesterday). It's easy to "get through" the day, instead of live it and love it. I mean, WHO DOESN'T appreciate the 17th diaper change and/or wiping a 5yo's nose-AT THE SAME TIME-while those few strands of vomit-streaked hair dangle up into your nose? Yeah, exactly. And then I saw this exciting news on FBook:

**Exciting life announcement!!

I've accepted a new position with Joy2theWorld as the Executive Director of Microloans. Our goal is to double the size of our program in 2012 so we can fully fund our current clients' potential and also reach out to new communities of African women with our financial services.

I'll be in Ghana mid-December through January to help further develop the program, but I'm able to do a majority of this work remotely while touring with New Medicine. (Don't worry, Meds fans!) I'm humbled to be able to pursue two of my life's greatest passions simultaneously and truly thrilled to be apart of groups with such brilliant, motivated, and accommodating people. More to come!

You know who I'm talking about. Some people are pretty and some are just plain BEAUTIFUL (listen to this song...for real). With so much pain in the world, it's nice to know that a young rocker from small town MinnESoooowda has made it his mission to make the world a better place. Despite the fame. Despite the success. Despite the time commitment restraints between touring, recording and being awesome. I've done many posts about my friend, but I want to just say, I'm so proud. If one woman of Ghana now has the means to make a sustainable living from the gift of a single micro loan, the dominos will fall and it's only a matter of time before they are all empowered.

Your voice will shed new light.

To anyone who thinks one voice isn't heard, think again. Speak. Do something good. Make the world a better ~~bass~~ ~~face~~ place. After seeing his beauty, I sure as hell want to. Be inspired, friends. Not just today, but everyday.

Which team are YOU on?

"Together we stand, divided we fall."
-Pink Floyd

TeamCandylandheartsBR80. OUT.

Jessical Bell literally rocks, yo. And so does free stuff.

2011-11-10T11:38:00.001-08:00

FRIENDS! Today is completely special and not because the date consists of all 1's (though I've heard it's a lucky day so make those illegal bets, get the classiest lady of the night and/or query today. Yeah, do that instead). Today is THE day to help Jessica Bell's debut, STRING BRIDGE, hit the bestseller list on Amazon, and receive the all-original soundtrack, Melody Hill: On the Other Side, written and performed by the author herself, for free!

You know I wouldn't plug something I'm not completely stoked about and Jess is the real deal, sons. All you have to do is purchase the book today (paperback, or eBook), November 11th, and then email the receipt to:

jessica.carmen.bell(at)gmail(dot)com

She will then email you a link to download the album at no extra cost!

To purchase the paperback:

Amazon USA
Amazon UK

To purchase the eBook:

Amazon USA

Amazon UK

To listen to samples of the soundtrack, visit iTunes.

If you are not familiar with String Bridge, check out the book trailer:

Rave Reviews for String Bridge:

“Jessica Bell’s STRING BRIDGE strummed the fret of my veins, thrummed my blood into a mad rush, played me taut until the final page, yet with echoes still reverberating. A rhythmic debut with metrical tones of heavied dark, fleeting prisms of light, and finally, a burst of joy—just as with any good song, my hopeful heartbeat kept tempo with Bell’s narrative.” ~ Kathryn Magendie, author of Sweetie and Publishing Editor of Rose & Thorn Journal

“Poet and musician Jessica Bell's debut novel String Bridge is a rich exploration of desire, guilt, and the difficult balancing act of the modern woman. The writing is lyrical throughout, seamlessly integrating setting, character and plot in a musical structure that allows the reader to identify with Melody's growing insecurity as her world begins to unravel … String Bridge is a powerful debut from a promising writer, full of music, metaphor, and just a hint of magic.” ~ Magdalena Ball, author of Repulsion Thrust and Sleep Before Evening

“Jessica Bell is a brilliant writer of great skill and depth. She doesn't pull back from the difficult scenes, from conflict, pain, intensity. She puts it all out there, no holds barred, no holding back. She knows how to craft a scene, how to develop character, how to create suspense. This is an absolutely brilliant debut novel. I look forward to reading her next novel, and next and next.” ~ Karen Jones Gowen, author of Farm Girl, Uncut Diamonds and House of Diamonds

Stalk Jessica. Like now:

String Bridge: http://www.stringbridge.com/
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/jessica_bell
Website: http://www.jessicacbell.com/
Blog: http://thealliterativeallomorph.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/author.jessica.bell
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/MsBessieBell
Publisher: http://www.luckypress.com

Please TWEET and/or FACEBOOK this post using #StringBridge!

And then, when the dust settles, Tweet and/or FBook my blog using #teamcandyland. You will win nothing but the satisfaction of being a little more awesome. I will attempt to resume normal blogging next week...I will also attempt to hold my breath under water like David Blaine to break the record. No, no I won't. Just the blogging.

Happy day of 1's. Get lucky today. No, not like that. Well,...

Candyland*hearts*Jess. OUT.

CANDYDoppelGANGER

2011-11-07T04:05:00.000-08:00

You've heard the old saying about everyone having a twin somewhere in the world, right? Personally, I've never seen mine, though I like to tell myself that JLo, Cheryl Burke, Sofia Vergara or Eva Mendes will someday see me and go "there's MY twin!" And it's only a coincidence they are all latin. When offspring #1 was little, she actually thought the Evanescence album cover of Amy Lee was me. Yeah, right. More like Russell Brand.

Or sometimes, even Bert...

But sometimes you see someone and HAVE to do a double take.

Is THIS the hubs?

Or THIS?

For those of you wondering, my husband is NOT a cat (I don't think), and he was NOT at the Alabama game this weekend. But dear BERT, there's his twin! Or maybe I live with the twin and that guy is my husband. Or maybe even my husband is the cat pretending to be a suckhole. I'm so confused.

Regardless...

Has anyone every said you look like someone, famous or not? Have you seen your doppelganger?

If you see Russell Brand, think of me, fondly.

Candyland. OUT.

Your house is your home is your dumpster fire

2011-10-31T04:11:00.000-07:00

So...

I'm totally still sporting maternity pants because THEY'RE SO ~~FLUFFY~~ stretchy. In fact, because of the pregnancy water loss (a total of 27.5 lbs in 3 weeks), they make me feel like a size 0 (though I have 30 lbs of real weight to drop...boooo). Yeah, it's a little narcissistic, but every time I squeeze my butter into a smaller tub[of normal people pants], I end up crying over ice cream while listening to 90's cryfest songs.

Something by Sarah McLachlan, I'm sure (oh, summer of 1998, you and Zach [you know who] kill me).

Don't even get me started on the higher half of my hot bod. I'm stuck wearing all the hubs's tees. Even offspring #1 is tired of seeing that big, black Chicago tourist tee with baby pieces all over it. No one tells you the horror you're left with AFTER a baby. Pregnancy is gross. Like "yeah I'm gassy, and my hands look like Walter Cronkite and I taste metal in my mouth for no reason..."

But the aftermath is worse.

OMG.

What is this hanging from my stomach? Why do I have this weird rash? Am I dying (hair falling out)? Is it me, or is that coffee commercial the saddest thing you've ever seen? What day is it? Who's Matt Brady?

GASP!

The good news is, I can see my toes again. The bad news is, they're sick. Not sick the way the hubs would use it (as in "that snowboard dude I'm totally friend-crushing on is so sick"), but sick as in they make me want to projectile vomit. It's funny how things that seem important, like taking care of one's self, don't matter at all when you've got someone in utero. Then this little person comes out and you're left with a messy, empty house the last tenant didn't take care of so you think about filing a lawsuit to pay for damages (tummy tuck, tap repair (i.e.boobies), wax stripping (what?), etc) but then you realize the former tenant can't pay and it'd come out of your wallet until he's [legally] able to pull from his strip club ones to help a sister (mother) out.

So, you forfeit, and throw on that black Chicago tee with your stretchy pants and grab another bowl of ice cream because this house needs condemned.

Dear Bert I'm so tired. And I've had too much coffee. Or not enough. And I wonder how many people it would take to link arms and reach all the way around the world. And how does Santa get to everyone's houses in just one night? Hrmmm...

Tell me friends, what's the singles most indulgent renovation you do to make yourself feel like a brand new house?

CandylandCandylandCandyland<---Say it three times and I'll appear in your bathroom behind you...probably cleaning it.

OUT.

I'm a writer...so I write

2011-10-26T02:54:00.000-07:00

There was this place I once fell into, its rapture something like the arms of hell barricading me, holding me back. I fought and struggled to break free but the force kept me still. Like running through quicksand. I remember screaming at blurred faces that couldn't hear me. Because in the reality outside my mind, I wasn't speaking at all. I was numb. Empty. Gone.

It was something like five years ago I found a darkness so dark, thought I'd never see the light again. This thing called postpartum depression is real. It's not a bad day. It's not something you can wish away. It's real, like the scars you can't see. I had next to no support system (still don't, really) and almost didn't recover. In fact, it was me who saved myself. No one else. Not my family. Not my friends. Not my husband. I pulled myself up, dragged my lonely heart into any [and all] remedies and did something that seemed impossible at the time.

I started talking about it.

Opening the dialogue let me set the pain free. I found TWLOHA. I got some Medicine. I opened up. Not because it was comfortable or because it was easy. It wasn't. I did it because my daughter deserved a happy mother.

And now, I'm doing it again. For both of my babies. And for me.

My beautiful son, Sullivan, is now 2 weeks and a day. My gorgeous daughter, Lilliana, is now 5 years and a day (yes, they share a birthday). They are everything that is everything to me and I desperately want to feel the blessings they've bestowed upon me. But first I have to clear away the clouds in my way. Like...
Loneliness.
Regret.
Guilt.
Sadness.
Fatigue.
Emptiness.
Worthlessness.
And an overwhelming sense of Skynyrd Syndrome...
("If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?")

I'm a writer, so I write. With all the truth I have in me. About pain. Loss. Grief. And everything in between whether it's easy or not. Whether it's comfortable or not. Because the Internet is written in ink. It's OKAY to tell someone you're hurting. It's OKAY to tell someone you need a hug. It's OKAY to tell someone you need help. It's OKAY to open up.

It doesn't make you weak. It makes you strong.

This is the first step and I know this too, shall pass. As long as I keep talking. From here, I will hold on with both hands to those two miracles that shared my body and kicked me awake as I slept. It's in those faces I have reason to believe I can heal.

For good this time.

Miss you. Love you. Mean it.

Candyland. OUT.

I fell in love with another man

2011-10-19T05:39:00.000-07:00

Remember the days when there was a nicely wrapped Candyland post about ballz, BR80s or beanbags waiting for you? Okay, so there wasn't exactly a post about beanbags, but I meant to. No I didn't. My brain is a little cluttered these days because in case you haven't heard, I gave birth last Tuesday, October 11th, exactly 5 years after the birth of my 5yo daughter, to a beautiful little man.

SULLIVAN.MATTHEW.LEONARD.GANGER

He's pretty perfect but we went through a lot to get him here. Those of you who read have been on this near 3 year journey of wishing, hoping and praying for another baby but it's not without loss, grief and frustration of not being the one in control of my fate. If you remember, just a couple weeks after a 2nd miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant again. The doctor sent me to see if the fetus was "viable," and the embryo was considered a threatened abortion. I was terrified of losing another as the pain of the first loss was still a wound not healed.

But, the baby was alive.

Fast forward through nine months of hellish pregnancy with somewhere around 10-12 ultrasounds due to baby's growth, my history and loss of amniotic fluid. I was on bed rest. My hips felt broken. It hurt to stand. But it was all worth it. In the end, though, the fluid surrounding little Sully's head and body dropped to a critical level and I was hospitalized. Before I left, the number rose enough for them to say "okay, let's wait another week and see how this goes."

I went back exactly one week later, at 37 weeks, and the fluids were lower than before. And there it was...this baby I'd wanted so bad for so long might not survive if they didn't get him out of me. I was induced the same day and by the next day, was well on my way to delivery. Those of you who've been through an induction know how HORRIBLE it is. This was my 2nd induction, so at least I knew what to expect, but not even the mere thought of Matt Brady was enough to get me through.

After the doctor broke my water, the contractions intensified to an unbearable strength, but even though it felt like it, I was not ready to push. They made me wait. For nearly 3 hours. I screamed. I cried. I asked them to just kill me. But then, the time came. And I pushed. And pushed. And pushed.

Until I almost killed my baby.

His heart rate dropped with every push I made at the wrong time and I was given oxygen so I could breathe for him. But it wasn't enough. As he came through, the umbilical cord wrapped tight around his neck and he was not breathing at all. When they carried him away, something happened that the doctors had never seen before: the cord completely snapped off the placenta and literally exploded. It was on my mom's shirt. It was on the doctors. It was EVERYWHERE.

I can't go into anymore detail because a) it's disgusting and b) it's foggy. All I remember was not getting to see or hold that little boy I dreamed of for too long...Because they were busy bringing him back to life.

Thank you to everyone who has sent me something, be it a gift, a message, an email, etc. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the support. And now, as I head back into the darkness (postpartum), I'll think of all those well wishes and try to remember the time I actually blogged about Fartypants.

I could use some farty to get my party starty right about now.

Like Miss Jackson says, miss you much. Regular blogging will resume when my brain cells have regenerated.

<3

Candyland+Sullivan. OUT.

When your baby turns into a hardened criminal, make ugly ballz of cake

2011-09-23T10:36:00.000-07:00

FRIENDS! It's been over a month since we've last, you know, and I hope it isn't awkward if I tell you I've thought about you every second of every day. Well, not every second. Okay, not every day, either. I spent the majority of my life putting groceries in weird places, sitting in the bath tub crying and cussing out my a-hole cats.

But in between doing those things, I'm thinking of you. Promise.

In case you're wondering (if you're not, stop reading) (no wait! come back!), I'm now 35 weeks (knocked way the hell up) and had my first glimpse of preeclampsia (for the second time in my life) at the last doctor's appointment. I'm swollen, my clothes don't fit (see: Homer Simpson belly sticking out of pants), and I go to the bathroom an abnormal amount of times in a one-minute period. This giant man growing in my personal space keeps getting more giant. We're almost definite he's going to come out with a handlebar mustache and Italian accent.

But so far, he's healthy (did I mention BIG?). And by the way I have to walk (WADDLE), if I sneeze right now, his little head will fall right through (my.parts.hurt).

And how is offspring #1 taking all this "Mommy can't do anything fun until the baby comes out" crap? Overall, she's taking it well. She's excited, ready to be a big sis and REALLY ready for me to stop whining about the various versions of gross I've been dealing with. I'm pretty detailed...

The only thing I've noticed is a little, tiny, itty-bitty stealing problem. Yes, STEALING. First it was small toys from different grandparent's houses, then my lipstick I found in her purse,and then...then she moved on to the big time. Her homies would be giving her mad props, yo. I went to pay for something. The money was gone. I immediately thought the hubs took it, but then I realized he'd never just take the money without telling me (or he'd get the look). So, I asked my Lilliface if she knew where it was.

*silence*

Then I knew. It wasn't until I dropped her off at school I searched for not one or two--but FIFTEEN DOLLARS--around the house. Imagine my surprise when I saw this:

To her credit, the lid was on the pot and the pot was in a bin that was tucked away. I wasn't upset. I was impressed by her cleverness and proud of her ability to pull off such am intricate crime without clueless Mommy catching on.

Now what does that say about me? Hrm...

Anywho. Right now, I'm off to tackle the disgusting lumps of cake (CAKE BALLZ) I fully intended on becoming beautiful pops. They're going into my tummy where that little Italian man will sprinkle crumbs all over my insides.

On second thought, maybe I should take a nap. Or remember what pants feel like. Or daydream about the day when my baby steals enough money to take care of Mommy and Daddy for good. Yeah...

Tell me, how would you have handled a small person stealing monies from your wallet? And more importantly, have you successfully pulled off cake pops without medication or alcohol?

Miss you.
Love you.
Mean it.

Candylandandthiefchildandbaby. OUT.

This is what excitement looks like

2011-08-19T04:30:00.000-07:00

OMG! ELEVEN DAYS, REALLY? This lack of posting thing is hard. Not just because I want to blog and blather on about nothing that really matters, but because I really miss you. But I know you all understand how busy I am waddling around, eating ice cream and complaining about how fat I look. Well, when I put it that way, it doesn't sound like I'm all that busy, but the time went somewhere...(where did it go??) Oh yeah. It went into all the excitement. Not me. Her:

If only I could drink whatever she's drinking (water?), life would be sooo fun. Anyway, the lovely Kelly asked how my July baby shower went so I thought "oh, now there's a blog post," (mainly because I can remember little else of these 31 weeks...) And if the baby thing isn't your, yaaaaknow, cup of proverbial tea, then here's a re-cap of everything else just to catch you up.

Writing: Other than for work, I haven't been. Oh, I have signed some checks, though. I think that counts.

Hubs: He now coaches the offspring's soccer team! And here's proof of just how much she *loves it:

Work: I get it done.

Family: My little brother was home from Afghanistan for about 3 weeks and now he's off to Australia to be with his preggo wife. I won't see him again until his baby is about 5 months old *cries*

Life:.......*crickets*...............

So there you have it. The only excitement I have anymore are the days I can see my feet. So...none. Except for that baby shower. The cake was great (notice what I paid most attention to).

We got a few much-needed things, though are still trying to prepare before baby Sully makes his grand entrance. A few weeks back, I was having pretty severe contractions, so the doc put me on restriction (i.e. GET OFF MY FEET). For those of you who actually know me, this is not possible.
1) Because I'm stubborn
2) Because I have cleaning OCD
3) Because I take care of a 4yo all day, by myself. And if she's gonna have all that fun, I have to re-fill her water cup often.

While the contractions haven't gotten worse, I have tried to let the small things go. Like not wiping the counters a third time. And so far, baby is still baking! Yay for well-done buns! I only hope he doesn't collect heads like offspring #1.

So there you go, friends. I miss you in an obsessive, stalkerish way. I wish I were kidding.

Now you tell me, if a doctor ordered you off your feet for SIX WEEKS, could you do it??
Be honest.

Candyland. OUT.

Circles

2011-08-10T04:38:00.000-07:00

Sorry it's been so long, friends. There are days I'm so tired I can't remember if I've
a) bathed (I can't smell me)
b) fed my child ( I think so, though, because she seems to keep growing)
c) flushed the toilet...

My first pregnancy, I was spoiled with naps and rest while young, shirtless, men fed me grapes and other finger fruits (i.e. the hubs threw a candy bar at me on his way to the shower). I was off work due to complications, had little responsibilities and many aspirations of one day being the next [female] Steven Tyler.

But this one is SO different.

I have to actually do stuff. Work. Raise a person while growing one. Take care of bills and errands and offspring school stuff and cleaning and and and...My point is, I'm drained me to the point of nearly forgetting my name. Call me Beth. Or Tina. I don't care.

But despite my fatigue, something happened. I started having strong contractions, so I called my doctor. He asked me to come in for some sort of test that determines if I'm in pre-term labor. Luckily, I was not, but due to the last pregnancy, and the delicacy of this one, he put me on restriction and made weekly visits for the [horrible] test mandatory...until I deliver...which is suppose to be another 11 weeks.

The thing that got me wasn't what he said, how he said it or even what was happening. The baby will come when he wants to. All I can do is hope he waits until he's healthy enough. What really stung was the room they put me in. Not since September 28th, 2009 had I been in that corner office.

Almost exactly 2 years since the day he told me my baby was dead; the day before the "tissue" was removed...

But instead of feeling anxious, short of breath, or even panicked, I felt a sense of totality. Like everything has come one hundred percent full circle. Once in the room where life had ended, I was now there waiting for life to begin (continue). It was surreal. And I realize now more than ever how blessed I am to have been chosen to carry this baby. And I will tell myself this through every singe of heartburn, every body ache, every swollen inch of skin.

Tell me, friends, what have I been missing (other than you)?

Candyland+babySully. OUT.

Do the robot, be the change

2011-07-28T04:59:00.000-07:00

Friends, I love you. Well, I'm IN love with you. Like right now. My latest post wasn't meant to be a downer, just a spotlight onto my current path. I wanted you to see that no matter what life throws at you, there is always hope. Always. Hold it close and don't let anyone take it away. If they tell you to give up, or move on, or whatever, I urge you to look them straight in the eye and yell LA CUCARACHA! No, wait...I mean yell HELL TO THE NO. Then do the robot for an awkward minute and walk away. That's what I would do.

Speaking of hope, for those of you who actually *know* me, follow, read, stalk, you know there are two things that make my knees weak. Matt BR80, and Matt BR80's heart. There is nothing yummier than a man who wants to make the world a batter place (unless you include the fact that he's in a HAWT band, has the kindest eyes I've ever seen next to the hubs's and gives good hugs). When I'm in a place of uncertainty, I find that giving to others fills that hole (that sounded weirder than I meant).

So, though I know most of you are on sandy beaches and playing with your offspring, with only 2 days left to reach his goal, please help BR80 give the women of Ghana the chance to make a life for themselves. This is just like the I HEART JOY LIKE BR80 (parts 1 and 2) I held last year, only his goal is slightly higher. 30 loans in 30 days. Your donation will be life changing for people. What other time can you say your monies actually CHANGED SOMEONE'S LIFE? Aside from that time you got that hooker off the street for about 20 minutes...

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, read more about BR80 and his mission HERE.
Then, when your heart is full, go donate HERE.

Despite the uncertainty in your life, and mine, be the change. Want to order a sweet shirt to celebrate?
$25 each. Email me!
(click to enlarge this ridiculously small image)

Candyland+BR80heartyou. OUT.

When fear grips you, just say ballz

2011-07-26T10:41:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would be here. This petrifying place where my hands tremble at the mere thought of writing something meaningful. It happened with one of my jobs. My boss asked me to write an article with 1/2 an hour left on the clock. At first glance, my heart sped as sweat fell from my brow. I looked over the reference articles, listened as the clock's tick grew louder, and cried, fear I would fail at something else, let someone down, be less than I'm meant to be.

Like the rejection I received an hour after finishing the article, even though I haven't queried or written in months.

I've never been in this place before. The world around me bustles in different directions. Friends straying, busy families falling to busier schedules, and my footprints, the marks I choose to leave, fade faster with each passing day. I've lost followers. My inbox is empty. My writing has stalled. Not just because I'm pregnant (with regular, strong contractions + high blood pressure already, btw...). Not just because I've been rejected more times than I can count (and betrayed by an agent) over a 2 year span. Not just because everything around me is moving too fast for me to catch up.

I sit, behind the scenes, as those around me get agents, sell books, make dreams come true. Dreams that use to be mine until I realized I wasn't on the right path. Some get married, have babies or move far from home much like I really want to do. Others stand still, like me (aside from the bun in my oven thing). But no one talks about it. Because to talk about it means to admit you're still...watching everyone move. I feel the waves pushing me into the currant, far from those at shore. I'm not sure what it means. For me, for writing, for life. But I know one thing.

I will not let fear, or money, keep me from reaching my destination. Wherever or whatever that may be.

I hope this finds you well, friends. Candyland is lonely without you.

Candyland. OUT.

P.S. BALLZ. <--Just because.

In which there are man parts invading my body

2011-07-20T04:55:00.000-07:00

Lately, my posts are sporadic but I never forget about you. Ever. In fact, without you, I don't actually have anyone to talk to except myself (which can be awkward when I'm sleeping). I don't believe the hubs has heard a word I've said since 1912, family knows I have a morbid fear of the phone unless it's via text and other friends...meh. Basically, I MISS YOU. No joke (and why would I joke about that?).

While my writing self has taken a dramatic pause for thought, my pregnant self has taken an UHH-SERIOUSLY? moment as I ponder the giant (excuse the phrase) WANG growing in my body as we speak. I mean, I had doubts before, but after photographic evidence of my son's crazy big junk, I'm a little freaked out. It's one thing to change a diaper. It's quite another to chase a three-legged little boy around the house. At least if all else fails, he'll have job security in the adult film industry...

What's a mother to do? SCRATCH THAT. What's Candyland to do?

Well, after staring long and hard (pun and tended) at the disturbing ultrasound, I decided to do the only classy thing someone like me would do: BLOG ABOUT IT + POST A PICTURE.

Yeah...take that in, friends. This is happening.

Until next time, man or WOman, please tell me this is normal. Or, LIE TO ME. KThanks.

CandylandandbabySully. OUT.

Feel Me Up Friday: Let's have babies together

2011-07-15T05:05:00.000-07:00

FRIENDS! I've been a bad piece of Candy. I was so sure my evil twin, Bethany, was posting all this time. I should have known when I passed her backing out of the drive with her middle finger in the air. She's so crazy. Anyway, I've been busy being nearly 6.5 months preggo and my bun is a martial arts specialist. While I'm grateful for each kick, he's a strong little MFer and when I can barely sleep at 3am, it'd be okay if he took a rest, too. But he doesn't.

Since Bethany spaced and left you all to read the same post day after day, I just wanted to tell you something. Lean in a little closer. Closer. Come on, I don't bite. OKAY, that's close enough. I like my space. Ready?

LET'S HAVE BABIES TOGETHER!

What I mean is, over the past few weeks, I've had more of you send me baby gifts from my registry, email about how I'm doing, call (I LOVE YOU, LENNY LEE), and harass me more than anyone in my real life (as opposed to this fake life). It just goes to show you, you CAN fall in love with someone without ever meeting them. I consider you all friends and when I say that, I never say it lightly. I've never been one to have a million friends. I'm the girl alone in the corner, remember? So to have you all do what you've done, well, I'm sending you all SEVEN BR80 HUGS EACH! Why seven? Because baby Sully said so and you don't want to mess with him and his mad karate skills. Just like his momma, he'll cut you.

So on this Friday, there are no random facts because it is not random how much I appreciate each and every one of you. If you could see my hormonal tears, you'd believe me. And give me one of those BR80 hugs back. And maybe a tissue because there's snot in my mouth.

I Heart You.

CandylandandbabySully. OUT.

Feeding the wolves...a step backwards

2011-07-06T05:45:00.000-07:00

Like a lot of bloggers, I've sort of taken an unofficial hiatus (in case you haven't noticed). While everyone has their reasons, mine, as of late, aren't all pregnancy related. Sure, I could tell you I've been busy treating hemorrhoids and licking frosting off the refrigerator door (both untrue), but that's not it. In fact, it has more to do with this writing/publishing/social media thing. I don't know if I'm the only one. Maybe it's the hormones making me whack. Maybe my journey has taken too many turns and I'm not ready at this point in my life. Maybe I'm not meant to be one of the thousands of published authors blowing up Facebook and Twitter with a constant update of the status of their book.

Just not now.

With this baby we've worked so hard for so long to make, life takes a different perspective. Instead of spending hours at the computer spewing out stories, I'm spending time with my family. Instead of daydreaming about what my book will look like on the shelf, I'm creating a realistic goal, with my husband, for ours and our children's futures. There is no balance in writing and I guess, right now, the biggest ball I refuse to drop is that of my family, while I sit around and think of different titles for my next best seller.

This isn't the end of me, or my stories or my stupid posts. I'm just re-evaluating what my time is worth at this point in my life. And, if something miraculous were to happen, after all the pitch contests won, after all the full and partial requests, after the agent who crushed me to the point of surrender, I'd jump back in without skipping a beat. But for now, this is my reality. I will not disappear, and I will still post and be around for all of you, friends. I just need to breathe while I decide my fate, instead of waiting on others to tell me if I will make it or not. That's what I'm telling myself, anyway. Maybe if BR80 says it, I will actually believe it *scribbles note to harass famous bassist for a quote*

I'm rooting you on, friends. Maybe you have the drive I'm lacking right now. Maybe you have the next brilliant novel on your hard drive. Maybe you will be on the shelf, very, very soon. I hope that's true. I also hope Katie Holmes calls me soon so my offspring and Suri Cruz can have a play date.

See, I'm still me. But for now, I've stopped feeding the wolves:

(If you can't view, look up the lyrics to 10 Years "Shoot It Out"...)

Candyland. OUT.

Feel Me Up Friday: My apologies, Suri Cruz

2011-07-01T05:11:00.000-07:00

Look! I remembered to blog today! This is today, isn't it? Or did I miss today and now it's tomorrow? Hrm...As you know, my loves + I were on a week-long vacation in the sunshine state, with a one-night stop in the Paula Deen State.

Um, if you've never gone through the crazy process of trying to get a spot at The Lady and Sons, I envy you. Sure, Paua Deen is like my cooking God, and the food was AAMMMAAZZIIINNGGG (my taste buds will never be the same again), but to actually get in, we had to be in line at 8:30 and wait until the hostess came out at 9:30 (in the blazing, Georgia heat) to put our name in. Then, we went back 15 minutes before our reservation and waited across the street for our name to be called. It was like being picked for kickball teams in elementary. I sucked at kickball.

Then, after a 24 hour stay in 110 heat index weather, we drove another 5 hours to our little town of Cocoa Beach. Every vacation we get, we stay at the same little condo because it's really far away from people and we pretty much get the beach, a few steps out the back door, to ourselves. People scare us.

The next day, we ventured to Disney World and thank BERT we have relatives who work there and gave us free passes or OMG it's crazy expensive. I'd have had to sell a kidney to make it happen. Wait...do I still have one of those left?

Anyway, some of you saw my FBook post on this but let me break it down: My child is Suri Cruz's new best friend (in my head).

We reluctantly strolled in to the Starlight Cafe because the womb baby was gnawing his way out of me. The place was packed. No empty table in sight. Except one table back from the front, directly behind a giant Disney balloon. Oh well. We were hungry. As we sat down, the hubs went up to get our food which seemed to be about 1.4 miles from our table. To entertain herself, the offspring started spraying the giant balloon with her SEVENTEEN DOLLAR water/fan. She thought it was hilarious. The little girl who owned the balloon, gently pulled it out of my offspring's destructive path and smiled. The two waved. I looked to the mother who managed a "hi." To the girl. To the African American man, arms crossed, staring a hole through me. And back to the girl who was hanging on the chair next to my child. You know how kids are. They're weird. They just stare and wave a bunch.

Actually, I do that too.

Long story short, my daughter is now Suri Cruz'z best friend. And Katie Holmes wears jeans, sweaters, boots and sunglasses in 100 degree weather. I'm pretty sure she'll call me any day now for a play date. My phone is on LOUD, just in case. I tried reaching for my phone to capture this insane moment of OMG-ness, but that bodyguard was not kidding around with that stare. And then I decided she's just a mom with her kid and I couldn't be one of those people with no respect. Actually, I would have if I could have found my damn phone in our giant backpack. Stupid black hole. I decided I'd just take a mental picture instead.

Random Fact: My brain has turned to Patrick's from Spongebob Squarepants. Come to think of it, my body has, too.

Random Fact: I feel disgusting in the heat. What happened to the days when I took a shower and it stuck? If you smell something funny, I blame Suri Cruz.

Tell me, would you have gotten your camera out anyway?

Candyland. OUT.

If I were here, I'd tell you to love your balls

2011-06-30T10:33:00.000-07:00

Yes, this is late. Yes, I sort of thought I posted the last couple of days when I actually hadn't (thank you pregnancy brain). And yes, I've got more going on in my head (and in life) than I know what to do with. That is why today, the post I thought I already posted, but didn't, is this one, just to tell you I can't focus long enough to write about anything other than my many balls I'm dropping.

The only ball I'm petting today is the one that literally keeps my mouth full of coca-cola cake whilst I lay in any position that doesn't make me miserable (leg cramps, Shrek feet, growing pains, a kung fu master in my uterus). So, maybe I will post tomorrow. Maybe I'll just think I did. Until then, take care of your balls better than I seem to be.

Candylandsenilefatass. OUT.